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I 



THE 

C0MTL8TE TVOl^f^S 

of 
EJ)MU:XP SPEC^E%^ 

WITH AN 'introduction 
BT 

WILLIAM P. T]{EJ^T 

Professor in Columbia University 




NEW YORK 
rHOS\IAS r. Cli(JJVELL is; fO 

PUBLISHERS 



THE L'&RAHY OF 
CONGRESS. 

Twc Cepioi Receivec 

OCT t2 1903 

Ci^SS ft/ XXc No 
^ COPY B. 



Copyright, TQ03, by 
Thomas T. Crowell & Co. 






CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Introduction , , . ix 

Life . . xix 

A Letter op the Authors . ... . . . . . 3 

Verses addressed to the Author . , . 7 

Verses addressed, by the Author of the Paerie Queek, to Various 

Noblemen, etc 10 

T<e. First Book of The Faerie Queene, contayning the Legend of 

the Knight of the Red Crosse, or of Holinesse 14 

. Canto I. . . . 14 

Canto II. 22 

Canto III 28 

I Canto TV , . .34 

Caiito V 41 

Canto VI 49 

Canto VIL . . . 55 

Canto VIII . , , . . .63 

Canto IX * . . . . 70 

Canto X. ^ 77 

Canto XI 87 

Canto XII 94 

The Second Book of The Faerie Queene, contayning the Legend of 

Sir Guyon, or of Temperaunce 101 

Canto I. . 102 

Canto II. . . .110 

Canto III 116 

Canto IV . .123 

Canto V. 129 

Cauto VL . . 135 

Canto Vn. .142 

Canto VIII 151 

Canto IX. . . . . . . , , . . . .158 

Canto X. . . . 167 

Canto XI. . 177 

Canto Xn. . . . 183 

▼ 



vi CONTENTS. 



^- PAGB 

The Thirde Booke of The Faerie Queene, contayning the Legend of 

Britomartis, or of Chastity 196 

Canto 1 196 

Canto II 20G 

Canto III 213 

Canto IV. . . . / . '.. 221 

Canto V 229 

Canto VL 237 

Canto VU. . . . . .244 

Canto VIII 252 

Canto IX. .... " 259 

Canto X. . . . . 26C 

Canto XI. . . . . . . • . . . . . .274 

Canto XII. 281 

The Fourth Booke or The Faerie Queene, contayning the Legend of 

Cambel and Triamond, or of Friendship ... . . .^88 

Canto I . ... . . . iS9 

Canto II. . ... . . . .... . iJ6 

Canto IIL . ... . . , . . . . . 3*4 

Canto IV . . . ... .31 

Canto V. . . . ... . . . ... 3:8 

Canto VL . . . . .324 

Canto VII 330 



Canto VIII. 
Canto IX. . 
Canto X. . 
Canto XI. . 
Canto XII. 



337 
345 
351 
359 
366 



The Fifth Booke of The Faerie Queene, contayning the Legend of 

Artegall, or of Justice. . . .371 

Canto 1 372 

Canto II 370 

Canto III . . . .384 

Canto IV . . . .389 

Canto V 396 

Canto VI .404 

Canto VIL . . . . . 409 

Canto VIII . . . . . .415 

Canto IX. . ... . . . . . .... 422 

Canto X . . . .429 

Canto XI .434 

Canto XII 443 



CONTENTS. Vll 



PAO K 

The Sixte Booke of The Faerie Queene, contayning the Legend of 

Sir Calidore, or of Courtesie 450 

Canto 1 451 

Canto II 457 

Canto III 464 

Canto IV 470 

Canto V 476 

Canto VI 481 

Canto VII 488 

Canto VIII 495 

Canto IX. . .- 502 

Canto X 508 

Canto XI 514 

Canto XII 521 

Two Cantos of Mutabilitie : which, both for forme and matter, appeare 
to be parcell of some following Booke of The Faerie Queene, under the 

Legend of Constancie 527 

Canto VI 527 

Canto VII 535 

Canto VIIL •. 543 

To His Booke 548 

The Shefheards Calender 554 

The Ruines of Time 603 

The Teares of the Muses 614 

Virgil's Gnat 623 

Prosopopoia ; or Mother Hubberds Tale 634 

The Ruines of Rome .......... 652 

MuiopoTMOS ; or The Fate of the Butterflie 659 

Visions of the Worlds Vanitib 665 

The Visions of Bellay 668 

The Visions of Petrarch . . . . . . . . . 671 

Daphnaida ............. 673 

Colin Clouts come Home again 682 

astrophel . .' 695 

The Dolefull Lay of Clorinda 698 

The Mourning Muse of Thestylis ........ 700 

A Pastorall Aeglogue on the Death of Sir Philip Sidney, Knioht, 

etc 704 

An Elegie, or Friends Passion, for his Astrophel .... 70(> 

An Epitaph upon the Right IIonourahle Sir Philip Sidney, Knight 709 

Another op the Same 710 

Amoretti and Epithalamion 711 



viii CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Epigrams 729 

Epithalamion 730 

FowRE PIymnes 736 

An Hymne in Honour of Love ........ 736 

An Hymne in Honour of Beautie . . . . , . . . 741 

An Hymne of Heavenly Love 745 

An Hymne of Heavenly Beautie ........ 749 

Prothalamion, or A Spousall Verse ........ 754 

Sonnets 756 

A View of the Present State of Ireland, discoursed by way of a 

Dialogue betweene Eudoxus and Irenseus 758 

Glossary 873 

Index to First Lines 897 



INTRODUCTION. 



Of Spenser, more than of most other famous writers, it may be plausibly 
said that he needs no introduction. Not only has a great mass of criticism been 
heaped upon his works — although he has apparently fared better in this respect 
than his three compeers, Chaucer, Shakespeare, and Milton — but it is entirely 
superfluous to say a word in his favor to his admirers, and almost a forlorn 
undertaking to try to win over to him unappreciative or totally indifferent and 
neglectful readers. Like his greater disciple, Milton, Spenser suffers from the 
defects of his qualities ; and, perhaps even more than in the case of Paradise 
Lost^ the reading public, so far as his greatest work, The Faerie Queene, is 
concerned, contents itself with that method of sampling which is to a poet 
almost as much an insult as an involuntary tribute. His Epithalamion and his 
Prothalamion are familiar to lovers of poetry, but nothing that he wrote has 
the currency of Milton's so-called Minor Poems. Hence, in the popular mind, 
Spenser is less near in order of eminence to Shakespeare's throne than Milton is, 
perhaps less near than Chaucer — although, more probably, through his archaic 
diction, he is usually grouped with Chaucer in a relationship of vague and anti- 
quated greatness. 

When a truly great poet is placed in such a position, his upholders become as 
a rule all the more intense in their devotion and, in proportion, scornful of the 
taste and critical capacity of the large world of readers. And nearly always 
neither party is wholly wrong or wholly right ; indeed, it is fairer to say, each 
party has a good deal of right and truth on its side. In the case of Spenser, no 
idealist, no sensitive lover of ethereal beauty, no reader endowed with an ear 
trained to delight in the subtlest melodies and most exquisite harmonies, no 
dreamer enamored of the stately and romantic past, no willing prober of alle- 
gories and symbols, and, above all, no soul in love with essential purity can 
possibly remain indifEerfl|t to the appeal made by the poet and, to a considerable 
degree, by the man. For any reader, falling to a fair extent under these cate- 
gories, to know Spenser at all thoroughly is to love him deeply. 

But idealists, symbolists, ethereal natures, and readers trained to enjoy the 
subtlest poetic harmonies are, and have always been, rare. This is a work-a- 
day world actuated by a rather overpowering sense of the real. The Middle 

ix 



INTRODUCTION. 



Ages developed in what was after all a very limited class of men and women, a 
taste for allegory ; but the great national dramas killed allegory, and this benefi- 
cent result was really involved in the invention of printing and the consequent 
widening of the reading public, as well as in the recovery from classical times 
of better literary models. When Spenser decided, against Gabriel Harvey's 
advice, to abandon the writing of comedies and to continue the composition of 
The Faerie Queene, he probably made no mistake, so far as concerned his 
own genius and the world's profit ; but he unwittingly took his hand from the 
latch of the gate opening into the future. The gate he opened and entered 
admitted him into the past; but his good genius led him along a path that 
speedily emerged into the enchanted meads and vales of Faeryland. Shake- 
speare, on the other hand, without Spenser's advantages of training and 
connections, but perhaps profiting from his predecessor's choice, opened the 
gate of the future. He too at times strayed into Faeryland, but never for 
long. Hence it is that Shakespeare continues to make an increasingly tri- 
umphant progress down the highway of time, while Spenser pursues his en- 
chanted wanderings. It would be rash to undertake to determine which fate is 
the more enviable. 

It is just as easy to account for the interest taken in Spenser by scholars as 
to account for the devotion of his admirers and the comparative neglect of the 
large public. He was the first poet of sustained eminence produced in England 
for nearly two'centuries after Chaucer's death. He was the first poet to profit 
in full measure from the Renaissance, from the great Italian masters and from 
their less successful but still important French followers, from the labors of 
Wyatt and Surrey, and from the admirable but not sufficiently esteemed begin- 
nings made by Sackville. He added to the rich color and melody of Southern 
poetry not merely the "high seriousness" and philosophic depth of the best 
Greek classics, but the profound spiritual sincerity and the sense for the mys- 
terious and the symbolic characteristic of the Teutonic genius. He was in many 
respects a marvellously full and ripe product of the Renaissance, but he was also 
a product of the Protestant Reformation, yet at the same time an exponent of 
many of the finest ideals of the Middle Ages. In him cohere to a remarkable 
degree the interest attaching to the survivor and that attaching to the pioneer. 
When in addition to these facts we remember that Spenser was an important 
figure in the most brilliant and picturesque age of English history and literature, 
that he was the contemporary of Sidney and the predecessor of Marlowe and 
Shakespeare, that he was as clearly, although not so eminently, supreme in nar- 
rative, idyllic, philosophical, and loftily lyrical poetry as Shakespeare was in the 
drama, and that he was the master of an important group of seventeenth-century 
poets, including the brothers Fletcher and William Browne and culminating in 
Milton, we should be prepared to wonder not that so much scholarly study has 
been devoted to Spenser and his works, but that he has not attracted an even 
larger number of editors and critics. Nor do these considerations take into ac- 
count the interest Spenser's language, affectedly and factitiously archaic though 
it often is, must possess for philologians, or that far less commendable interest 
that attaches to the endeavor to solve such problems as who the Rosalynd of 



INTRODUCTION. xi 



The Shepherd'^s Calendar was, or what obscure court intrigue Spenser was 
glancing at in this or that canto of The Faerie Queene. 

But while it is not necessary to commend Spenser's poetry either to scholars 
or to select readers, and while it would be futile to commend it in the hope that 
it will ever be truly popular, it does seem worth while to combat the notion that 
when read in any quantity his verse is necessarily tedious. This widely preva- 
lent notion, combined with the idea that Spenser's archaisms make him very 
difficult to understand, doubtless renders the naturally contracted circle of the 
great poet's admirers still more contracted. The doubt is periodically expressed 
whether any one can read all that we have of The Faerie Queene except for 
the sake of being able to say one has read it, or for some other absurd or pedantic 
reason. People quote Macaulay's phrases about being in at the death of the 
Blatant Beast without being aware, any more than he seemingly was, that that 
formidable monster made his escape, and is, for aught we know, still roaming 
the world. Lovers of Spenser, of course, reply by enlarging upon their own 
fortunate experiences among the enchanted if tangled thickets of the great 
allegory, but they generally encounter a polite scepticism. 

The chief cause of this divergence of opinions seems to lie in the fact that 
detractors of TTie Faerie Queene demand that it should interest them, while 
its lovers are satisfied with being charmed and ennobled by it. The latter, if we 
may trust Schopenhauer, are the more philosophical, since it is rapture rather 
than interest that we should demand of a true work of art. But while it is not 
difficult to read a comparatively short poem like the Prothalamion for rapture 
only, it is difficult to set aside the demand for interest in the case of a very long 
poem consisting of one or more narratives, whether or not these narratives be 
allegorical in character. In other words, Spenser was unwittingly his own enemy 
when he began his poem with the line : — 

" A gentle knight was pricking o'er the plain." 

Another sort of pricking immediately became inevitable — that is, of the reader's 
ears. A narrative, whether in prose or verse, at once suggests a story, and a 
story suggests the craving for interest. 

Is The Faerie Queene interesting ? As a whole, it apparently is not. 
Some readers cannot follow the wanderings of Una and the Red Cross Knight 
to their successful issue. Others can do this and can even manage to accompany 
Guyon until he overthrows the Bower of Bliss, although it may be doubted 
whether many of these, in gratitude for the great seventh canto describing the 
Cave of Mammon, are able to finish the tenth canto with its " Chronicle of Briton 
Kings, From Brute to Uthers rayne." Those who finish the second book can 
probably trust themselves to embark upon the third — "The Legend of Brito- 
martis, or of Chastity " ; and there seems to be no special reason why such 
should not survive the uneven fourth book, and the better-knit fifth and sixth 
books containing, as the latter do, respectively the lofty legend of Artegall and 
his Iron Man, Talus, and the lovely cantos describing the passion of Calidore for 
the fair Pastorella. Readers who leave the Blatant Beast ranging " through the 
world againe " ought to be sufficiently initiated Spenserians to be delighted that 



Xll INTRODUCTION. 



the " Two Cantos of Mutabilitie " were discovered and given to the world in the 
folio of 1609 ; yet few critics, with the exception of Aubrey De Vere, have done 
these noble cantos justice. i 

But our question has not been altogether answered. The Faerie Queene 
is probably not interesting throughout to any one, — what long poem is ? many 
will ask, — but at least one reader has found himself confessing at the end that 
there is enough sheer interest in the poem to make him wonder at Spenser's 
copiousness of invention. Passages that drag do occur with some frequency, 
and it requires all the beauty of the marriage of the Thames and the Medway to 
make one hope for the triumphs of art one finds in the fifth and sixth books that 
follow. Nor is flagging of invention the only drawback. Confusion worse con- 
founded results not merely from the fact that the central conception of the poem 
can be understood only from Spenser's letter to Raleigh, but also from his having 
borrowed from Ariosto the trick of taking up and dropping his threads of narra- 
tive, his separate adventures, in order, apparently, to pique a reader's curiosity. 
This confusion is enhanced by mistakes made by the poet in consequence, it 
would appear, of lapses of memory. Worse still at times seems the mixture of 
ideal and of realistic elements — of allegory intended to elevate the souls of men 
and of allegory devised to flatter Elizabeth, Leicester, and Lord Grey of Wilton. 
Combats of knightly heroes with dragons and proud Paynim foes do not har- 
monize with thinly veiled descriptions of actual combats waged by Henry IV. 
and Philip II. , much less with a partisan impeachment of Mary Queen of Scots and 
a grotesquely falsified version of Leicester's campaign in the Low Countries. Yet 
when all deductions have been made, it seems not impossible to forget that one is 
reading an allegory, and to interest one's self in the fortunes of nearly all Spenser's 
characters, even if one does not quite hold one's breath when a dragon or some 
other monster gets a hero-knight into a decidedly uncomfortable predicament. 

Yet, why dwell on this matter of interest when The Faerie Queene has so 
much that is higher and better to yield us ? Is it not, with the possible excep- 

1 In Macmillan's Magazine, Vol. XLIL, Mr. Sebastian Evans argued that by 1596, 
the date of the collected " Sixe Bookes," Spenser had changed his mind as to the 
scope of his poem, and that the " Two Cantos of Mutabilitie" and the two stanzas 
were not intended to be incorporated in The Faerie Quee?ie. The first contention 
is completely disposed of by Dr. Grosart (Vol. I., Appendix U), but the second point 
is left open for argument. Certainly it is hard to see how Spenser could have worked 
the two cantos into the scheme of his poem, and it is clear that in no other cantos 
are we so completely separated from human actors — from the brilliant knights and 
ladies in whom Spenser's imagination took such delight. Practically the best way 
to treat the Cantos is to regard them, in Mr. Evans's words, " as one of the noblest 
independent poems of the noblest age of English poetry." But do not the lines that 
open the thirty-seventh stanza of the first canto almost settle it that Spenser intended 
to join these cantos to the main poem ? — 

" And were it not ill fitting for this file 
To .sing of hilles and woods mongst warres and knights.^' 
Besides, each canto is provided with the slightly doggerel epitome that is found before 
each canto of The Faerie Queene. Yet, after all, it is perhaps more important to 
notice the plain influence of the " Two Cantos " on Keats's Hyperion. 



INTRODUCTION. xili 



tion of Comus, the purest of English poems ? Is it not the most continuous 
stream of fluid melody ever poured into the ears of men ? Is there in English a 
poem fuller of descriptive power, varied, copious, and charming ? Is there a 
poem more truly philosophical, yet at the same time more completely the product 
of a sustained poetic imagination ? Finally, is there any other long poem in 
English that comes nearer than The Faerie Queene to the consummate art of 
Paradise Lost ? 

The answers to most of these questions are scarcely matters of debate. The 
exquisite purity of Spenser's entire poetical work and of his own character has 
long been admitted. Una is the quintessence of purity, but she has many almost 
equally spotless rivals. Spenser's knights are not suffered to escape the tempta- 
tions of lust, nor is their creator insensible to fleshly charms ; but it may be 
safely said that there is only one stanza in the long poem to which even the most 
prurient prude would be likely to raise objections. Whether the poem is not 
almost too pure, just as it is almost too sweet in its melodies and too uniformly 
fair and romantic in its coloring, is another matter. Perhaps the atmosphere of 
The Faerie Queene is too rarefied for many people, and perhaps this is the 
reason why Spenser has long appealed especially to poets and been known as 
"the poet's poet." 

To enlarge upon the philosophical depth of Spenser's poetry, particularly of 
The Faerie Queene and of the four Hymns, would require both an entire essay 
and the assurance that one could add something to Mr, De Vere's excellent 
treatment of the subject. It must suffice to say that Spenser's poetry is as 
steeped in Platonism as it is in the more specifically literary spirit of the classics 
and the Renaissance. Here again may be found a reason for his failure to appeal 
to more or less realistic and positivistic readers like Byron, but surely the catho- 
lic mind should be receptive to his lofty idealism. The "sage and serious" 
teacher whom Milton set above professed philosophers has a message for this 
and for every generation, although he has not the power of the Ancient Mariner 
to compel attention. Nor is his teaching by any means always veiled in allegory. 
It is often brought out by his characters and by their actions as effectively as 
though he were really a dramatist or a novelist, and there is scarcely a canto 
that does not open with a stanza weighted with noble thought. 

As for the sustained perfection of Spenser's poetic art in the broadest sense 
of the term, it is obvious that dogmatic assertions should be avoided ; j'-et it is 
equally obvious that, on the whole, critical opinion has placed him among the 
major poets of our tongue, and that this is never done save in the case of poets 
who are also sustained artists. It is Spenser's sustained art that places him with 
Shakespeare and Milton and Chaucer and separates him from Wordsworth and 
Byron and Shelley, That he is inferior in the totality of his powers to Shake- 
peare no one doubts. That he is inferior to Milton no one will doubt who gives 
due weight to the verdict of time or to the claims of sublime and succinct as 
compared with exquisite and diffuse art. For that Spenser is diffuse and often 
lacking in finish and, on the whole, gentle, pure, lovely, rather than sublime, in 
spite of the power displayed in the description of the Cave of Mammon, seems 
indisputable. That the deficiencies of his work from the point of view of humor, 



XIV INTRODUCTION. 



archness, and vivid realistic power of characterization and description have tended 
to place him belovi^ Chaucer in poetic rank seems equally indisputable. Yet one 
may well refuse to institute invidious comparisons between such great masters, 
or may hold that neither Chaucer nor Shakespeare is Spenser's equal as a 
uniform, sustained, conscious artist. 

But the far from inconsiderable body of Spenser's lesser writings demands 
attention. His prose tract on Ireland and his letters may be dismissed, not 
because they are not valuable or interesting, but because Spenser is for readers 
of to-day primarily a poet. Of his minor poems, if the phrase be applicable, 
doubtless the most important to the student is The Shepherd's Calendar. 
This was not the first English pastoral in point of time, but it was the first that 
made Englishmen feel that they possessed something in this once popular form 
not only equal or superior to anything of the kind that Italy or Erance could 
boast of, but actually worthy of comparison with the similar work of Virgil. 
Besides, it was the first English poem since the days of Chaucer, with the pos- 
sible exception of Sackville's Induction^ that indicated poetic mastery, espe- 
cially in rhythm, on the part of its writer. It was at once and long popular, 
and exercised considerable influence upon the Spenserians of the seventeenth 
century. Take it all in all, it is still probably the best collection of pastorals in 
our literature, and retains not a little of its charm, although those modern readers 
who fail to take deep interest in discussions as to the state of the church carried 
on in rustic language by clerics disguised as shepherds are not very greatly to 
blame. It is even conceivable that some persons may find the chief interest of 
the poem, outside the fables of the Oak and the Briar and the Fox and the Kid, 
to lie in the proofs it gives of Spenser's varied and admirable power as a metrist, 
and that others may prefer to study it in connection with the work of Spenser's 
predecessors, especially of Marot, who may not, after all, be so completely our 
poet's inferior as some have thought. 

» A nobler and a wider appeal is made by those two supreme lyrics of their 
elaborate kind, the Epithalamion and the Prothalamion. The rapture of 
approaching fruition and the awe that accompanies the contemplation of idealized 
perfection have apparently never been so perfectly blended by any other English 
poet as they have been by Spenser in his psean for his own wedding. In outward 
form his poem was Italian, in substance and spirit it was the expression of his 
own loyal and ecstatic soul. Less of compelling rapture but more of artistically 
presented objective beauty is probably to be found in the Prothalamion which 
gains upon its companion poem in succinctness and perhaps in certain peculiar 
triumphs of cadence. Yet, after all, to prefer the Prothalamion to the Epithala- 
mion is much like preferring the moon to the sun. - 

As compared with these two splendid luminaries, Spenser's Amoretti 
seem to constitute a sort of Milky Way. There is no time to compare his 
peculiarly constructed sonnets with the numerous rival sonnet-sequences of the 
epoch. They are obviously inferior to Shakespeare's, and just as obviously they 
yield no such impressive single poems as every admirer of Sidney can recall. 
They are excellent and sometimes more than excellent, but, as a whole, they 
scarcely seem to form a constellation of lyric stars. Whether as a sequence they 



INTRODUCTION. xv 



rank above or below Sidney's may be a matter of doubt ; it is scarcely doubtful 
that both Drayton and Joshua Sylvester have single sonnets to their credit, nei- 
ther of vsrhich would be exchanged by some readers for any of Spenser's sonnets. 
As an elegist Spenser is not eminently successful, as readers of Daphnaida 
and Astrophel will probably admit. It is hard to see why in the latter poem 
he did not succeed better, in view of the fact that he had Sidney for a subject. 
It should be remembered, however, that this Elizabethan paragon is the subject 
of two exquisite lines : — 

'* Most gentle splrite, breathed from above 
Out of the bosome of the makers blls " 

in The Buines of Time, a poem that contains some noble stanzas on the power 
of poetry to immortalize, and helps to convince the capable reader that nothing of 
Spenser's can safely be slighted. 

Of the poems that remain briefly to be noticed that excellent combination of 
a satire and a beast fable. Mother Hubberd''s Tale, has perhaps received most 
commendation from the critics. It undoubtedly deserves high praise, and may 
be profitably compared with certain eclogues in The Shepherd's Calendar. 
Its excellence should not, however, make us forget the descriptive power dis- 
played in VirgiVs Gnat and in that remarkable creation of pure fancy, 
Muiopotmos, which suggests comparison with Shelley's Witch of Atlas. But 
better than these and fuller of true poetry than Mother Huhherd's Tale is 
Colin ClouVs Come Home Againe, perhaps the most remarkable example 
in English of the blending, upon an extensive scale, of occasional and familiar 
with essential poetry. If it were only a tribute of friendship from Edmund 
Spenser to Sir Walter Raleigh, it would be notable ; we should be glad to possess 
it if it gave us only the brilliant and interesting picture of Elizabeth's court ; 
but in addition it is full of pastoral beauty, and it contains a fairly superb picture 
of a gallant ship breasting the waves. It is a poem that no lover of poetry can 
afford to neglect, and one of its lines, 

*' Is Triton blowing loud his wreathed home," 

suggests the thought that Wordsworth, who loved Una and The Faerie Queene, 
must have read other poems of Spenser's with delight and profit. 

Only one group of important lyrics remains to be mentioned — the four 
Hymns in honor of Love, of Beauty, of Heavenly Love, and of Heavenly 
Beauty. These for some reason, while dear to a few readers of Spenser, have 
never seemed to take the rank among his writings that appears to be their due. 
Perhaps their Platonism is too pronounced, perhaps they are too subtly ethereal, 
too little appealingly human. Yet it might be plausibly argued that they present 
the philosophical mind and the equably soaring imagination of Spenser more com- 
pletely than anything else he ever wrote save only the " Two Cantos of Muta- 
bilitie." However this may be, no student of Spenser can afford to leave the 
Hymns unread, and no lover of literature should with complacency admit the 
fact that he is not a student of Spenser. For not to study and love such a poet 
is a misfortune, although only a partisan would proclaim it to be a fault. 

W. P. TRENT. 

Nbw York, April 22, 1903. 



XVI INTRODUCTION. 



NOTE ON SPENSER'S LANGUAGE AND METRES. 

To the student of Chaucer the language of Spenser presents few difficulties, 
and even the student of Shakespeare is not greatly baffled by it. The general 
reader is sometimes puzzled, but perhaps more often offended by the curious 
spelling, and of course has to use a glossary oftener than is consistent with 
thorough enjoyment of the poetry. But these drawbacks diminish the more 
one reads, and are, after all, not very serious. 

As a matter of fact, Spenser's contemporaries and immediate successors found 
his language archaic, and doubtless got less pleasure out of his old forms than 
some of us moderns do, time not having then imparted to them so great an 
element of quaint charm. He wrote at a period when the language was still in 
a state of flux, but he fixed his eyes steadily upon Chaucer and the other older 
writers. He may have saved for us words that would otherwise have been lost, 
but he did not save himself from the charge of affectation, since in some par- 
ticulars his contemporaries found him more obscure than he is to us who have 
profited by some of his archaisms. Daniel hinted at his "aged accents and 
untimely words," and Ben Jonson charged him with writing "no language." 
His eighteenth-century readers were outraged by his uncouthness and modernized 
him ; in fact, he had not been dead a hundred years before his ghost appeared 
as " ancient " to Oldham as Gower's ghost had to Shakespeare. The nineteenth 
century was more hospitable to his mannerisms, but even so sympathetic a stu- 
dent as Dean Church was forced to declare, " It is not to enrich a language, but 
to confuse and spoil it, when a writer forces on it words which are not in keeping 
with its existing usages and spirit, and much more when he arbitrarily deals with 
words to make them suit the necessities of metre and rime." "He not only 
revives old words," continues Church, "but he is licentious — as far as we are 
able to trace the usages of the time — in inventing new ones. He is unscrupu- 
lous in using inferior forms for better and more natural ones, not for the sake of 
the word, but for the convenience of the verse. The transfer of words — adjec- 
tives and verbs — from their strict use to a looser one, the passage from an active 
to a neuter sense, the investing a word with new associations, ... are, within 
limits, part of the recognized means by which language, and especially poetical 
language, extends its range. But Spenser was inclined to make all limits give 
way to his convenience and the rapidity of his work." 

The faults of affectation and haste just charged are serious ones and cannot 
be refuted. They may be easily illustrated. Spenser uses quite freely the past 
participle with y- as a prefix, e.g. y-paynted ; he has present participles in the 
Northern and form, e.g. glitterand ; his infinitives often end in en, e.g. could 
tellen ; his plural verbs may end in the same way, e.g. they marchen ; he omits it 
with an impersonal verb, e.g. seemed for it seemed; he has antiquated auxiliaries, 
e.g. mote for might; should for would have; and he uses such old plurals of 
nouns as /one, foes, eyne, eyes. It has been shown that many of Spenser's 
forms, words, and phrases are from the dialect of Lancashire, but while the 
employment of these might easily be defended so far as The Shepherd's Cal- 



INTRODUCTION. xvii 



endar is concerned, it is difficult to see liow their frequent use in Spenser's 
other works can be viewed in any other light than that of affectation. Too great 
rusticity is as much a fault as excessive archaism. It may be noted finally that 
Spenser indulges frequently in Latinisms, in undigested French forms, e.g. 
interesse, in accentuation nearer to that of the French and the older English 
than to that of his own day, e.g. parent^ and in almost overabundant alliteration. 
With regard to Spenser's metres, full information must, of course, be sought 
in some treatise on English metrics. Here it must be sufficient to point out the 
fact that the famous Spenserian stanza used in The Faerie Queene is probably 
the most important metrical invention due to any English poet. For general 
narrative and idyllic purposes when fluidity, copiousness, picturesqueness — in 
short, blended effects of charm and power — are required, it is practically with- 
out a rival. Exactly how it came to be formed is not clear. If derived from 
the Italian ottava rima by the addition of an alexandrine, as is often suggested, 
it must have displeased Spenser's ear at first, and caused him to introduce 
changes in his rhyme-scheme. The rhyme royal so much used by Chaucer is 
still less likely to have furnished a basis. An eight-lined stanza used by Chaucer 
with rhymes corresponding to the first eight lines of the Spenserian stanza may 
have been transformed by the addition of an alexandrine. Spenser had used 
this very combination of eight rhymes at the beginning of the eleventh eclogue 
of The Shepherd'' s Calendar^ and curiously enough had rhymed the nine fol- 
lowing lines in such a way as to form a perfect Spenserian stanza, lacking 
only the extra foot in the ninth line. But perhaps, after all, the famous stanza 
was the result of adding an alexandrine to the octave of one of his peculiarly 
constructed sonnets. However it came into existence, it was a remarkable dis- 
covery for English poetry ; but it would not be fair to Spenser not to observe 
that in addition to the great metrical variety and skill displayed in The Shep- 
herd'^s Calendar he must be credited with admirable mastery of the rhyme 
royal (the Hymns), the ottava rima (VirgiVs Gnat), the heroic couplet 
(Mother Hubberd^s Tale), as well as of complicated rhyme arrangements based 
upon Italian models and of sundry peculiarly lyrical stanzas. The original 
though not altogether satisfactory structure of his sonnets has been already 
noticed ; his Epithalamion is almost a strict example of the difficult Italian 
canzone. A negative proof of his metrical superiority to his contemporaries is 
to be seen in his disdain of the popular and doggerel "poulter's measure." In 
short, it is only in blank verse and truly singing stanzas that Spenser yields to 
any of his great rivals, and he cannot be absolutely proved to have attempted 
the former. But one could fill a long chapter with a discussion of Spenser's 
metrical and rhythmical achievements, just as one could with a discussion of 
the fortunes of his famous stanza — its enlargement and spoiling at the hands of 
Prior, its revival by Thomson, its culmination in the hands of Keats. 



xViii INTRODUCTION. 



BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE. 

The chief editions of Spenser published within the past one hundred years 
are those by the Rev. H. J. Todd (1805), by George H. Hillard (1839), by Pro- 
fessor F. J. Child (1855), by J. P. Collier (1862, reprinted in the new " Aldine 
Poets"), by Dr. Richard Morris (with a memoir by Professor J, W. Hales, — 
the " Globe Edition," 1865), and, most monumental of all, by Dr. Alexander B. 
Grosart for the Spenser Society (10 vols. 1880-1882). All the above editions 
are furnished with useful memoirs, Dr. Grosart's amounting to a thick book. 
To these sources should be added Gabriel Harvey's Letter-book (Camden Society) 
and his Works (edited by Grosart). The best life is that by Dean Church in 
the " English Men of Letters " (1879). The fullest study of the works of Spenser 
is contained in George L. Craik's Spenser and His Poetry (3 vols,, revised 
edition, 1871). For the point of view of an eighteenth-century admirer, see 
Thomas Warton's Observations on The Faerie Queene (1752-1762). Various 
valuable critical essays are contained in Dr. Grosart's edition, notably those by 
Aubrey De Vere, Professor Dowden, Professor Palgrave, and Mr. Edmund 
Gosse. Some of these essays have been published separately by their authors, 
e.g. De Vere's Ussays, Chiefly on Poetry. In addition, the reader may be 
referred to the article on Spenser in the Dictionary of National Biography, to 
Lowell's essay (Works, IV.), to Church's (Ward's English Poets, I.), to the 
papers by Professor Wilson {BlackwoocVs, 1834-1835), to Saintsbury's Histoid 
of Elizabethan Literature, to Taine, to Morley's English Writers (Vol. IX.), 
to Hazlitt's Lectures on the English Poets, to Sir Walter Scott's Cntical 
and Miscellaneous Essays, jto J. S. HarVs: Essay on the Life and Writings of 
Edmund Spenser (1847), to the Rev. F.' D. Maurice's Friendship of Books, 
and for an essay on Spenser's heroines, to Dowdeu's Studies and Transcripts, 
where his essay on "Spenser the Poet and Teacher," originally contributed to, 
Grosart's edition of Spenser, will also be found. The late Dean Kitchin edited 
Books I. and II. of The Faerie Queene for the Clarendon Press, with a critical 
apparatus useful to students. The poem entitled " Brittain's Ida," erroneously 
attributed to Spenser, may be found in Collier's edition and also in Dr. Grosart's 
edition of the works of Phineas Fletcher. 



LIFE OF EDMUND SPENSER. 

Edmund Spenser marked the beginning of a great national literature for 
England, He ushered in a group of writers who lifted that country's letters 
from a commonplace plane to a height which has been unsurpassed during three 
centuries of continuous literary effort. 

After the death of Cliaucer — the father of English literature and Spenser's 
great exemplar — the promise of dawn also passed away, extinguished by the 
twofold cause of the Wars of the Roses and the rise of the Reformation. But 
the two centuries of gloom in turn gave way, in the latter part of the sixteenth 
century, to a splendid burst of new light, with Spenser as its herald. It was the 
great century of the Reformation, which began with Henry VIII. and ended with 
Elizabeth; and Spenser's life extended over the latter half of this century — 
from 1552 to 1599. It was a time marked by a tremendous quickening of the 
national pulse. Statecraft, conquest, and adventure flourished as never before, 
and the life of letters also gained new vigor. 

Spenser was contemporary with Sidney, Raleigh, and Hooker, while Bacon 
and Shakespeare were born just ten years later. In France it was the day of 
Montaigne and Rabelais, while Italy had but recently lost Ariosto and Machia- 
velli. The literary splendor of these two countries had outshone that of 
England up to this time, but now met a powerful rival. 

The birth-date of Spenser is not a settled point, but varies between 1552 a nd 
1551, with probability inclining to the former year. In Sonnet 60 of his Amo- 
retti the poet declared that the year since he had fallen in love (1592) had 
seemed longer to him "then al those fourty which my life outwent," His life, 
therefore, began during the closing months of Edward VI. 's reign. His infancy 
was passed during the bloody days of Queen Mary. And Elizabeth ascended 
the throne when the future poet was six. 

London was his birthplace. For this fact we have the poet's own testimony. 
In Prothalamion he speaks of — 

" Mery London, my most kyndly nurse, 
That to me gave this llfes first native sourse, 
Though from another place I take my name, 
An house of auncient fame." 

This other place to which Spenser refers is near Burnley in northeast Lan- 
cashire. As early as the thirteenth century there was a freehold at Hurstwood, 
three miles from Burnley, pertaining to a Spenser, and this seems to be the 
original settlement of the family. The entire house stood well. Sir John Spen- 

xix 



XX LIFE OF EDMUND SPENSER. 

cer was the poet's cousin, according to Edmund's words in Colin Clout, and 
the later Spencers and Churchills were also allied to this house. In the reign of 
Elizabeth its head bore the name of Edmund. He died in 1687, having been 
twice married, and having had a son John by each wife. Both the Johns mar- 
ried, and each had a son Edmund. It is this duality of Johns and Edmunds 
which has confused biographers in tracing the lineage of the poet. His heredi- 
tary connection with the Lancashire district is, however, abundantly corroborated 
by his dialect. 

It is also pretty well determined that his father was John Spenser, "a gen- 
tleman by birth," who had removed to London, where he was " a free journey- 
man" in the "art and mystery of cloth-making" in the service of Nicholas 
Peele of Bow Lane. There were but two other Spensers in London at this time, 
and both of them were well-to-do. But since the poet was a beneficiary student 
in his boyhood, it is probable that this modest tailor was his father. His 
mother's name was Elizabeth, as the poet himself says in Sonnet 74. His 
parents were living in East Smithfield — according to Oldys the antiquary 
— when Edmund was born. He was the oldest child, there being a brother, 
John, and probably a sister, Sarah. 

Edmund's education began at the Merchant Taylor's School. He probably 
entered it the year it opened, 1561. Nicholas Spenser, a man of considerable 
wealth, was warden of the company ; and Edmund's name is mentioned more 
than once as having received a part of sums "geven to poor schollers of dyvers 
gramare scholles," in a bequest of Robert Nowell's. In 1569 he is further 
mentioned as receiving a gown and entering Pembroke Hall (now College), 
Cambridge, where he matriculated the 20th of May. 

At college Spenser read widely and was a good linguist, delving into Greek, 
Latin, French, and Italian. Chaucer of his own tongue he studied and ever 
after loved ; while his later writings betrayed easy familiarity with Homer, 
Theocritus, Plato, Virgil, Cicero, Tasso, Petrarch, Ariosto, Du Bellay, and 
Marot. Such wide reading places him near Milton, and with Gray and Jonson 
among the learned English poets. 

Spenser's earliest known literary efforts began at college, and took the form 
of translations from Petrarch and Du Bellay. They were published in A Thea- 
tre for Worldlings, which appeared in July, 1569. It is probable, therefore, that 
Spenser had tried his hand at writing even before he went to Cambridge. The 
TJieatre itself was a bitter invective against popery, published by one John Van 
Der Noodt, who had sought refuge in England. The time was the internecine 
war waged between Pius V. and Elizabeth. The cause of Mary Queen of Scots 
was in people's minds, and church feeling ran high. It is interesting to note, 
in this connection, the stand taken by Spenser, in writing for a Protestant book, 
although his translations could not be called polemical. The poet was Puritan 
in tendency all his life, but lacked the earnestness and enthusiasm which dis- 
tinguished Milton. 

Spenser's name was not identified with the twenty stanzas from Petrarch and 
Du Bellay published in the Theatre. But in 1591 they appeared again, in 
revised form, in his Complaynts. 



LIFE OF EDMUND SPENSER. xxi 

The young poet made some lasting and influential friends while at college. 
Among the men he knew were John Still, afterwards Bishop of Bath and Wells ; 
Lancelot Andrews, afterwards famous as Bishop of Winchester ; John Young, 
afterwards Bishop of Rochester and characterized as "the faithful Roffy " in 
The Shepheardes Calender; Thomas Preston; Gabriel Harvey; and Edward 
Kirke. The last two were especially intimate with him. In later life his corre- 
spondence with Harvey brings to light many details of the poet's life. Harvey 
also introduced him in London, while Kirke edited his Shepheardes Calender. 

In his college course, as at school, Spenser was assisted by private bequests. 
He is mentioned several times in the lists and also on the records of illness, 
which show that he was no richer in health than in worldly goods. But he took 
his degred of B.A. in 1573 and "commenced M.A." in 1576. His college days 
passed quietly and busily, although there is some slight ground for believing 
that his relations with the Pembroke faculty were not always pleasant. Harvey 
seems to indicate as much in later letters ; but Harvey was always a man of 
moods. Spenser speaks in praise of Cambridge in Faerie Queene (Book 4, 
canto 11), but is silent about Pembroke. 

After leaving college, the poet went on a visit to his kindred in Hurst- 
wood. He was then about twenty-four and fixed in his ambition to become a 
writer. This ambition had been confided to his friends Harvey and Kirke, both 
of whom encouraged and assisted him. Spenser spent about one year in the north 
— a memorable year to him, for he fell deeply in love with a " Rosalynd," who, 
however, disdained his suit. Many attempts have been made to discover the 
identity of this Rosalynd who wrought such havoc in the poet's heart, one con- 
jecture being that she was a Rosa Dinley. Kirke asserts that she was " a gen- 
tlewoman of no mean house." Be that as it may, the spurned lover's grief and 
despair bore large fruit in The Shepheardes Calender of 1579, and lasted until 
Colin Clout in 1591. To Rosalynd he poured forth all his complaints, until he 
met the Elizabeth, who was more yielding. 

During the few months spent in the north after leaving college, his friend 
Harvey was writing for him to come to London to try his fortune ; and to London 
he went, poor in purse, but rich in wit, just as Shakespeare was to go a few 
years later. Harvey introduced Spenser to Sir Philip Sidney, himself a literary 
aspirant, who took a great liking to the young Lancashire writer from the outset, 
and who introduced him in turn to his uncle, the Earl of Leicester, powerful 
court favorite and patron of letters. Leicester took Spenser into his household, 
employing him as a correspondent. 

This was in 1579. But Spenser seems to have been in Ireland for a short 
time before coming to London ; for in his View of the Present State of Ireland 
he speaks — as though he saw it — of the "execution of a notable tray tor at 
Limmericke, called Murrogh O'Brien," which occurred in July, 1577. However, 
he was certainly back in London by October, 1579, for he dates one of his letters 
to Harvey " Leycester House." His acquaintances in London at this time show 
him to have been a man of already recognized genius, and he probably moved in 
the most brilliant society. His friend Sidney, for whom he always had a deep 
and tender affection, was a mirror of courtesy and breeding. Another friend 



xxil LIFE OF EDMUND SPENSER. 

was Sir Edward Dyer, who joined liim and Sidney with others to form a small 
literary club called the "Areopagus." 

It was in this same momentous year of 1579 that Spenser's first important 
work appeared. Its title-page was as follows: "The Shepheardes Calender: 
Conteyning Twelve ^glogues, Proportionable to the Twelve Monethes. Entitled 
to the noble and vertuous Gentleman most worthy of all titles both of learning 
and chevalrie, M. Philip Sidney. At London. Printed by Hugh Singleton, 
dwelling in Creede Lane neere vnto Ludgate at the Signe of the gylden Tunne, 
and are there to be solde, 1579." The prefatory verse is modestly signed " Im- 
merito." " E. K." — afterwards pretty definitely identified as Kirke — con- 
tributed an introductory letter to Gabriel Harvey, commending the Calender 
and defending its archaisms. The twelve Eclogues dealt with Spens5r's disap- 
pointment in love, church questions, and other topics. The text refers frequently 
to Chaucer as Tityrus, god of the Shepherds. Queen Elizabeth is alluded to as 
Fair Elisa ; Anne Boleyn, as Syrinx ; Kirke, as Cuddle ; Harvey, as Hobbinol ; 
and Spenser, himself, as Colin Clout. 

The poetic qualities of The Shepheardes Calender speedily brought the 
author into general notice. Sidney mentioned him in his Apologie for Poetrie. 
Other authors of the time also praised him, among them Drayton, who said, 
"Maister Edmund Spenser has done enough for the immortality of his name 
had he only given us his Shepheardes Calender^ a masterpiece, if any." 

Nor was this poem his only essay in writing at the period bordering on 1580. 
He contributed two Letters to a volume published by Bynneman. While from 
correspondence which passed between him and Harvey, and from editorial notes 
by Kirke, it appears that Spenser was seeking a publisher for several other works : 
Breames, Legends^ Court of Cupid, The English Poet, The Dying Pelican, 
Stemmata Dudleiana, Slomber, Nine English Comedies, and Thamesis. Of 
these works. The Dying Pelican, Stemmata Dudleiana, and the Nine English 
Comedies, have perished ; if published, no trace of them can now be found. The 
others were probably changed and introduced into The Faerie Queene, which 
masterpiece was also begun at this time. Spenser was evidently doubtful of his 
prowess in this new and bold venture, for he sent some of the Ms. to Harvey for 
criticism. On April 10, 1580, he writes the latter, asking him to return it with 
his " long-expected judgment " upon it. Harvey replies : " In good faith I had 
once againe nigh forgotten your Faerie Queene : howbeit, by good chaunce, I have 
nowe sent hir home at the laste. ... To be plaine, I am voyde of al judgement, 
if your Nine Comedies, whereunto, in imitation of Herodotus, you give the 
names of the Nine Muses, and (in one man's fansie not unworthily), come not 
neerer Ariostoes Comedies, eyther for the finenesse of plausible elocution, or the 
rareness of poetical invention, then that Elvish queene doth to his Orlando 
Furioso. ... If so be the Faerye Queen be fairer in your eie than the Nine 
Muses, and Hobgoblin runne away with the garland from Apollo : marke what 
I saye, and yet I will not say that I thought, but there an end for this once, and 
fare you well, till God or some good Aungell putte you in a better minde." 

But it was not to be expected that Harvey should appreciate T7ie Faerie 
Queene, for it represented a different school from that which he had been 



LIFE OF EDMUND SPENSER. xxiii 

vigorously advocating. He had urged Spenser to cling to hexameter verse, 
in imitation of Greek and Latin models ; and Spenser did make an attempt at 
this sort of writing, but fortunately gave it up, choosing instead to wander un- 
trammelled in the realms of fancy where he found the true expression of his 
genius. 

Harvey and Spenser stood in interesting contrast with each other and with 
Shakespeare at this parting of the ways in English letters. Harvey represented 
the narrow scholasticism which adhered slavishly to accepted cults of other 
tongues ; Spenser broke away from the old schools of style, but wrote in the 
spirit of the past, and of a chivalry which had nearly vanished ; while Shake- 
speare looked always forward in both thought and expression, thus opening wide 
the gates leading from mediaeval to modern letters. The contrast is all the better 
seen if one but stops to compare Sidney's Apologie for Poetrie, of 1581, and 
Puttenham's Treaties, of 1589, with the magnificent output of ten years later, 
when Marlowe, Shakespeare, and their brilliant group of dramatists had 
launched their work. England was no longer the backward literary nation, for 
whom Apologies and Defences were needed, but the prince and leader of them all. 

A decade was to pass, however, before the beginning of Spenser's greatest 
effort should be seen by the world. Meantime his worldly affairs took an im- 
portant turn. For two or three years the poet had been under Leicester's 
patronage, and constantly hoping for some substantial preferment. In October, 
1579, he was daily in expectation of being sent to France ; but it seems that 
he did not go. In disappointment he cast about for a new patron, and 
found him in the person of Arthur, Lord Grey of Wilton, who went to Ireland 
as its Lord Deputy on August 12, 1580. Spenser obtained a post as secretary 
with Lord Grey, and went with him to Ireland, where he was to make his home 
for the concluding eighteen years of his life. 

The new Lord Deputy found the country turbulent and riotous, and employed 
vigorous measures to restore order. He got the reputation for being pitiless, 
and the Home Government soon grew hostile to his rule. He was recalled in 
1582. Spenser, however, upheld his methods and seemed to think that he 
pursued the right course. But Spenser was never friendly to the Irish, 
He mentioned Grey with respect in his Vieio of the Present State of Ire- 
land, published several years later ; and he praised him in Faerie Queene, as 
Artegall, Knight of Justice, met on his return home by the hags Envy and 
Detraction. 

And Grey, on his part, was friendly to his secretary. Spenser's name is on 
Grey's list of sharers in confiscated lands during the rebellion at Dublin. On 
March 22, 1581, he was appointed Clerk of Decrees and Recognizances, a posi- 
tion said to have been lucrative. In the same year he leased the abbey aiid 
manor of Enniscorthy, Wexford County, but held this only until the end of the 
year, when he transferred it to a Richard Synot. Later he received a grant of 
three thousand acres, the manor and castle of Kilcolman, a forfeited estate of tbe 
Earl of Desmond, under the Galtee Hills. This became the poet's home after 
1586, and it is believed that his sister Sarah kept house for him until he met the 
Elizabeth of later years. The castle was in a tumble-down condition, but beau- 



XXIV LIFE OF EDMUND SPENSER. 

tifully situated. In 1774 Charles Smith described it in his History of the 
County and City of Cork as follows : — 

'*Two miles north-west of Doneraile is Kilcoleman, a ruined castle of the 
Earls of Desmond, but more celebrated for being the residence of the immortal 
Spenser, when he composed his divine poem, The Faerie Queene. The castle 
is now almost level with the ground, and was situated on the north side of a fine 
lake, in the midst of a vast plain, terminated to the east by the county of Water- 
ford mountains ; Bally-howra hills to the north, or, as Spenser terms them, the 
mountains of Mole, Nagle mountains to the south, and the mountains of Kerry 
to the west. It commanded a view of above half the breadth of Ireland ; and 
must have been, when the adjacent uplands were wooded, a most pleasant and 
romantic situation ; from whence, no doubt, Spenser drew several parts of the 
scenery of his poem." 

The poet's official positions and grants thus afforded him sufficient means and 
opportunity to continue work on his great poem. In 1588, after having held his 
appointment as Clerk of Decrees for seven years, he received the office of Clerk 
to the Council of Munster. In 1589 he pleasantly renewed his acquaintance with 
Sir Walter Raleigh, whom he had probably met formerly in London. Raleigh 
visited him at Kilcolman, and was shown the first three books of The Faerie 
Queene. He was delighted. As the poet said in Colin Clout,, 

" He gan to cast great lyking to my lore, 
And great dislyking to my lucklesse lot, 
That banisht had my selfe, like wight forlore, 
Into that waste, where I was quite forgot." 

It will also be seen from this quotation how discontented Spenser had been 
with life in Ireland. He did not want to be " quite forgot " either at court or in 
letters. It therefore needed no great urging on the part of Raleigh to get him 
turned London ward. Raleigh insisted that he present what he had already done 
to the queen, and get a publisher for it ; afterwards he could bring out further 
books, while reaping the benefits of the first three. 

In October, 1589, Spenser accordingly proceeded to London, where Raleigh 
presented him to the queen. He found both a royal welcome and a publisher. 
The latter was William Ponsonby, who brought the poem out in quarto form in 
1590. The title-page bore : " The Faerie Queene. Disposed into Twelue Bookes, 
Fashioning XII Morall Vertues." But, as above stated, only three of the 
twelve books were printed — those devoted to " Holiness," " Temperaunce," and 
"Cnastity." The dedication was a sonorous compliment to Queen Elizabeth. 
This was followed by a prefatory letter to Raleigh ; then by six poems of com- 
mendation, two being by Raleigh and one by Harvey, who at last saw some 
good in the work ; finally, by seventeen sonnets by the author, addressed to 
various lords and ladies, one of the former being Lord Grey. 

The Faerie Queene met with immediate and widespread favor, especially 
among the cultured class, for whom it was primarily intended. The reason is 
not far to seek. Aside from the high merit of the poem, it was, barring The 
Shepheardes Calender, the first sustained effort in poetry for two centuries. 



LIFE OF EDMUND SPENSER. xxv 

Spenser was hailed on all sides as the great poet of the time. Shakespeare is 
thought to praise him in The Passionate Pilgrim. Thomas Nash — fierce 
pamphleteer though he was — called him the "heavenly Spenser," and extolled 
the "Faerie singer's stately tuned verse." Naturally, also, many attacked 
him for his archaisms and inventions, but praise greatly preponderated. The 
queen granted him an annual pension of fifty pounds, and, according to some 
authorities, the poet-laureateship ; but this last fact is disputed. A second 
edition of the poem was published in 1596, and the second three books in 1595. 

The great popularity of the first edition of The Faene Queene led the pub- 
lisher to collect a volimie of Spenser's fugitive shorter poems, entitled Com- 
playnts which Ponsonby published, with a brief word of explanation, in 1590. 
The book contained The Buines of Time, The Teares of the Muses, and seven 
other poems, probably revised efforts of youth, among them Bellayes Visions 
and Petrarches Visions, which last two, it will be remembered, were published in 
different form in the poet's college days. The Buines of Time bore a dedica- 
tion to the Coimtess of Pembroke, and showed that the poem was, in fact, an 
elegy on the death of Sir Philip Sidney, which occurred in 1586. It also lamented 
the deaths of Leicester, Warwick, and Walsick, and incidentally brought in stric- 
tures on Lord Burghley, a court enemy of Spenser's. The poet later memorial- 
ized his friend Sidney in a short poem, Astrophel, which headed a collection of 
elegies by other hands. 

Although Spenser enjoyed his success and the society of his old friends in 
London, he was disgruntled at his lack of substantial recognition. His pension 
was meagre — having been cut down from a better figure which the queen had at 
first decided upon. And he failed in his efforts to secure more congenial employ- 
ment, either at home or in Ireland. Accordingly, he returned to Kilcolman in 
1591. His first poem written after he went back was Colin Clouts Come Home 
Againe, with dedication dated December 27, 1591. It is a vivid description, 
under fictitious names, of the various litterateurs whose sympathy he had won. 
Allusion may have been made to Shakespeare under the name of Action. The 
poem was not published till 1595, when it was addressed to his valuable friend 
Kaleigh. 

Colin Clout has a personal interest, in that it chronicled the poet's last 
sigh for his early love, Rosalynd. Comfort was near at hand. In less than 
a twelvemonth the lonely bachelor fell in love with a lady by the name of Eliza- 
beth. She was well born, possibly being the daughter of Richard Boyle, first 
Earl of Cork. But it was only after several more months of weary waiting and 
heart-sore complainings — which bore good fruit in a series of eighty -eight sonnets 
— that the lady consented to bless his life. On June 11, 1594, they were married, 
and the happy event was celebrated by the poet in his Epithalamion, one of the 
loftiest lyrics in literature on this theme. 

Meantime, during his courtship, troubles of a more prosaic nature cropped 
up to harass the poet. He became involved in a lawsuit over some lands with 
Lord Roche, a neighbor of his, and the judgment went against Spenser. 

In 1594 he sent his Epithalamion and Amoretti to a publisher, and also 
completed three more books of The Faerie Queene — those on "Friendship," 



XXVI LIFE OF EDMUND SPENSER. 

"Justice," and " Courtesie," which were entered by Ponsonby in 1595. Spenser 
may have made this the occasion for another visit to London. He was on terms 
of intimacy with the Earl of Essex, then the favorite at court, and it is probable 
that he would seize every opportunity to mingle with the gentlemen and brilliant 
literary workers of the day. 

The second section of The Faerie Queene was even more highly considered than 
the first. Spenser's position as chief among poets of the day was unquestioned. 
He was read and quoted on all sides. The first three books went into another 
printing to supply the demand. England was, in fact, just beginning to realize 
the richness of her literary era. Marlowe, Shakespeare, and Jonson had pre- 
sented a group of great plays, and Bacon's Ussays and Hooker's Ecclesiastical 
Polity were soon to appear. 

A single incident will show the prominence of The Faerie Queene. In 
Book IV. — " Friendship," — the poet dealt unsympathetically with the fate of 
Mary Queen of Scots, whom he portrayed under the name of Duessa. James VI. 
of Scotland made this the text of an official complaint to the English ambassador 
at Edinburgh, as he felt it to be dishonoring to his mother. Bowes, the ambas- 
sador, repeated the king's complaint to Burghley, who was never friendly to 
Spenser, and urged that he be punished. But Essex and other friends of Spenser 
were powerful enough to protect him. 

On November 8, 1596, the two daughters of the Earl of Worcester were mar- 
ried. In honor of this double event Spenser composed his last poem, Prothala- 
mion, a companion piece, to some extent, of his Epithalamion^ and a poem of 
rare beauty and melody. 

About this time also Spenser wrote A View of the Present State of Ire- 
land, which circulated to some extent in manuscript form, but was not pub- 
lished until 1633, a long while after his death. This work was in prose, and 
endeavored to exhibit, dialogue- wise, the unhappy and troubled condition of the 
country. It was unfriendly, severe, and uncharitable to the Irish, between whom 
and himself there was never any love lost. Their dislike of him was perhaps 
only directed to Englishmen in general who held forfeited Irish estates, but it 
was soon to wreak a heavy vengeance. Though Spenser was one 

" Whom sullein care 
Through discontent of my long fruitlesse stay 
In princes court and expectation vayne 
Of idle hopes which still doe fly away 
Like empty shadows, did afflict," 

he still had his quiet estate with its beautiful surroundings. He could not, there- 
fore, be accounted poverty-stricken, though he was undoubtedly a disappointed 
man. Now, however, he was to lose his home. 

He returned to Kilcolman in 1597, and the year following was appointed 
sheriff of Cork. This was just before a great Irish insurrection — long smoulder- 
ing — burst forth. Eight thousand clansmen under the leadership of the Earl of 
Desmond suddenly arose and overran the county of Cork. A panic seized the 
English officials, and all that could fled. We may be sure that Desmond did not 



LIFE OF EDMUND SPENSER. xxvii 

forget his forfeited estate or its liolder. Spenser was surprised, but made a 
hurried flight from his home to Cork, taking with him his wife and four children. 
The home was burned to the ground, and Ben Jonson states that one of 
Spenser's children, evidently a fifth, perished in the flames, — a statement dis- 
puted by later authorities. Once at Cork, Spenser wrote the queen concerning 
the insurrection, urging her to show " these vile caitiffs " the terror of her wrath. 

Sir Thomas Norreys (or Norris), President of Munster, drew up an official 
report of the rebellion, w^hich was intrusted to Spenser to deliver. On Decem- 
ber 9, 1598, the poet accordingly returned to London for the last time. He came 
broken down in health and completely unstrung by all the privations he had 
undergone. He took to his bed in an inn on King Street, Westminster, where 
he passed away January 16, 1599. Ben Jonson's story that he died of starvation 
and that Essex sent him money which was refused is now generally dismissed as 
not plausible. The two facts alone that he was a court ambassador and had a 
pension would refute it. But his whole life had been a struggle. Fletcher said, 
"Poorly, poor man, he lived ; poorly, poor man, he died." 

He w^as buried in Westminster Abbey by friends headed by Essex. His 
grave is at the south transept near Chaucer, the Tityrus whom he had delighted 
to honor. The queen ordered a monument to be erected over him, but again 
one of her agents unfriendly to Spenser intercepted her wishes. In 1620 Anne 
Clifford. Countess of Dorset, paid forty pounds for a monument. It bore the 
following inscription: " Heare Lyes (Expecting the Second Comminge of our 
Saviour Jesus) the body of Edmund Spenser, the Prince of Poets in his Tyme, 
whose divine Spirit needs noe othir Witnesse then the Works which he left 
behinde him. He was borne in London in the yeare 1550 [1552] and died in 
the year 1596 [1599]." 

A rumor was current, several years after the poet's death, that the remaining 
six of the contemplated twelve books of The Faerie Queene were burnt or 
lost during the poet's hurried flight from Kilcolman. But it is unlikely that 
they were more than begun. Two cantos of one book showed that they were in 
contemplation only ; and these cantos were included with a reprinting of the 
first six books in 1611. 

Spenser's widow married again in 1603, her second husband being Roger 
Seckerstone. Till a recent day the family of the Spensers could be found in Ire- 
land. The poet was spoken of by Aubrey as being a little man, who wore short 
hair, little bands, and little cuffs. When a young man, Harvey bantered him 
on the fullness of his beard. F'our reputed portraits of him exist. 

His greatest claim to literary homage lies in his influence over succeed- 
ing writers. Coleridge, Southey, Scott, Wordsworth, Burns, Campbell, Keats, 
and Shelley are among the poets representing diverging schools who yet gave 
allegiance to him, "No other of our poets," wrote Lowell, "has given an 
impulse, and in the right direction also, to so many and so diverse minds. " It 
was because of this noble trait of suggestion that Lamb bestowed upon him the 
title by which he is now generally known, of ' the poets' poet.' " 

J. Walker McSpadden. 



TO 

THE MOST HIGH, MIGHTIE, AND MAGNIFICENT 

EMPRESSE, 

KENOWMED FOR PIETIE, VERTVE, AND ALL GRATIOVS GOVERNMENT, 

ELIZABETH, 

BY THE GRACE OF GOD, 

©ijmte of (!Hnglaitti, JFrabncc, anti Evclanti, aitH of Virginia, 
©cfentiobr of tfjc JFaitJ), ^c. 

HER MOST HVMBLE SERVAVNT 

EDMVND SPENSER, 

DOTH, IN ALL HVMILITIE, 

DEDICATE, PRESENT, AND CONSECRATE 
THESE HIS LABOVRS, 

TO LIVE WITH THE ETERNITIE OF HER FAME.^ 



^ In the first edition of 1590 the Dedication n^as as follows : — 

To the most Mig-htie and Majj:nificent Empresse Elizabeth, by the Grace of God 
Qveene of England, France and Ireland Defender of the Faith &c. 

Her most humble Seruant : 

Ed. Spenser. 



A LETTER OF THE AUTHORS, 

EXPOUNDING HIS WHOLE INTENTION IN THE COURSE OF THIS WORKE : WHICH, 

FOR THAT IT GIVETH GREAT LIGHT TO THE READER, FOR THE 

BETTER UNDERSTANDING IS HEREUNTO ANNEXED. 

C0 t{)e 2lXiigf)t 'Mahlt anti Ualoroug 
SIR WALTER RALEIGH, Knight, 

LORD WARDEIN OF THE STANNERYES, AND HER MAIESTIES LIEFETENAUNT 
OF THE COUNTY OF CORNEWAYLL. 

Sir, knowing how doubtfully all Allegories may be construed, and this 
booke of mine, which I have entituled the Faery Queene, being a continued 
Allegory, or darke conceit, I haue thought good, as well for avoyding of 
gealous opinions and misconstructions, as also for your better light in read- 
ing thereof, (being so by you commanded,) to discover unto you the general 
intention and meaning, which in the whole course thereof I have fashioned, 
without expressing of any particular purposes, or by accidents, therein occa- 
sioned. The generall end therefore of all the booke is to fashion a gentleman 
or noble person in vertuous and gentle discipline : Which for that I conceived 
shoulde be most plausible and pleasing, being coloured with an historicall 
fiction, the which the most part of men delight to read, rather for variety of 
matter then for profite of the ensample, I chose the historye of King Arthure, 
as most fitte for the excellency of his person, being made famous by many 
mens former workes, and also furthest from the daunger of envy, and sus- 
pition of present time. In which I have followed all the antique Poets 
historicall ; first Homere, who in the Persons of Agamemnon and Ulysses 
hath ensampled a good governour and a vertuous man, the one in his Ilias, 
the other in his Odysseis : then Virgil, whose like intention was to doe in 
the person of Aeneas: after him Ariosto comprised them both in his 
Orlando : and lately Tasso dissevered them againe, and formed both parts 
in two persons, namely that part which they in Philosophy call Ethice, or 
vertues of a private man, coloured in his Rinaldo ; the other named Poli- 
tice in his Godfredo. By ensample of which excellente Poets, I labour to 

3 



A LETTER OF THE AUTHORS. 



poiirtraict in Arthure, before he was king, the image of a brave knight, 
perfected in the twelve private morall vertues, as Aristotle hath devised ; 
the which is tlie purpose of these first tw^elve bookes : which if I finde to 
be well accepted, I may be perhaps encoraged to frame the other part of 
polliticke vertues in his person, after that hee came to be king. 

To some, I know, this Methode will seeme displeasaunt, which had rather 
have good discipline delivered plainly in way of precepts, or sermoned at 
large, as they use, then thus clowdily enwrapped in AUegoricall devises. 
But such, me seeme, should be satisfide with the use of these dayes, seeing 
all things accounted by their showes, and nothing esteemed of, that is not 
delightfull and pleasing to commune sence. For this cause is Xenophon 
preferred before Plato, for that the one, in the exquisite depth of his judge- 
ment, formed a Commune welth, such as it should be ; but the other in the 
person of Cyrus, and the Persians, fashioned a governement, such as might 
best be : So much more profitable and gratious is doctrine by ensample, 
then by rule. So haue I laboured to doe in the person of Arthure : whome 
I conceive, after his long education by Timon, to whom he was by Merlin 
delivered to be brought up, so soone as he was borne of the Lady Igrayne, 
to have seene in a dream or vision the Faery Queen, with whose excellent 
beauty ravished, he awaking resolved to seeke her out; and so being by 
Merlin armed, and by Timon thoroughly instructed, he went to seeke her 
forth in Faerye land. In that Faery Queene I meane glory in my generall 
intention, but in my particular I conceive the most excellent and glorious 
person of our soveraine the Queene, and her kingdome in Faery land. And 
yet, in some places els, I doe otherwise shadow her. For considering she 
beareth two persons, the one of a most royall Queene or Empresse, the 
other of a most vertuous and beautifull Lady, this latter part in some 
places I doe expresse in Belphoebe, fashioning her name according to your 
owne excellent conceipt of Cynthia, (Phoebe and Cynthia being both names 
of Diana.) So in the person of Prince Arthure I sette forth magnificence 
in particular ; which vertue, for that (according to Aristotle and the rest) 
it is the perfection of all the rest, and conteineth in it them all, therefore 
in the whole course I mention the deedes of Arthure applyable to that 
vertue, which I write of in that booke. But of the xii. other vertues, I 
make xii. other knights the patrones, for the more variety of the history : 
Of which these three bookes contayn three. 

The first of the knight of the Redcrosse, in whome I expresse Holynes : 
The seconde of Sir Guyon, in whome I sette forth Temperaunce; The third 
of Britomartis, a Lady Knight, in whome I picture Chastity. But, because 
the beginning of the whole worke seemeth abrupte, and as depending upon 
other antecedents, it needs that ye know the occasion of these three knights 
seuerall adventures. For the Methode of a Poet historical is not such, as 



A LETTER OF THE AUTHORS. 5 

of an Historiographer. For an Historiographer discourseth of affayres 
orderly as they were donne, accounting as well the times as the actions; but 
a Poet thrusteth into the middest, even where it most concerneth him, and 
there recoursing- to the thinges forepaste, and divining of thinges to come, 
maketh a pleasing Analysis of all. 

The beginning therefore of my history, if it were to be told by an Histo- 
riographer should be the twelftli booke, which is the last; where I devise 
that the Faery Queene kept her Annuall feaste xii. dayes; uppou which 
xii. severall dayes, the occasions of the xii. severall adventures liapned, 
which, being undertaken by xii. severall knights, are in these xii. books 
severally handled and discoursed. The first was this. In the beginning of 
the feast, there presented him selfe a tall clownishe younge man, who falling 
before the Queene of Faries desired a boone (as the manner then was) 
which during that feast she might not refuse ; which was that hee might 
have the atchievement of any adventure, which during that feaste should 
happen : that being graunted, he rested him on the floore, unfitte through 
his rusticity for a better place. Soone after entred a faire Ladye in mourn- 
ing weedes, riding on a white Asse, with a dwarfe behind her leading a 
warlike steed, that bore the Amies of a knight, and his speare in the 
dwarfes hand. Shee, falling before the Queene of Faeries, complayned that 
her father and mother, an ancient King and Queene, had bene by an huge 
dragon many years shut up in a brasen Castle, who thence suffred them not 
to yssew; and therefore besought the Faery Queene to assygne her some 
one of her knights to take on him that exployt. Presently that clownish 
person, upstarting, desired that adventure : whereat the Queene much won- 
dering, and the Lady much gainesaying, yet he earnestly importuned his 
desire. In the end the Lady told him, that unlesse that armour which she 
brought, would serve him (that is, the armour of a Christian man specified 
by Saint Paul, vi. Ephes.) that he could not succeed in that enterprise; 
which being forthwith put upon him with dewe furnitures thereunto, he 
seemed the goodliest man in al that company, and was well liked of the 
Lady. And eftesoones taking on him knighthood, and mounting on that 
straunge Courser, he went forth with her on that adventure : where be- 
ginneth the first booke, viz. 

A gentle knight was pricking on the playne. &c. 

The second day ther came in a Palmer, bearing an Infant with bloody 
hands, whose Parents he complained to have bene slayn by an Enchaunter- 
esse called Acrasia ; and therfore craved of the Faery Queene, to appoint 
him some knight to performe that adventure ; which being assigned to Sir 
Guyon, he presently went forth with that same Palmer : which is the 
beginning of the second booke, and the whole subject thereof. The third 



A LETTER OF THE AUTHORS. 



day there came in a Groome, who complained before the Faery Queene, 
that a vile Enchaunter, called Busirane, had in hand a most faire Lady, 
called Amoretta, whom he kept in most grievous torment, because she 
would not yield him the pleasure of her body. Whereupon Sir Scudamour, 
the lover of that Lady, presently tooke on him that adventure. But being 
vnable to performe it by reason of the hard Enchauntments, after long 
sorrow, in the end met with Britomartis, who succoured him, and reskewed 
his lone. 

But by occasion hereof many other adventures are intermedled ; but 
rather as Accidents then intendments : As the love of Britomart, the over- 
throw of Marinell, the misery of Florimell, the vertuousnes of Belphoebe, 
the lasciviousnes of Hellenora, and many the like. 

Thus much, Sir, I have briefly overronne to direct your understanding to 
the welhead of the History ; that from thence gathering the whole intention 
of the conceit, ye may as in a handfull gripe al the discourse, which other- 
wise may happily seeme tedious and confused. So, humbly craving the 
continuance of your honorable favour towards me, and th' eternall estab- 
lishment of your happines, I humbly take leave. 

23. lanuary 1589, 

Yours most humbly affectionate, 

Ed. Spenser. 



VERSES ADDRESSED TO THE AUTHOR. 



A Vision upon this coneeipt of the Faery 
Qiieene. 

Me thought I saw the grave where Laura 

lay, 
Within that Temple where the vestall 

flame 
Was wont to burne ; and passing by that 

way 
To sec that buried dust of living fame, 
Whose tunibe faire love, and fairer vertue 

kept, 
All suddeinly I saw the Faery Queene : 
At whose approch the soule of Petrarke 

wept. 
And from thenceforth those graces were 

not scene ; 
For they this Queene attended, in whose 

steed 
Oblivion laid him downe on Lauras herse. 
Hereat the hardest stones were seene to 

bleed, 
And grones of buried ghostes the heveus 

did perse : 
Where Homers spright did tremble all 

for griefe. 
And curst th' accesse of that celestiall 

thiefe. 

Another of the same. 

The prayse of meaner wits this worke like 

profit brings. 
As doth the Cuckoes song delight when 

Philumena sings. 
If thou hast formed right true vertues 

face herein, 
Vertue her selfe can best discerne to whom 

they written bin. 
If thou hast beauty praysd, let her sole 

lookes divine 
Judge if ought therein be amis, and mend 

it by her eine. 
If Chastitie want ought, or Temperaunce 

her dew, 
Behold her Princely mind aright, and 

write thy Queene anew. 



Meane while she shall perceive, how far 

her vertues sore 
Above the reach of all that live, or such 

as wrote of yore : 
And thereby will excuse and favour thy 

good will ; 
Whose vertue can not be exprest, but by 
an Angels quill. 
Of me no tines are lov'd, nor letters are 

of price. 
Of all which speak our English tongue, 
but those of thy device. 

^Y. R. 



To the learned Shepeheard. 

Collyn, I see, by thy new taken taske, 
Some sacred fury hath enricht thy 

braynes, 
That leades thy muse in haughty verse to 

niaske, 
And loath the layes that longs to lowly 

swaynes ; 
That lifts thy notes from Shepheardes 

unto kinges : 
So like the lively Larke that mounting 

singes. 

Thy lovely Rosolinde seemes now forlorne, 
And all thy gentle flockes forgotten 

q night : 
Thy chaunged hart now holdes thy pypes 

in scorne. 
Those prety pypes that did thy mates 

delight ; 
Tliose trusty mates, that loved thee so 

well ; 
Whom thou gav'st mirth, as they gave 

thee the bell. 

Yet, as thou earst with thy sweete rounde- 

layes 
Didst "stirve to glee our laddes in homely 

bowers ; 
So moughtst thou now in these refyned 

layes 



8 



VERSES ADDRESSED TO THE AUTHOR. 



Delight the daintie eares of higher 

powers : 
And so mought they, in their deepe skan- 

ning skill, 
Alow and grace our Collyns flowing quyll. 

And faire befall that Faery Queene of 

thine. 
In whose faire eyes love linckt with ver- 

tue sittes : 
Enfusing, by those bewties fyers devyne, 
Such high conceites into thy humble 

wittes, 
As raised hath poore pastors oaten reedes 
From rustick tunes, to chaunt heroique 

deedes. 

So mought thy Redcrosse knight with 

happy hand 
Victorious be in that faire Hands right, 
Which thou dost vayle in Type of Faery 

land, 
Elizas blessed field, that Albion hight: 
That shieldes her friendes, and warres her 

mightie foes. 
Yet still with people, peace, and plentie 

flowes. 

But (jolly shepheard) though with pleas- 
ing style 
Thou feast the humour of the Courtly 
trayne. 

Let not conceipt thy setled sence be- 
guile, 
Ne daunted be through envy or disdaine. 

Subject thy dome to her Empyring spright, 

From whence thy Muse, and all the world, 
takes light. 

HOBYNOLL. 



Fayre Thamis streame, that from Ludds 
stately towne 

Runst paying tribute to the Ocean seas. 

Let all thy Nymphes and Syrens of re- 
nown e 

Be silent, whyle this Bryttane Orpheus 
playes. 

Nere thy sweet bankes there lives that 
sacred crowne, 

Whose hand strowes Palme and never- 
dying bayes : 

Let all at once, with thy soft murmuring 
sowne. 

Present her with this worthy Poets prayes ; 

For he hath taught hye drifts in shepe- 
herdes weedes, 

And deepe conceites now singes in Faeries 
deedes. 

R. S. 



Grave Muses, march in triumph and with 

prayses ; 
Our Goddesse here hath given you leave 

to land ; 
And biddes this rare dispenser of your 

graces 
Bow downe his brow unto her sacred hand. 
Deserte findes dew in that most princely 

doome, 
In whose sweete brest are all the Muses 

bredde : 
So did that great Augustus erst in Roome 
With leaves of fame adorne his Poets 

hedde. 
Faire be the guerdon of your Faery 

Queene, 
Even of the fairest that the world hath 

seene ! 

H. B. 



When stout Achilles heard of Helens rape. 
And what revenge the States of Greece 

devisd, 
Thinking by sleight the fatall warres to 

scape. 
In womans weedes him selfe he then dis- 

guisde ; 
But this devise Ulysses soone did spy. 
And brought him forth the chaunce of 

warre to try. 

When Spencer saw the fame was spredd 

so large. 
Through Faery land, of their renowned 

Queene, 
Loth that his Muse should take so great a 

charge, 
As in such haughty matter to be seene, 
To seeme a shepeheard then he made his 

choice ; 
But Sydney heard him sing, and knew 

his voice. 

And as Ulysses brought faire Thetis sonne 
From his retyred life to menage armes, 
So Spencer was by Sidney's speaches 

wonne 
To blaze her fame, not fearing future 

harmes ; 
For well he knew, his Muse would soone 

be tyred 
In her high praise, that all the world 

admired. 

Yet as Achilles, in those warlike frayes, 
Did win the palme from all the Grecian 

Peeres, 
So Spenser now, to his immortall prayse. 
Hath wonne the Laurell quite from all 

his feres. 



VERSES ADDRESSED TO THE AUTHOR. 



What though his taske exceed a humaine 

witt, 
He is excus'd, sith Sidney thought it fitt. 

W. L. 



To looke upon a worke of rare devise 
The which a workman setteth out to view, 
And not to yield it the deserved prise 
That unto such a workmanship is dew, 
Doth either prove the judgement to be 

naught, 
Or els doth shew a mind with envy 
fraught. 

To labour to commend a peece of worke, 
Which no man goes about to discommend. 
Would raise a jealous doubt, that there 

did lurke 
Some secret doubt whereto the prayse 

did tend ; 
For when men know the goodnes of 

the wyne, 



*Tis needlesse for the hoast to have a 
sygne. 

Thus then, to shew my judgement to be 

such 
As can discerne of colours blacke and 

white, 
As alls to free my minde from envies tuch, 
That never gives to any man his right, 
I here pronounce this workmanship is 

such 
As that no pen can set it forth too much. 

And thus I hang a garland at the dore ; 
Not for to shew the goodness of the ware ; 
But such hath beene the custome hereto- 
fore. 
And customes very hardly broken are ; 
And when your tast shall tell you this 

is trew, 
Then looke you give your hoast his 
utmost dew. 

Ignotct. 



VERSES 

ADDRESSED, BY THE AUTHOR OF THE FAERIE QUEEXE, TO VARIOUS NOBLEMEN, &C. 



To the Right honourahle Sir Christopher 
Hatton, Lord high Chauncelor of Eng- 
land, &c. 

Those prudent heads, that with theire 
counsels wise 
Whylom the pillours of th' earth did 

sustaine, 
And taught ambitious Rome to tyran- 
nise 
And in the neck of all the world to rayne ; 
Oft from those grave affaires were wont 
abstaine, 
With the sweet Lady Muses for to play : 
So Ennius the elder Africane, 
So Maro oft did Caesars cares allay. 
So you, great Lord, that with your coun- 
sel 1 sway 
The burdeiue of this kingdom mightily, 
With like delightes sometimes may eke 

delay 
The rugged brow of carefull Policy ; 
And to tliese ydle rymes lend litle space, 
Which for their titfes sake may find more 
grace. 

To the most honourahle and excellent Lord 
the Earle of Essex. Great Maister of the 
Horse to her Highnesse, and knight of 
the Noble order of the Garter, &c. 

Magnificke Lord, whose vertues excellent, 
Doe merit a most famous Poets witt 
To he thy living praises instrument, 
Yet doe not sdeigne to let thy name be 
writt 

In this base Poeme, for thee far unfitt: 
Nought is thy worth disparaged thereby ; 
But when my Muse, whose fethers, noth- 
ing flitt, 
Doe yet but fla^g, and lowly learne to 

fly. 

With bolder wing shall dai-e alofte to sty 
To the last praises of this Faery Queene ; 



Then shall it make more famous memory 
Of thine Heroicke parts, such as they 
beene : 
Till then, vouchsafe thy noble counte- 

naunce 
To these first labours needed f urtheraunce. 



To the Right Honourable the Earle of 
Oxenford, Lord high Chamber lay tie of 
England, &c. 

Receive, most Noble Lord, in gentle gree, 
The unripe fruit of an unready wit ; 
W^hich by thy countenaunce doth crave 

to bee 
Defended from foule Envies poisnous 
bit. 
Which so to doe may thee right well befit, 
Sith th' antique glory of thine auncestry 
Under a shady vele is therein writ. 
And eke thine owne long living memory. 
Succeeding them in true nobility: 
And also for the love which thou doest 

beare 
To th' Heliconian ymps, and they to 

thee ; 
They unto thee, and thou to them, most 
deare : 
Deare as thou art unto thy selfe, so love 
That loves and honours thee, as doth 
behove. 



To the right honourahle the Earle of 
Northumberland. 

The sacred Muses have made alwaies 
clame 
To be the Nourses of nobility, 
And Registres of everlasting fame. 
To all tiiat amies professe and chevalry. 
Then, by like right the noble Progeny, 
Which them succeed in fame and worth, 
are tyde 



TO SEVERAL NOBLEMEN, ETC. 



II 



T' embrace the service of sweete Poetry, 
By whose eudevours they are glorifide ; 
And eke from all, of whom it is euvide, 
To patronize the authour of their praise, 
Which gives them life, that els would 

sooue have dide, 
Arid crownes their ashes with immortall 
bales. 
To thee, therefore, right noble Lord, I send 
This present of my paines, it to defend. 



To the right Honourable the Earle of 
Ormond and Ossoj-y. 

Receive, most noble Lord, a simple taste 
Of the wilde fruit which salvage soyl 

hath bred ; 
Which, being through long wars left 

almost waste. 
With brutish barbarisme is overspredd : 
And, in so faire a land as may be redd. 
Not one Parnassus, nor one Helicone, 
Left for sweete Muses to be harboured, 
But where thy selfe hast thy brave man- 
sione : 
There, in deede, dwel faire Graces many 
one, 
And gentle Nymphes, delights of learned 

wits; 
And in thy person, without paragone. 
All goodly bountie and true honour sits. 
Such, therefore, as that wasted soyl doth 

yield. 
Receive, dear Lord, in worth, the fruit of 
barren field. 



To the right honourable the Lord Ch. 
Hoioard, Lo?^d high Admiral of Eng- 
land, knight of the noble order of the 
Garter, and one of her Majesties privie 
Counsel, &c. 

And ye, brave Lord, whose goodly per- 
sonage 
And noble deeds, each other garnishing. 
Make you ensample to the present age 
Of th' old Heroes, whose famous "of- 
spring 
The antique Poets wont so ranch to sing; 
In this same Pageaunt have a vrorthy 

place, 
Sith those huge castles of Castilian King, 
That vainly threatned kiugdomes ito 
displace, 
Like flying doves ye did before you chace ; 
And that pi-oud people, woxen insolent 
Through many victories, didst first 
deface : 



Thy praises everlasting monument 
Is in this verse engraven semblably, 
That it may live to all posterity. 

To the most renowmed and valiant Lord, 
the Lord Grey of Wilton, knight of the 
Noble order of the Garter, &c. 

Most Noble Lord, the pillor of my life, 
And Patrone of my Muses pupillage ; 
Through whose large bountie, poured 

on me rife 
In the first season of my feeble age, 
I now doe live, bound yours by vassalage ; 
Sith nothing ever may redeeme, nor 

reave 
Out of your endlesse debt, so sure a 

gage, 
Vouchsafe in worth this small guif t to 
receave, 
"Which in your noble hands for pledge I 
leave 
Of all the rest that I am tyde t' account : 
Rude rymes, the which a rustick Muse 

did weave 
In savadge soyle, far from Paruasso 
Mount, 
And roughly wrought in an unlearned 

Loome : 
The which vouchsafe, dear Lord, your 
favorable doome. 

To the right noble and valorous knight, 
Sir Walter Ealeigh, Lord Wardein of the 
Stanneryes, and Lieftenaunt of Corne- 
waile. 

To thee, that art the sommers Nightin- 
gale, 
Thy soveraiue Goddesses most deare 

delight, 
Why doe I send this rusticke IMadrigale, 
That may thy tunefull eare unseason 
quite ? 
Thou onety fit this Argument to write. 
In whose high thoughts Pleasure hath 

built her bowre, 
And dainty love learnd sweetly to 

endite. 
My rimes I know unsavory and sowre, 
To tast the streames that, like a golden 
showre, 
Flow from thy fruitfull head, of thy 

love's praise; 
Fitter, perhaps, to thonder Martiall 
stowre. 
When so thee list thy lofty IMuse to raise : 
Yet, till that thou thy Poeme wilt make 

knowne, 
Let thy faire Cinthias praises be thus 
rudely showne. 



12 



VERSES ADDRESSED BY THE AUTHOR. 



To the right honourable the Lord Bur- 
leigh, Lord high Threasurer of Eng- 
land. 

To you, right noble Lord, whose carefull 
brest 
To menage of most grave affaires is 
bent; 
And on whose mightie shoulders most 
doth rest 
The burdein of this kingdomes goveme- 
raent, 
As the wide compasse of the firmament 
On Atlas mighty shoulders is upstayd, 
Unfitly I these ydle rimes present, 
The labor of lost time, and wit unstayd : 
Yet if their deeper sence be inly wayd, 
And the dim vele, with which from com- 
mune vew 
Their fairer parts are hid, aside be layd, 
Perhaps not vaine they may appeare to 
you. 
Such as they be, vouchsafe them to re- 

ceave, 
And wipe their faults out of your censure 
grave. 

E. S. 

To the right honourable the Earle of 
Cumberland. 

Redoubted Lord, in whose corageous mind 
The flowre of chevalry, now bloosming 

faire, 
Doth promise fruite worthy the noble 

kind 
Which of their praises have left you the 
haire ; 
To you this humble present I prepare. 
For love of vertue and of Martiall 

praise ; 
To which though nobly ye inclined are, 
As goodlie well ye shew'd in late assaies, 
Yet brave ensample of long passed dales, 
In which trew honor yee may fashioned 

see, 
To like desire of honor may ye raise. 
And fill your mind with magnanimitee. 
Receive it, Lord, therefore, as it was ment. 
For honor of your name and high descent. 

E. S. 

To the right honourable the Lord of Huns- 
don, high Chamberlaine to her Majesty. 

Renowmed Lord, that, for your worthi- 

nesse 
And noble deeds, have your deserved 

place 
High in the favour of that Emperesse, 
The worlds sole glory and her sexes 

grace : 



Here eke of right have you a wortbie 
place, 
Both for your neames to that Faerie 

Queene 
And for your owne high merit in like 

cace: 
Of which, apparaunt proof e was to be 
scene. 
When that tumultuous rage and fearful! 
deene 
Of Northerne rebels ye did pacify, 
And their disloiall powre defaced clene, 
The record of enduring memory. 
Live, Lord, for ever in this lasting verse, 
That all posteritie thy honor may reherse. 

E. S. 

To the right honourable the Lord of Buck- 
hurst, one of her Majesties privie Coun- 
sell. 

In vain I thinke, right honourable Lord, 
By this rude rime to memorize thy name, 
Whose learned Muse hath writ her owne 

record 
In golden verse, worthy immortal fame : 
Thou much more fit (were leasure to the 
same) 
Thy gracious Soverains praises to com- 
pile. 
And her imperiall Majestic to frame 
In loftie numbers and heroicke stile. 
But, sith thou maist not so, give leave a 
while 
To baser wit his power therein to spend, 
\Vhose grosse defaults thy daintie pen 

may file, 
And unadvised oversights amend. 
But evermore vouchsafe it to maintaine 
Against vile Zoilus backbitings vaine. 



To the right honourable Sir Fr. Walsing- 
ham, knight, principall Secretary to her 
Majesty, and one of her honourable 
privy Counsell. 

That Mantuane Poetes incompared spirit, 
Whose girland now is set in highest place, 
Had not Mecsenas, for his worthy merit, 
It first ad vaun st to great Augustus grace, 
Might long perhaps have lien in silence 
bace, 
Ne bene so much admir'd of later age. 
This lowly Muse, that learns like steps 

to trace. 
Flies for like aide unto your Patronage, 
That are the great Mecsenas of this age, 
As wel to al that civil artes professe. 
As those that are inspir'd with Martial 
rage, 



TO SEVERAL NOBLEMEN, ETC. 



13 



And craves protection of her feeble- 
nesse : 
Which if ye yield, perhaps ye may her 

rayse. 
In bigger tunes to sound your living prayse. 



To the right noble Lord and most valiavnt 
Captaine, Sir John Norris, knight, 
Lord president of Mounster. 

Who ever gave more honourable prize 
To the sweet Muse then did the Martiall 
crew, 
That their brave deeds she might immor- 
talize 
In her shril trorap, and sound their 
praises dew? 
Who then ought more to favour her then 
you, 
Moste noble Lord, the honor of this age, 
And Precedeut of all that armes ensue? 
Whose warlike prowesse aud manly cour- 
age, 
Tempred with reason and advizement sage. 
Hath fild sad Belgicke with victorious 

spoile ; 
In Fraunce and Ireland left a famous 

gage; 
And lately shakt the Lusitanian soile. 
Sith, then, each where thou hast dispredd 

thy fame. 
Love him that hath eternized your name. 

E. S. 



To the right honourable and mostvertuous 
Lady the Countesse of Penbroke. 

Remembraunce of that most Heroicke 
spirit, 

The hevens pride, the glory of our dales. 

Which now triumpheth, through immor- 
tall merit 

Of his brave vertues, crownd with last- 
ing baies 
Of hevenlie blis and everlasting praies; 

Who first my Muse did lift out of the 
ilore. 

To sing his sweet delights in lowlie laies ; 

Bids me, most noble Lady, to adore 
His goodly image, living evermore 

In the divine resemblaunce of your face ; 

Which with your vertues ye embellish 
more, 

And native beauty deck with hevenlie 
grace : 



For his, and for your owne especial sake. 
Vouchsafe from him this token in good 
worth to take. 

E. S. 

To the most vertuous and beautifull Lady, 
the Lady Carew. 

Ne may I, without blot of endlesse blame, 
You, fairest Lady, leave out of this 

place ; 
But with remembraunce of your gracious 

name, 
Wherewith that courtly garlond most ye 
grace 
And deck the world, adorne these verses 
base. 
Not that these few lines can in them 

comprise 
Those glorious ornaments of hevenly 

grace. 
Wherewith ye triumph over feeble eyes, 
And in subdued harts do tyranyse ; 
For thereunto doth need a golden quill, 
And silver leaves, them rightly to 

devise ; 
But to make humble present of good 
will: 
Which, whenas timely meanes it purchase 

may, 
In ampler wise it selfe will forth display. 

E. S. 

To all the gratious and beautifull Ladies 
in the Court. 

The Chian Peincter, when he was requirde 
To pourtraict Venus in her perfect hew, 
To make his worke more absolute, desird 
Of all the fairest Maides to have the vew, 
Much more me needs, to draw the sem- 
blaut trew 
Of beauties Queene, the worlds sole 

wonderment. 
To sharpe my sence with sundry beauties 

vew. 
And steale from each some part of orna- 
ment. 
If all the world to seeke I overwent^ 
A fairer crew yet no where could I see 
Then that brave court doth to mine eie 

present, 
That the worlds pride seemes gathered 
there to bee. 
Of each a part I stole by cunning thefte : 
Forgive it me, faire Dames, sith lesse ye 
have not lefte. 

E. S. 



THE FIRST BOOK 

OF 

THE FAERIE QUEENE 

CONTATNING THE LEGEND OF THE KNIGHT OF THE RED CROSSE, OR OF HOLINESSB. 



Lo! I, the man whose Mase whylome 

did maske, 
As time her taught, in lowly Shephards 

weeds, 
Am now euforst, a farre unfitter taske, 
For trumpets Sterne to chaunge mine 

Oaten reeds, 
And sing of Knights and Ladies gentle 

deeds ; 
Whose praises having slept in silence long. 
Me, all too meane, the sacred Muse areeds 
To blazon broade emongst her learned 

throng : 
Fierce warres and faithful loves shall 

moralize my song. 



Helpe then, O holy virgin! chiefe of 

nyne. 
Thy weaker Novice to performe thy will ; 
Lay forth out of thine everlasting scryne 
The antique roUes, which there lye hidden 

still. 
Of Faerie knights, and fayrest Tanaquill, 
Whom that most noble Briton Prince so 

long 
Sought through the world, and suffered so 

much ill, 
That I must rue his undeserved wrong : 
O, helpe thou my weake wit, and sharpen 

my dull tong ! 



And thou, most dreaded impe of highest 
Jove, 
Fair e Ven us Sonne , that wi th thy cr uell dart 
At that good knight so cunningly didst 

rove. 
That glorious fire it kindled in his hart ; 
Lay now thy deadly Heben bowe apart, 
And with thy mother mylde come to mine 

ayde; 
Come, both ; and with you bring triumph- 
ant Mart, 
In loves and gentle jollities arraid. 
After his murdrous spoyles and bloudie 
rage allayd. 



And with them eke, Goddesse heavenly 

bright ! 
Mirrour of grace and Majestie divine. 
Great Ladie of the greatest Isle, whose 

light 
Like Phoebus lampe throughout the world 

doth shine. 
Shed thy faire beames into my feeble eyne. 
And raise my thoughtes, too humble and 

too vile. 
To thinke of that true glorious type of 

thine. 
The argument of mine afflicted stile : 
The which to heare vouchsafe, O dearest 

dread, a-while ! 



CANTO I. 

The Patrone of true Holinesse 
Foule Errour doth defeate : 
Hypocrisie, him to entrappe, 
Doth to his home entreate. 



A GENTLE Knight was pricking on the 

plaine, 
Ycladd in mightie armes and silver shielde, 
Wherein old dints of deepe woundes did 

remaine. 



The cruell markes of many' a bloody 

fielde ; 
Yet armes till that time did he never 

wield. 
His angry steede did chide his fomiug 

bitt, 



14 



CANTO I.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



15 



As much disdayning to the curbe to yield : 
Full jolly knight he seemd, and faire did 

sitt, 
As one for knightly giusts and fierce en- 
counters fitt. 



- And on his brest a bloodie Crosse he 

bore, 
The deare remembrance of his dying Lord, 
For whose sweete sake that glorious badge 

he wore, 
And dead, as living, ever him ador'd : 
Upon his shield the like was also scor'd, 
For soveraine hope which in his helpe he 

had. 
Right faithfull true he was in deede and 

word. 
But of his cheere did seeme too solemne 

sad; 
Yet nothing did he dread, but ever was 

ydrad. 



Upon a great adventure he was bond. 
That greatest Gloriana to him gave, 
(That greatest Glorious Queene of Faery 

lond) 
To winne him worshippe, and her grace to 

have. 
Which of all earthly thinges he most did 

crave : 
And ever as he rode his hart did earne 
To prove his puissance in battell brave 
Upon his foe, and his new force to learne, 
Upon his foe, a Dragon horrible and 

stearne. 



A lovely Ladie rode him faire beside, 
Upon a lowly Asse more white then snow, 
Yet she much whiter ; but the same did 

hide 
Under a vele, that wimpled was full low ; 
And over all a blacke stole shee did throw : 
As one that inly mournd, so was she 

sad, 
And heavie sate upon her palfrey slow ; 
Seemed in heart some hidden care she 

had, 
And by her, in a line, a milkewhite lambe 

she lad. 



So pure and innocent, as that same 

lambe, 
She was in life and every vertuous lore ; 
And by descent from Royall lynage came 
Of ancient Kinges and Queenes, that had 

of yore 
Their scepters stretcht from East, to 

Westerne shore, 



And all the world in their subjection held ; 
Till that infernall feend with foule uprore 
For wasted all their laud, and them expeld ; 
Whom to avenge she had this Knight from 
far compeld. 



Behind her farre away a Dwarfe did 
lag, 
That lasie seemd, in being ever last. 
Or wearied with bearing of her bag 
Of needments at his backe. Thus as they 

past. 
The day with cloudes was suddeine over- 
cast. 
And angry Jove an hideous storme of raine 
Did poure into his Lemans lap so fast. 
That everie wight to shrowd it did con- 
strain ; 
And this faire couple eke to shroud them- 
selves were fain. 



Enforst to seeke some covert nigh at 

hand, 
A shadie grove not farr away they spide, 
That promist ayde the tempest to with- 
stand ; 
Whose loftie trees, yclad with.sommers 

pride, 
Did spred so broad, that heavens light 

did hide. 
Not perceable with power of any starr : 
And all within were pathes and alleles 

wide, 
With footing worne, and leading inward 

farr. 
Faire harbour that them seems, so in they 

entred ar. 

VIII. 

And foorth they passe, with pleasure 

forward led. 
Joying to heare the birdes sweete har- 
mony, 
Which, therein shrouded from the tempest 

dred, 
Seemd in their song to scorne the cruell 

sky. 
Much can they praise the trees so straight 

and by, 
The sayling Pine; the Cedar proud and 

tall; 
The viue-propp Elme ; the Poplar never 

dry; 
The builder Oake, sole king of forrests all ; 
The Aspine good for staves ; the Cypresse 

f unerall ; 

IX. 

The Laurell, meed of mightie Con- 
querours 



i6 



THE. FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book I. 



And Poets sage ; the Firre that weepeth 
still : 

The Willow, worne of forlorne Para- 
mours; 

The Eugh, obedient to the benders will; 

The Birch for shaftes ; the Sallow for the 
mill; 

The Mirrhe sweete-bleeding in the bitter 
wound ; 

The warlike Beech ; the Ash for nothing 
ill; 

The fruitfull Olive; and the Platane 
round ; 

The carver Holme ; the Maple seeldom in- 
ward sound. 



-. Led with delight, they thus beguile the 

way, 
Untill the blustring storme is overblowne ; 
When, weening to returne whence they did 

stray, 
They cannot finde that path, which first 

was showne, 
But wander too and fro in waies un- 

knowne, 
Furthest from end then, when they neerest 

weene, 
That makes them doubt their wits be not 

their owne : 
So many pathes, so many turnings scene. 
That which of them to take in diverse 

doubt they been. 



At last resolving forward still to fare. 
Till that some end they finde, or in or out, 
That path they take that beaten seemd 

most bare. 
And like to lead the labyrinth about ; 
Which when by tract they hunted had 

throughout. 
At length it brought them to a hollowe 

cave 
Amid the thickest woods. The Champion 

stout 
Eftsoones dismounted from his courser 

brave. 
And to the Dwarf e a while his needlesse 

spere he gave. 



' Be well aware,' quoth then that Ladie 
milde, 

* Least suddaine mischiefe ye too rash 
provoke : 

The danger hid, the place unknowne and 
wilde, 

Breedes dreadfull doubts. Oft fire is with- 
out smoke, 



And perill without show : therefore your 

stroke. 
Sir Knight, with-hold, till further tryall 

made.' 
'Ah Ladie,' (sayd he) ' shame were to 

revoke 
The forward footing for an hidden shade: 
Vertue gives her selfe light through dark- 

nesse for to wade.' 



* Yea but ' (quoth she) ' the perill of this 

place 
I better wot then you : though nowe too late 
To wish you backe returne with f oule dis- 
grace, 
Yet wisedome warnes, whilest foot is in the 

gate. 
To stay the steppe, ere forced to retrate. 
This is the wandring wood, this Errours 

den, 
A monster vile, whom God and man does 

hate: 
Therefore I read beware.' * Fly, fly ! ' 

(quoth then 
The f earefuU Dwarf e) ' this is no place for 

living men.' 

XIV. 

But, full of fire and greedy hardiment, 
The youthfull Knight could not for ought 

be staide ; 
But forth unto the darksom hole he went, 
And looked in : his glistring armor made 
A litle glooming light, much like a shade ; 
By which he saw the ugly monster plaine, 
Halfe like a serpent horribly displaide. 
But th'other halfe did womans shape 

retaine, 
Most lothsom, filthie, f oule, and full of vile 

disdaine. 

XV. 

And, as she lay upon the durtie ground, 
Her huge long taile her den all overspred, 
Yet was in knots and many boughtes 

up wound. 
Pointed with mortall sting. Of her there 

bred 
A thousand yong ones, which she dayly fed. 
Sucking upon her poisnous dugs ; each one 
Of sundrie shapes, yet all ill-favored : 
Soone as that uncouth light upon them 

shone. 
Into her mouth they crept, and suddain all 

were gone. 

XVI. 

Their dam upstart out of her den effraide, 
And rushed forth, hurling her hideous taile 
About her cursed head ; whose folds dis- 
plaid 



CANTO I.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



17 



Were stretcht now forth at length without 

entraile. 
She lookt about, and seeing one in mayle, 
Armed to point, sought backe to turne 

again e ; 
For light she hated as the deadly bale, 
Ay wont in desert darknes to remaine, 
Where plain none might her see, nor she 

see any plaine. 



Which when the valiant Elfe perceiv'd, 

he lept 
As Lyon fierce upon the flying pray, 
And with his trenchand blade her boldly 

kept 
From turning backe , and forced her to stay : 
Therewith enrag'd she loudly gan to bray, 
And turning fierce her speckled taile ad- 

vaunst, 
Threatning her angrie sting, him to dismay ; 
Who, nought aghast, his mightie hand 

enhaunst: 
The stroke down from her head unto her 

shoulder glaunst. 

XVIII. 

Much daunted with that dint her sence 

was dazd ; 
Yet kindling rage her selfe she gathered 

round. 
And all attonce her beastly bodie raizd 
With doubled forces high above the ground : 
Tho, wrapping up her wrethed sterne 

arownd, 
Lept fierce upon his shield, and her huge 

traine 
All suddenly about his body wound. 
That hand or foot to stirr he strove in 

vaine. 
God helpe the man so wrapt in Errours 

endlesse traine 1 

XIX. 

His Lady, sad to see his sore constraint, 
Cride out, 'Now, now. Sir knight, shew 

what ye bee ; 
Add faith unto your force, and be not faint ; 
Strangle ber, els she sure will strangle 

thee.' 
That when he heard, in great perplexitie, 
His gall did grate for griefe and high dis- 

daine ; 
And, knitting all his force, got one hand 

free. 
Wherewith he grypt her gorge with so 

great paine. 
That soone to loose her wicked bands did 

her constraine. 



Therewith she spewd out of her filthie 

maw 
A floud of poyson horrible and blacke. 
Full of great lumps of flesh and gobbets 

raw, 
Which stunck so vildly, that it forst him 

slacke 
His grasping hold, and from her turne him 

backe. 
Her vomit full of bookes and papers was. 
With loathly frogs and toades, which eyes 

did lacke, 
And creeping sought way in the weedy gras: 
Her filthie parbreake all the place defiled 

has. 

XXI. 

As when old father Nilus gins to swell 
With timely pride above the Aegyptian 

vale 
His fattie waves doe fertile slime outwell, 
And overflow each plaine and lowly dale: 
But, when his later spring gins to avale, 
Huge heapes of mudd he leaves, wherein 

there breed 
Ten thousand kindes of creatures, partly 

male 
And partly femall, of his fruitful seed; 
Such ugly monstrous shapes elswher may 

no man reed. 

XXII. 

The same so sore annoyed has the 

knight. 
That, welnigh choked with the deadly 

stinke, 
His forces faile, ne can no lenger fight : 
Whose corage when the feend perceivd to 

shrinke, 
She poured forth out of her hellish sinke 
Her fruitfull cursed spawne of serpents 

small, 
Deformed monsters, fowle, and blacke as 

inke, 
Which swarming all about his legs did 

crall. 
And him encombred sore, but could not 

hurt at all. 



As gentle shepheard in sweete eventide, 
When ruddy Phebus gins to welke in west, 
High on an hill, his flocke to vewen wide, 
Markes which doe byte their hasty supper 

best; 
A cloud of cumbrous gnattes doe him 

molest, 
All striving to infixe their feeble stinges. 
That from their noyance he no where can 

rest; 



i8 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



But with his clownish hands their tender 

wings 
He brusheth oft, and oft doth mar their 

murmurings. 

XXIV. 

Thus ill bestedd, and fearefull more of 
shame 
Then of the certeine perill he stood in, 
Halfe furious unto his foe he came, 
Resolvd in minde all suddenly to win, 
Or sooue to lose, before he once would lin ; 
And stroke at her with more then manly- 
force. 
That from her body, full of filthie sin, 
He raft her hatefull heade without re- 
morse : 
A streame of cole-black blood forth gushed 
from her corse. 

XXV. 

Her scattered brood, soone as their 

Parent deare 
They saw so rudely falling to the ground, 
Groning full deadly, all with troublous 

feare 
Gathred themselves about her body round. 
Weening their wonted entrance to have 

found 
At her wide mouth ; but being there Avith- 

stood. 
They flocked all about her bleeding wound. 
And sucked up their dying mothers bloud. 
Making her death their life, and eke her 

hurt their good. 



That detestable sight him much amazde, 
To see th' unkindly Impes, of heaven 

accurst, 
Devoure their dam : on whom while so he 

gazd, 
Having all satisfide their bloudy thurst, 
Tjieir bellies swolne he saw with fuluesse 

burst. 
And bowels gushing forth: well worthy 

end 
Of such as drunke her life the which them 

nurst! 
Now needeth him no lenger labour spend, 
His foes have slaine themselves, with 

whom he should contend. 

xxvn. 

His Lady, seeing all that chaunst from 

far re, 
Approcht in hast to greet his victorie ; 
And saide, ' Faire knight, borne under 

happie starre, 



Who see your vanquisht foes before you 

lye, 

Well worthie be you of that Armory, 
Wherein ye have great glory wonue this 

day, 
And proov'd your strength on a strong 

enimie, 
Your first adventure : many such I pray. 
And henceforth ever wish that like suc- 
ceed it may ! ' 



Then mounted he upon his Steede againe, 
And with the Lady backward sought to 

wend. 
That path he kept which beaten was most 

plaine, 
Ne ever would to any byway bend. 
But still did follow one unto the end, 
The which at last out of the wood them 

brought. 
So forward on his way (with God to frend) 
He passed forth, and new adventure 

sought : 
Long way he travelled before he heard of 

ought. 

XXIX. 

At length they chaunst to meet upon the 

way 
An aged Sire, in long blacke weedes yclad. 
His f eete all bare, his beard all hoarie grayj_^ 
And by his belt his booke he hanging had : 
Sober he seemde, and very sagely sad, 
And to the ground his eyes were lowly 

bent. 
Simple in shew, and voide of malice bad ; 
And all the way he prayed as he went, 
And often knockt his brest, as one that 

did repent. 



He faire the knight saluted, louting low, 
Who faire him quited, as that courteous 

was; 
And after asked him, if he did know 
Of straunge adventures, which abroad did 

pas. 
'Ah! my dear sonne,' (quoth he) 'how 

should, alas! 
Silly old man, that lives in hidden cell, 
Bidding his beades all day for his trespas, 
Tydings of warre and worldly trouble tell ? 
With holy father sits not with such thinges 

to mell. 



' But if of daunger, which hereby doth 
dwell, 
And homebredd evil ye desire to heare, 
Of a straunge man I can you tidings tell, 



CANTO I.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



19 



That wasteth all this couutrie, farre and 

neare.' 
* Of such,' (saide he,) ' I chiefly doe iuquere, 
And shall thee well rewarde to shew the 

place, 
In which that wicked wight his dayes doth 

weare ; 
For to all knighthood it is foule disgrace, 
That such a cursed creature lives so long 

a space.' 

XXXII. 

'Far hence' (quoth he) 'in wastfull 

wildernesse 
His dwelling is, hy which no living wight 
May ever passe, hut thorough great dis- 

tresse.' 
' Now,' (saide the Ladie,) ' draweth toward 

night, 
And well I wote, that of your later fight 
Ye all forwearied be ; for what so strong, 
But, wanting rest, will also want of m ight ? 
The Sunne, that measures heaven all day 

long. 
At night doth haite his steedes the Ocean 

waves emong. 



XXXIII. 

* Then with the Sunne take, Sir, your 

timely rest, 
And with new day new worke at once 

begin : 
Untroubled night, they say, gives couusell 

best.' 
'Right well, Sir knight, ye have advised 

bin,' 
Quoth then that aged man : ' the way to 

win 
Is wisely to advise ; now day is spent : 
Therefore with me ye may take up your 

In 
For this same night.' The knight was well 

content ; 
So with that godly father to his home they 

went. 



A litle lowly Hermitage it was, 
Downe in a dale, hard by a forests side. 
Far from resort of people that did pas 
In traveill to and f roe : a litle wyde 
There was an holy chappell edifyde. 
Wherein the Hermite dewly wont to say 
His holy thinges each morne and even- 

tyde : 
Thereby a christall streame did gently 

play. 
Which from a sacred fountaine welled 

forth alway. 



XXXV. 

Arrived there, the litle house they fill, 

Ne looke for entertainement where none 
was ; 

Rest is their feast, and all thinges at their 
will: 

The noblest mind the best contentment has. 

With faire discourse the evening so they 
pas; 

For that olde man of pleasing wordes had 
store. 

And well could file his tongue as smooth 
as glas : 

He told of Saintes and Popes, and ever- 
more 

He strowd an Ave-Mary after and before. 



The drouping night thus creepeth on 

them fast; 
And the sad humor loading their eyeliddes, 
As messenger of Morpheus, on them cast 
Sweet slombriug deaw, the which to sleep 

them biddes. 
Unto their lodgings then his guestes he 

riddes : 
Where when all drownd in deadly sleepe 

he findes. 
He to his studie goes; and there amiddes 
His magick bookes, and artes of sundrie 

kindes. 
He seekes out mighty charmes to trouble 

sleepy minds. 



Then choosing out few words most 

horrible, 
(Let none them read) thereof did verses 

frame ; 
With which, and other spelles like terrible. 
He bad awake blacke Plutoes griesly 

Dame ; 
And cursed heven ; and spake reprochf ul 

shame 
Of highest God, the Lord of life and light : 
A bold bad man , that dar 'd to call by name 
Great Gorgon, prince of darknes and dead 

night ; 
At which Cocytus quakes, and Styx is put 

to flight. 

xxxvin. 

And forth he cald out of deepe darknes 
dredd 
Legions of Sprights, the which, like litle 

flyes 
Fluttring about his ever-damned hedd, 
Avvaite whereto their service he applyes, 
To aide his friendes, or fray his enimies. 



20 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book I. 



Of those he chose out two, the falsest 

twoo, 
And fittest for to forge true-seeming lyes : 
The one of them he gave a message too, 
The other by him selfe staide, other worke 

to doo. 

XXXJX. 

He, making speedy way through spersed 

ay re, 
And through the world of waters wide and 

deepe. 
To Morpheus house doth hastily repaire. 
Amid the bowels of the earth full steepe. 
And low, where dawning day doth never 

peepe. 
His dwelling is ; there Tethys his wet bed 
Doth ever wash, and Cynthia still doth 

steepe 
In silver deaw his ever-drouping hed, 
Whiles sad Night over him her mantle 

black doth spred. 



Whose double gates he findeth locked 

fast, 
The one faire fram'd of burnisht Yvory, 
The other all with silver overcast ; 
And wakeful dogges before them farre 

doe lye, 
Watching to banish Care their enimy. 
Who oft is wont to trouble gentle Sleepe. 
By them the Sprite doth passe in quietly. 
And unto Morpheus comes, whom drowned 

deepe 
In drowsie fit he findes: of nothing he 

takes keepe. 



And more to lulle him in his slumber 
soft, 

A trickling streame from high rock tum- 
bling downe. 

And ever-drizling raine upon the loft, 

Mixt with a murmuring winde, much like 
the sowne 

Of swarming Bees, did cast him in a 
swowne. 

No other noyse, nor peoples troublous 
cryes. 

As still are wont t' annoy the walled towne. 

Might there be heard ; but carelesse Quiet 
lyes 

Wrapt in eternall silence farre from eni- 
my es. 

XLII. 

The Messenger approching to him 
spake ; 
But his waste wordes retoumd to him in 



So sound he slept, that nought mought him 

awake. 
Then rudely he him thrust, and pusht with 

paiue, 
Whereat he gan to stretch ; but he againe 
Shooke him so hard, that forced him to 

speake. 
As one then in a dreame, whose dryer 

braine 
Is tost with troubled sights and fancies 

weake. 
He mumbled soft, but would not all his 

silence breake. 



The Sprite then gan more boldly him to 

wake, 
And threatned unto him the dreaded name 
Of Hecate: whereat he gan to quake, 
And, lifting up his lompish head, with 

blame 
Halfe angrie asked him, for what he came. 
' Hether ' (quoth he,) ' me Archimago sent. 
He that the stubborne Sprites can wisely 

tame. 
He bids thee to him send for his intent 
A fit false dreame, that can delude the 

sleepers sent. 



The God obayde; and, calling forth 

straight way 
A diverse Dreame out of his prison darke, 
Delivered it to him, and downe did lay 
His heavie head, devoide of careful carke ; 
Whose sences all were straight benumbd 

and Starke. 
He, backe returning by the Yvorie dore, 
Remounted up as light as chearef nil Larke ; 
And on his litle winges the dreame he bore 
In hast unto his Lord, where he him left 

afore. 

XLV. 

Who all this while, with charmes and 

hidden artes, 
Had made a Lady of that other Spright, 
And fram'd of liquid ayre her tender 

partes. 
So lively and so like in all mens sight. 
That weaker sence it could have ravisht 

quight : 
The maker selfe, for all his wondrous witt, 
Was nigh beguiled with so goodly sight. 
Her all in white he clad, and over it 
Cast a black stole, most like to seeme for 

Una fit. 

XLVI. 

Now, when that ydle dreame was to him 
brought, 



CANTO I.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



21 



Unto that Elfin knight he bad him fly, 
Where he slept soundly void of evil 

thought, 
And with false shewes abuse his fantasy, 
In sort as he him schooled privily : 
And that new creature, borne without her 

dew. 
Full of the makers guyle, with usage sly 
He taught to imitate that Lady trew, 
Whose semblance she did earrie under 

feigned hew. 



Thus, well instructed, to their worke 
they haste; 
And, comming where the knight in slom- 

ber lay. 
The one upon his bardie head him plaste. 
And made him dreame of loves and lust- 
full play, 
That nigh his manly hart did melt away. 
Bathed in wanton blis and wicked joy. 
Then seemed him his Lady by him lay, 
And to him playnd, how that false winged 

boy 
Her chaste hart had subdewd to learne 
Dame Pleasures toy. 



XLVIII. 

And she her selfe, of beautie soveraigne 

Queene, 
Fayre Venus, seemde unto his bed to bring 
Her, whom he, waking, evermore did 

weene 
To bee the chastest flowre that aye did 

spring 
On earthly braunch, the daughter of a 

king, 
Now a loose Leman to vile service bound : 
And eke the Graces seemed all to sing, 
Hymen Id Hymen ! dauncing all around ; 
Whylst freshest Flora her with Yvie gir- 

lond crownd. 



In this great passion of unwonted lust. 
Or wonted feare of doing ought amis, 
He starteth up, as seeming to mistrust 
Some secret ill, or hidden foe of his. 
Lo ! there before his face his Ladie is, 
Under blacke stole hyding her bayted 

hooke ; 
And as halfe blushing off red him to kis, 
With gentle blandishment and lovely 

looke. 
Most like that virgin true which for her 

knight him took. 



All cleane dismayd to see so uncouth 

sight. 
And half enraged at her shamelesse guise, 
He thought have slaine her in his fierce 

despight ; 
But hastie heat tempring with sufferance 

wise. 
He stayde his hand; and gan himselfe 

advise 
To prove his sense, and tempt her faigned 

truth. 
Wringing her hands, in wemens pitteous 

wise, 
Tho can she weepe, to stirre up gentle 

ruth 
Both for her noble blood, and for her 

tender youth. 



And sayd, ' Ah Sir, my liege Lord, and 
my love. 
Shall I accuse the hidden cruell fate. 
And mightie causes wrought in heaven 

above, 
Or the blind God that doth me thus amate. 
For hoped love to winne me certaine hate ? 
Yet thus perforce he bids me do, or die. 
Die is my dew; yet rew my wretched 

state. 
You, whom my hard avenging destinie 
Hath made judge of my life or death in- 
differently. 



' Your owne deare sake forst me at first 

to leave 
My fathers kingdom ' — There she stopt 

with teares ; 
Her swollen hart her speech seemd to 

bereave, 
And then again e begonne ; ' My weaker 

yeares, 
Captiv'd to fortune and frayle worldly 

feares. 
Fly to your fayth for succour and sure 

ayde: 
Let me not die in languor and long teares.' 
'Why, Dame,' (quoth he,) 'what hath ye 

thus dismayd ? 
What frayes ye, that were wont to com- 
fort me afrayd ? ' 



* Love of your selfe,' she saide, ' and 
deare constraint, 
Lets me not sleepe, but waste the wearie 
night 



22 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book 1. 



In secret anguish and uiipittied plaint, 
Whiles you in carelesse sleepe are drowned 

quight.' 
Her doubtf ull words made that redoubted 

knight 
Suspect her truth : yet since no' untruth 

he knew, 
Her fawning love with foule disdainef ull 

spight 
He would not shend ; but said, ' Deare 

dame, I rew. 
That for my sake unknowne such griefe 

unto you grew. 



LIV. 

'Assure your selfe, it 



to 



fell not all 

ground ; 

For all so deare as life is to my hart, 
I deeme your love, and hold me to you 

bound : 
Ne let value feares procure your needlesse 

smart. 
Where cause is none; but to your rest 

depart.' 



Not all content, yet seemd she to ap- 
pease 

Her mournefull plaintes, beguiled of her 
art. 

And fed with words that could not chose 
but please : 

So, slyding softly forth, she turned as to 
her ease. 

LV. 

Long after lay he musing at her mood. 
Much griev'd to thinke that gentle Dame 

so light. 
For whose defence he was to shed his 

blood. 
At last, dull wearines of former fight 
Having yrockt asleepe his Irkesome 

spright. 
That troublous dreame gan freshly tosse 

his braine 
With bowres, and beds, and ladies deare 

delight : 
But, when he saw his labour all was vaine. 
With that misformed spright he backe 

returnd agaiue. 



CANTO II. 

The guilefull great Encbaunter parts 
The Eedcrosse Knight from Truth : 

Into whose stead faire falshood steps, 
And workes him woefull ruth. 



I. 

By this the Northerne wagoner had set 
His sevenfold teme behind the stedfast 

starre 
That was in Ocean waves yet never wet, 
But firme is fixt, and sendeth light from 

farre 
To al that in the wide deepe wandring 

arre; 
And chearef ull Chaunticlere with his note 

shrill 
Had warned once, that Phoebus fiery carre 
In hast was climbing up the Easterne hill, 
Full envious that night so long his roome 

did fill: 

II. 

When those accursed messengers of hell, 
That feigning dreame, and that faire- 

forged Spright, 
Came to their wicked maister, and gan tel 
Their bootelesse paines, and ill succeed- 
ing night : 
Who, all in rage to see his skilfull might 
Deluded so, gan threaten hellish paine. 
And sad Proserpines wrath, them to 

affright : 
But, when he saw his threatuing was but 
vaine, 



He cast about, and searcht his baleful 
bokes againe. 



Eftsoones he tooke that miscreated faire, 
And that false other Spright, on whom he 

spred 
A seeming body of the subtile aire, 
Like a young Squire, in loves and lusty^ 

hed 
His wanton dales that ever loosely led, 
Without regard of armes and dreaded 

fight: 
Those twoo he tooke, and in a secrete bed. 
Covered with darkenes and misdeeming 

night, 
Them both together laid to joy in vaine 

delight. 

lY. 

Forthwith he runnes with feigned faith- 
full hast 

Unto his guest, who, after troublous sights 

And dreames, gan now to take more sound 
repast ; 

Whom suddenly he wakes with fearful 
frights, 

As one aghast with feends or damned 
sprights. 



CANTO II.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



23 



Aud to him cals; 'Rise, rise! unhappy 

Swaine, 
That here wex old in sleepe, whiles wicked 

wighls 
Have kuit themselves in Venus shameful 

chaine : 
Come, see where your false Lady doth her 

honor staine.' 

V. 

All in amaze he suddenly up start 
With sword in hand, and with the old 

man went ; 
Who soone him brought into a secret part. 
Where that false couj)le were full closely 

ment 
In wanton lust and lend embracement : 
Which when he saw, he burnt with goal- 

ous fire; 
The eie of reason was with rage yblent, 
And would have slaine them in his furious 

ire, 
But hardly was restreined of that aged 

sire. 



Retourning to his bed in torment great. 
And bitter anguish of his guilty siglat, 
He could not rest ; but did his stout heart 

eat, 
And wast his inward gall with deepe de- 

spight, 
Yrkesome of life, and too long lingring 

night. 
At last faire Hesperus in highest skie 
Had spent his lampe, and brought forth 

dawning light : 
Then up he rose, and clad him hastily : 
The dwarfe him brought his steed ; so 

both away do fly. 

VII. 

Now wiien the rosy fingred Morning 

faire. 
Weary of aged Tithones saffron bed, 
Had spred her purple robe through deawy 

aire, 
And the high hils Titan discovered, 
Tlie royall virgin shooke off drousy-hed ; 
And, rising forth out of her baser bowre, 
Lookt for her knight, who far away was 

fled. 
And for her dwarfe, that wont to wait 

each howre : 
Then gan she wail and weepe to see that 

woeful stowre. 

VIII. 

And after him she rode, with so much 
speede 



As her slowe beast could make ; but all in 

vaine, 
For him so far had borne his light-foot 

steede. 
Pricked with wrath and fiery fierce dis- 

daiue. 
That him to follow was but fruitlesse 

paine ; 
Yet she her weary limbes would never 

rest ; 
But every hil and dale, each wood and 

plain e, 
Did search, sore grieved in her gentle 

brest, 
He so ungently left her, whome she loved 

best. 

rx. 

But subtill Archimago, when his guests 
He saw divided into double parts, 
And Una wandriug in woods and forrests, 
Th' end of his drift, he praisd his divelish 

arts, 
That had such might over true meaning- 
harts. 
Yet rests not so, but other meanes doth 

make, 
How he may worke unto her further 

smarts ; 
For her he hated as the hissing snake, 
And in her many troubles did most pleas- 
ure take. 

X. 

He then devisde himselfe how to dis- 
guise ; 

For by his mighty science he could take 

As many formes and shapes in seeming 
wise. 

As ever Proteus to himselfe could make: 

Sometime a fowle, sometime a fish in 
lake, 

Now like a foxe, now like a dragon fell ; 

That of himselfe he ofte for feare would 
quake. 

And oft would flie away. O! who can 
tell 

The hidden powre of herbes, and might 
of Magick spel ? 



XI. 

But now seemde best the person to put 

on 
Of that good knight, his late beguiled 

guest : 
In mighty armes he was yclad anon, 
And silver shield ; upon his coward brest 
A bloody crosse, and on his craven crest 
A bounch of heares discolourd diversly. 
Full jolly knight he seemde, and wel 

addrest ; 



24 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book I. 



And when he sate upon his courser free, 
Saint Georiije himselfe ye would have 
deemed him to he. 



But he, the knight whose semblaunt he 

did heai-e. 
The true Saint George, was wandred far 

away, 
Still flying from his thoughts and gealous 

feare : 
Will was his guide, and griefe led him 

astray. 
At last him chaunst to meete upon the 

way 
A faithlesse Sarazin, all armde to point, 
In whose great shield was writ with letters 

gay 
S£L2lsj[oy ; full large of limbe and every 

joint 
He was, and cared not for God or man a 

point. 

XIII. 

Hee had a faire companion of his way, 
A goodly Lady clad in scarlot red, 
Purfled with gold and pearle of rich as- 
say ; 
And like a Persian mitre on her hed 
Shee wore, with crowns and owches gar- 
nished. 
The which her lavish lovers to her gave. 
Her wanton palfrey all was overspred 
With tinsell trappings, woven like a wave, 
Whose bridle rung with golden bels and 
bosses brave. 



With faire disport, and courting dalli- 

aunce. 
She intertainde her lover all the way ; 
But, when she saw the knight his speare 

advaunce. 
She soone left off her mirth and wanton 

play, 
And bad her knight addresse him to the 

fray, 
His foe was nigh at hand. He, prickte 

with pride 
And hope to winne his Ladies hearte that 

day. 
Forth spurred fast: adowne his coursers 

side 
The red bloud trickling staind the way, as 

he did ride. 



The knight of the Redcrosse, when him 
he spide 
Spurring so bote with rage dispiteous, 



Gan fairely couch his speare, and towards 
ride. 

Soone meete they both, both fell and fu- 
rious, 

That, daunted with theyr forces hideous. 

Their steedsdoe stagger,and amazed stand ; 

And eke themselves, too rudely rigorous, 

Astouied with the stroke of their owne 
hand, 

Doe backe rebutte, and ech to other 
yealdeth land. 



As when two rams, stird with ambitious 

pride, 

Fight for the rule of the rich fleeced flocke. 

Their horned fronts so fierce on either side 

Doe meete, that, with the terror of the 

shocke, 
Astonied, both stand sencelesse as a 

blocke, 
Forgetfull of the hanging victory : 
So stood these twaine, unmoved as a 

rocke. 
Both staring fierce, and holding idely 
The broken reliques of their former cru- 
elty. 

XVII. 

The Sarazin, sore daunted with the 

buffe, 
Snatcheth his sword, and fiercely to him 

flies; 
Who well it wards, and quyteth cuff with 

cuff: 
Each others equall puissaunce envies. 
And through their iron sides with cruell 

spies 
Does seeke to perce; repining courage 

yields 
No foote to foe: the flashing fier flies. 
As from a forge, out of their burning 

shields ; 
And streams of purple bloud new die the 

verdant fields. 



* Curse on that Cross,' (quoth then the 

Sarazin,) 
* That keepes thy body from the bitter fitt ! 
Dead long ygoe, I wote, thou haddest bin, 
Had not that cliarme from thee f orwarned 

itt: 
But yet I warne thee now assured sitt, 
And hide thy head.' Therewith upon his 

crest 
With rigor so outrageous he smitt, 
That a large share it hewd out of the rest. 
And glauncing downe his shield from 

blame him fairly blest. 



CANTO II.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



25 



Who, thereat wondrous wroth, the sleep- 
ing spark 
Of native vertae gan ef tsoones revive ; 
And at his haughty helmet making mark, 
So hugely stroke, that it the Steele did rive. 
And cleft his head. He, tumbling downe 

alive. 
With bloudy mouth his mother earth did 

kis, 
Greeting his grave : his grudging ghost did 

strive 
With the fraile flesh ; at last it flitted is, 
Whither the soules doe fly of men that live 
amis. 



The Lady, when she saw her champion 

fall 
|,ike the old ruines of a broken towre, 
lid not to waile his woefull funerall, 
But from him fled away with all her powre ; 
Who after her as hastily gan scowre. 
Bidding the dwarf e with him to bring away 
The iSarazins shield, signe of the conquer- 

oure. 
Her soone he overtooke, and bad to stay ; 
For present cause was none of dread her 
to dismay. 

XXI. . 

Shee turning backe, with ruefuU counte- 
naunce, 

Cride, 'Mercy, mercy. Sir, vouchsafe to 
show 

On silly Dame , subject to hard mischaunce , 

And to your mighty wil ! ' Her humblesse 
low. 

In so ritch weedes, and seeming glorious 
show, 

Did much emmove his stout heroicke heart ; 

And said, ' Deare dame, your suddein over- 
throw 

Much rueth me ; but now put f eare apart, 

And tel both who ye be, and who that tooke 
your part.' 

xxn. 

Melting in teares, then gan shee thus la- 
ment. 
'The wretched woman, whom unhappy 

howre 
Hath now made thrall to your commande- 

ment. 
Before that angry heavens list to lowre. 
And fortune false betraide me to thy powre, 
Was (0 ! what now availeth that I was ?) 
Borne the sole daughter of an Emperour, 
He that the wide West under his rule has. 
And high hath set his throne where Ti- 
beris doth pas. 



' He, in the first flowre of my freshest 

age. 
Betrothed me unto the onely haire 
Of a most mighty king, most rich and 

sage: 
Was never Prince so faithf ull and so faire, 
Was never Prince so meeke and debonaire ; 
But ere my hoped day of spousall shone, 
My dearest Lord fell from high honors 

staire 
Into the hands of hys accursed fone. 
And cruelly was slaine ; that shall I ever 

mone. 

XXIV. 

' His blessed body, spoild of lively breath, 
Was afterward, I know not how, convaid, 
And fro me hid : of whose most innocent 

death 
When tidings came to mee, unhappy maid, 
O, how great sorrow my sad soule assaid ! 
Then forth I went his woefull corse to find. 
And many yeares throughout the world I 

straid, 
A virgin widow, whose deepe wounded 

mind 
With love long time did languish, as the 

striken hind. 



* At last it chaunced this proud Sarazin 
To meete me wandring ; who perforce me 

led J 

With him away, put yet could never win 
The Fort, that Ladies hold in soveraigne 

dread. \ 
There lies he no w with f oule dishonor dead , 
Who, whiles he livde, was called proud 

Sans foy, 
The eldest of three brethren ; all three bred 
Of one bad sire, whose youngest is Sans 

joy; 

And twixt them both was born the bloudy 
bold Sans loy. 

XXVI. 

* In this sad plight, friendlesse, unfortu- 

nate, 
Now miserable I, Fidessa, dwell, 
Craving of you, in pitty of my state, 
To doe none ill, if please ye not doe well.' 
He in great passion al this while did 

dwell. 
More busying his quicke eies her face to 

view. 
Then his dull eares to heare what shee 

did tell ; 
And said, • faire lady, hart of flint would 

rew 



26 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book I. 



The undeserved woes and sorrowes, which 
ye shew. 

XXVII. 

' Henceforth in safe assu-raunce may ye 

rest, 
Having both found a new friend you to 

aid, 
And lost an old foe that did you molest; 
Better new friend then an old foe is said.' 
With chaunge of chear the seeming simijle 

maid 
Let fal her eien, as shamefast, to the 

earth, 
And yeelding soft, in that she nought 

gainsaid, 
So forth they rode, he feining seemely 

merth. 
And shee coy lookes : so dainty, they say, 

maketh derth. 



Long time they thus together travelled ; 
Til, weary of their way, they came at last 
Where grew two goodly trees, that faire 

did spred 
Their armes abroad, with gray mosse 

overcast ; 
And their greene leaves, trembling with 

every blast. 
Made a calme shadowe far in compasse 

round : 
The fearefull shepheard, often there 

aghast, 
Under them never sat, ne wont there 

sound 
His mery oaten pipe, but shund th' un- 
lucky ground. 



But this good knight, soone as he them 

can spie, 
For the coole shade him thither hastly 

got: 
For golden Phoebus, now ymounted hie, 
From fiery wheeles of his faire chariot 
Hurled his beame so scorching cruell hot, 
That living creature mote it not abide ; 
And his new Lady it endured not. 
There they alight, in hope themselves to 

hide 
From the fierce heat, and rest their weary 

limbs a tide. 



Faire seemely pleasaunee each to other 
makes, 
With goodly purposes, there as they sit ; 
And in his falsed fancy he her takes 
To be the fairest wight that lived yit ; 



Which to expresse he bends his gentle 

wit: 
And, thinking of those braunches greene 

to frame 
A girloud for her dainty forehead fit, 
I£e pluckt a bough ; out of whose rifte 

there came 
Smal drops of gory bloud, that trickled 

down the same. 

XXXI. 

Therewith a piteous yelling voice was 

heard. 
Crying ' O ! spare with guilty hands to 

teare 
My tender sides in this rough ryud 

embard ; 
But fly, ah ! fly far hence away, for feare 
Least to you hap that happened to me 

heare. 
And to this wretched Lady, my deare love ; 
O, too deare love, love bought with death 

too deare ! ' 
Astond he stood, and up his heare did 

hove ; 
And with that suddein horror could no 

member move. 

XXXII. 

At last whenas the dreadf nil passion 
Was overpast, and manhood well awake. 
Yet musing at the strauuge occasion. 
And doubting much his sence, he thus 

bespake : 
' What voice of damned Ghost from Limbo 

lake. 
Or guilefull spright wandring in empty 

aire, 
Both which f raile men doe oftentimes mis- 
take. 
Sends to my doubtful eares these speaches 

rare, 
And ruefull plaints, me bidding guiltlesse 
blood to spare ? ' 



Then, groning deep; 'Nor damned 

Ghost,' (quoth he,) 
' Nor guileful sprite to thee these words 

doth speake; 
But once a man, Fradubio, now a tree ; 
Wretched man, wretched tree! whose 

nature weake 
A cruell witch, her cursed will to wreake, 
Hath thus transformd, and plast in open 

plaines. 
Where Boreas doth blow full bitter bleake, 
And scorching Sunne does dry my secret 

values ; 



CANTO II.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



27 



For though a tree I seme, yet cold and 
heat me paines.' 



'Say on, Fradubio, then, or man or tree,' 
Quoth then the Knight ; ' by whose mis- 
chievous arts 
Art thou misshaped thus, as now I see ? 
He oft finds med'cine who his griefe 

imparts, 
But double griefs afflict concealing harts, 
As raging flames who striveth to sup- 
pressed 
'The author then,' (said he) 'of all my 

smarts. 
Is one Duessa, a false sorceresse. 
That many errant knights hath broght to 
wretchednesse. 



' In prime of youthly yeares, when 
corage hott 
The fire of love, and joy of chevalree, 
First kindled in my brest, it was my lott 
To love this gentle Lady, whome ye see 
Now not a Lady, but a seeming tree ; 
With whome, as once I rode accompanyde. 
Me chaunced of a knight encountred bee. 
That had a like f aire Lady by his syde ; 
Lyke a faire Lady, but did fowle Duessa 
hyde. 



* Whose forged beauty he did take in 

hand 
All other Dames to have exceeded farre : 
I in defence of mine did likewise stand, 
Mine, that did then shine as the Morning 

starre. 
So both to batteill fierce arraunged arre, 
In which his harder fortune was to fall 
Under my speare : such is the dye of warre. 
His Lady, left as a prise martiall. 
Did yield her comely person to be at my 

call. 



' So doubly lov'd of ladies, unlike faire, 
Th' one seeming such, the other such 

indeede. 
One day in doubt I cast for to compare 
AVhether in beauties glorie did exceede : 
A Rosy girlond was the victors meede. 
Both seemde to win, and both seenide won 

to bee. 
So hard the discord was to be agreede. 
Frnelissa was as faire as faire mote bee, 
And ever false Duessa seemde as faire as 

shee. 



' The wicked witch, now seeing all this 
while 
The doubtfull ballaunce equally to sway. 
What not by right she cast to win by 

guile ; 
And by her hellish science raisd streight 

way 
A foggy mist that overcast the day. 
And a dull blast, that breathing on her 

face 
Dimmed her former beauties shining ray. 
And with foule ugly forme did her dis- 
grace : 
Then "was she fay re alone, when none was 
faire in place. 



'Then cride she out, " Fye, fye! de- 
formed wight, 
' Whose borrowed beautie now appeareth 

plaine 
' To have before bewitched all mens sight : 
' O ! leave her soone, or let her soone be 

slaine." 
Her loathly visage viewing with disdaine, 
Eftsoones I thought her such as she me 

told, 
And would have kild her ; but with faigned 

paiue 
The false witch did my wrathfull hand 

withhold : 
So left her, where she now is turnd to 

treen mould. 



'Thensforth I tooke Duessa for my 

Dame, 
And in the witch unweeting joyd long time, 
No ever wist but that she was the same ; 
Till on a day (that day is everie Prime, 
When AVitches wont do penance for their 

crime,) 
I chaunst to see her in her proper hew. 
Bathing her selfe in origane and thyme : 
A filthy foule old woman I did vew. 
That ever to have toucht her I did deadly 

rew. 

XLI. 

'Her neather partes misshapen, mon- 

struous, 
AVere hidd in water, that I could not see; 
But they did seeme more foule and hideous, 
Then wonians shape man would beleeve 

to bee. 
Thensfoi'th from her most beastly com- 

panie 
I gan refraine, in minde to slipp away. 



28 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book 



Soone as appeard safe opportunitie : 
For danger great, if not assurd decay, 
I saw before mine eyes, if I were knowne 
to stray. 

XLH. 

•The divelish hag by chaunges of my 

cheare 
Perceiv'd my thought; and, drownd in 

sleepie night. 
With wicked herbes and oyntments did 

besmeare 
My body all, through charmes and 

magicke might. 
That all my senses were bereaved quight : 
Then brought she me into this desert waste , 
And by my wretched lovers side me pight ; 
Where now, enclosd in wooden wals full 

faste, 
Banisht from living wights, our wearie 

dales we waste.' 



* But how long time,' said then the Elfin 
knight, 

* Are you in this misf ormed hous to dwell ? ' 
' We may not chaunge,' (quoth he,) ' this 

evill plight. 
Till we be bathed in a living well : 
That is the terme prescribed by the 

spell.' 

* O! how,' sayd he, * mote I that well out 

find. 
That may restore you to your wonted 

well?' 
' Time and suffised fates to former kynd 



Shall us restore; none else from hence 
may us unbynd.' 

XLIV. 

The false Duessa, now Fidessa hight, 
Heard how in vaine Fradubio did lament, 
And knew well all was true. But the good 

knight. 
Full of sad feare and ghastly dreriment, 
When all this speech the living tree had 

spent. 
The bleeding bough did thrust into the 

ground, 
That from the blood he might be innocent. 
And with fresh clay did close the wooden 

wound : 
Then, turning to his Lady, dead with feare 

her fownd. 

XLV. 

Her seeming dead he fownd with feigned 

feare. 
As all unweeting of that well she knew ; 
And paynd himselfe with busie care to 

reare 
Her out of carelesse swowne. Her eyelids 

blew. 
And dimmed sight, with pale and deadly 

hew. 
At last she up gan lift: with trembling 

cheare 
Her up he tooke, (too simple and too trew) 
And oft her kist. At length, all passed 

feare. 
He set her on her steede, and forward 

forth did beare. 



CANTO HI. 

Forsaken Truth long seekes her love. 
And makes the Lyon mylde ; 

Marres blind Devotions mart, and fals 
In hand of leachour vylde. 



Nought is there under heav'ns wide hol- 

lownesse. 
That moves more deare compassion of 

mind, 
Then beautie brought t'unworthie wretch- 

ednesse 
Through envies snares, or fortunes freakes 

unkind. 
I, whether lately through her brightnes 

blynd, 
Or through alleageance, and fast fealty, 
Which I do owe unto all womank^oid, 
Feele my hart perst with so great agony, 
When such I see, that all for pitty I could 

dy. 



And now it is empassioned so deepe. 
For fairest Unaes sake, of whom I sing. 
That my f rayle eies these lines with teares 

do steepe, 
To thinke how she through guyleful 

haudeling, 
Though true as touch, though daughter 

of a king. 
Though faire as ever living wight was 

fayre, 
Though nor in word nor deede ill merit- 
ing, 
Is from her knight divorced in despayre, 
And her dew loves deryv'd to that vile 
witches shayre. 



CANTO III.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



29 



Yet she, most faithfull Ladie, all this 

while 
Forsaken, wofuU, solitarie mayd. 
Far from all peoples preace, as in exile, 
lu wilderuesse and wastf ull deserts strayd , 
To seeke her knight ; who , subtily betrayd 
Through that late vision which th' En- 

ehaunter wrought, 
Had her abandond. She, of nought 

affrayd, 
Through woods and wastnes wide him 

daily, sought ; 
Yet wished tydinges none of him unto her 

brought. 

IV. 

One day, nigh wearie of the yrkesome 
way, 

From her unhastie beast she did alight ; 

And on the grasse her dainty limbs did 
lay 

In secrete shadow, far from all mens 
sight : 

From her f ayre head her fillet she undight. 

And layd her stole aside./ Her angels 
face. 

As the great eye of heaven, shyned bright. 

And made a sunshine in the shady place ; 

Did never mortall eye behold such heav- 
enly grace n 



It fortuned, out of the thickest wood 
A ramping Lyon rushed suddeinly. 
Hunting full greedy after salvage blood. 
Soone as the royall virgin he did spy, 
With gaping mouth at her ran greedily. 
To have attonce devourd her tender corse ; 
But to the pray when as he drew more ny. 
His bloody rage aswaged with remorse, 
And, with the sight amazd, forgat his 
furious forse. 



In stead thereof he kist her wearie 
feet. 

And lickt her lilly hands with fawning 
tong, 
/' As he her wronged innocence did weet. 
>^0, how can beautie maister the most 
strong, 

And simple truth subdue avenging wrong ! 

AVliose yielded pryde and proud sub- 
mission. 

Still dreading death, when she had marked 
long, 

Her hart gan melt in great compassion ; 

And drizling teares did shed for pure 
affection. 



* The Lyon, Lord of everie beast in 

field,' 
Quoth she, 'his princely puissance doth 

abate. 
And mightie proud to humble weake does 

yield, 
Forgetfull of the hungry rage, which late 
Him prickt, in pittie of my sad estate: 
But he, my Lyon, and my noble Lord, 
How does he find in cruell hart to hate 
Her, that him lov'd, and ever most adord 
As the God of my life ? why hath he me 

abhord ? ' 

vm. 

Redounding teares did choke th' end of 

her plaint. 
Which softly ecchoed from the neighbour 

wood; 
And, sad to see her sorrowfull constraint, 
The kingly beast upon her gazing stood : 
With pittie calmd downe fell his angry 

mood. 
At last, in close hart shutting up her 

payne. 
Arose the virgin, borne of heavenly brood, 
And to her snowy Palfrey got agayne. 
To seeke her strayed Champion if she 

might attayne. 



The Lyon would not leave her desolate, 
But with her went along, as a strong 

gard 
Of her chast person, and a faythfull mate 
Of her sad troubles and misfortunes hard : 
Still, when she slept, he kept both watch 

and ward ; 
And, when she wakt, he wayted diligent, 
With humble service to her will prepard : 
From her fayre eyes he tooke commande- 

ment. 
And ever by her lookes conceived her in- 
tent. 

X. 

Long she thus travelled through deserts 

wyde. 
By which she thought her wandring 

knight shold pas. 
Yet never shew of living wight espyde ; 
Till that at length she found the troden 

gras. 
In which the tract of peoples footing was, 
Under the steepe foot of a mountaine 

bore: 
The same she followes, till at last she has 
A damzel spyde, slow footing her before, 
That on her shoulders sad a pot of water 

bore. 



30 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book I. 



To whom approching she to her gan 

call, 
To weet if dwelling place were nigh at 

hand ; 
But the rude wench her answerd nought 

at all : 
She could not heare, nor speake, nor 

understand ; 
Till, seeing by her side the Lyon stand, 
With suddeine feare her pitcher downe 

she threw. 
And fled away : for never in that land 
Face of fayre Lady she before did vew, 
And that dredd Lyons looke her cast in 

deadly hew. 



Full fast she fled, neeverlookt behynd, 
As if her life upon the wager lay ; 
And home she came, whereas her mother 

blynd 
Sate in eternall night : nought could she 

say; 
But, suddeine catching hold, did her dis- 
may 
With quaking hands, and other signes of 

feare : 
Who, full of ghastly fright and cold affray, 
Gan shut the dore. By this arrived there 
Dame Una, weary Dame, and entrance 
did requere : 



Which when none yielded, her unruly 
Page 
With his rude clawes the wicket open rent. 
And let her in ; where, of his cruell rage 
Nigh dead with feare, and faint astonish- 
ment, 
Shee found them both in darksome corner 

pent; 
Where that old woman day and night did 

pray 
Upon her beads, devoutly penitent: 
Nine hundred Pater nosters every day. 
And thrise nine hundred Aves she was 
wont to say . 



And to augment her painefuU penaunce 

more, 
Thrise every weeke in ashes shee did sitt, 
And next her wrinkled skin rough sacke- 

cloth wore, 
And thrise three times did fast from any 

bitt ; 
But now, for feare her heads she did for- 

gett: 
Whose needlesse dread for to remove 

away, 



Faire Una framed words and count'naunce 

fitt; 
Which hardly doen, at length she gan them 

pray, 
That in their cotage small that night she 

rest her may. 



The day is spent ; and commeth drowsie 

night, 
When every creature shrowded is in 

sleepe. 
Sad Una downe her laies in weary plight, 
And at her feete the Lyon watch doth 



In stead of rest she does lament and weepe, 
For the late losse of her deare loved 

knight, 
And sighes, and groues, and evermore 

does steepe 
Her tender brest in bitter teares all night; 
All night she thinks too long, and often 

lookes for light. 



Now when Aldeboran was mounted hye 
Above the shinie Cassiopeias chaire, 
And all in deadly sleepe did drowned lye 
One knocked at the dore, and in would 

fare : 
He knocked fast, and often curst, and 

sware, 
That ready entraunce was not at his call ; 
For on his backe a heavy load he bare 
Of nightly st^lths, and pillage severall, 
Which he had got abroad by purchas 

criminall. 



He was, to weete, a stout and sturdy 
thiefe. 
Wont to robbe churches of their orna- 
ments, 
And poore mens boxes of their due reliefe, 
Which given was to them for good intents : 
The holy Saints of their rich vestiments 
He did disrobe, when all men carelesse 

slept. 
And spoild the Priests of their habili- 
ments ; 
Whiles none the holy things in safety 

kept. 
Then he by conning sleights in at the 
window crept. 

XVIII. 

And all that he by right or wrong could 
find, 



CANTO III.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



31 



Unto this house he brought, and did 

bestow 
Upon the daughter of this womau blind, 
Abessa, dauuhter of Coreeea slow, 
With whom he whoredome usd, that few 

did know, 
And fed her fatt with feast of offerings, 
And plenty, which iu all the laud did 

grow : 
Ne spared he to give her gold and rings ; 
And now he to "her brought part of his 
stolen things. 

xrx. 

Thus, long the dore with rage and 
threats he bett, 

Yet of those fearfuU women none durst 
rize, 

The Lyon frayed them, him in to lett. 

He would no lenger stay him to advize, 

But opeu breakes the dore in furious wize, 

And entring is, when that disdaiufull 
beast, 

Encouutring fierce, him suddein doth sur- 
prize^ 

And, seizing cruell clawes on trembling 
brest," 

Under his Lordly foot him proudly hath 
supprest. 

XX. 

Him booteth not resist, nor succour call, 

His bleeding hart is in the vengers hand ; 

Who streigiit him rent in thousand peeces 
small, 

And quite dismembred hath : the thirsty 
land 

Dronke up his life ; his corse left on the 
strand. 

Plis fearefull fi-eends weare out the wofull 
night, 

Ne dare to weepe,nor seeme to understand 

The heavie hap which on them is alight ; 

Affraid least to themselves the like mis- 
happen might. 



Now when broad day the world discov- 
ered has. 

Up Una I'ose, up rose the lyon eke ; 

And on their former journey forward 
pas. 

In waies unknowne, her w^andring knight 
to seeke, 

With paines far passing that long wan- 
dring Greeke, 

That for his love refused d(>itye. 

Such were the labours of this Lady meeke. 

Still seeking him, that from her still did 
flye; 



Then furthest from her hope, when most 
she weened nye. 

xxn. 

Soone as she parted thence, the fearfull 

twayne, 
That blind old woman, and her daughter 

dear. 
Came forth ; and, finding Kirkrapine there 

slayne, 
For anguish great they gan to rend their 

heare. 
And beat their brests, and naked flesh to 

teare : 
And when they both had wept and wayld 

their fill. 
Then forth they ran, like two amazed 

deare, 
Halfe mad through malice and revenging 

will. 
To follow her that was the causer of their 

ill. 

XXIII. 

Whome overtaking, they gan loudly 

bray. 
With hollow houling, and lamenting cry ; 
Shamefully at her rayling all the way, 
And her accusing of dishonesty. 
That was the flowre of faith and chastity : 
And still, amidst her rayling, she did pray 
That plagues, and mischiefes, and long 

misery. 
Might fall on her, and follow all the way, 
And that in endlesse error she might ever 

stray. 

XXIV. 

But, when she saw her prayers nought 

prevaile, 
Shee backe retourned with some labour 

lost : 
And in the way, as shee did weepe and 

waile, 
Aknight her mett iu mighty amies embost, 
Yet knight was not for all his bragging 

host ; 
But subtill Archimag, that Una sought 
By traynes into new troubles to have 

toste : 
Of that old woman tidings he besought, 
If that of such a Lady shee could tellen 

ought. 

XXV. 

Therewith slie gan her passion to renew, 
And cry, and curse, and raile, and rend 

her heare. 
Saying, that harlott she too lately knew, 
That causd her shed so many a bitter 

teare ; 
And so forth told the story of her feare. 



32 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book I. 



Much seemed he to mone her haplesse 

chaunce, 
And after for that Lady did inquere ; 
Which being taught, he forward gan 

advauuce 
His fair enchaunted steed, and eke his 

charmed launce. 



Ere long he came where Una traveild 

slow, 
And that wilde champion wayting her 

besyde ; 
Whome seeing such, for dread hee durst 

not show 
Him selfe too nigh at hand, but turned 

wyde 
Unto an hil ; from whence when she him 

spyde. 
By his like seeming shield her knight by 

name 
She weend it was, and towards him gan 

ride : 
Approaching nigh she wist it was the same ; 
And with faire fearefuU humblesse to- 
wards him shee came : 

XXVII. 

And weeping said, * Ah, my long lacked 

Lord, 
Where have ye bene thus long out of my 

sight ? 
Much feared I to have bene quite abhord, 
Or ought have done, that ye displeasen 

might, 
That should as death unto my deare heart 

light: 
For since mine eie your joyous sight did 

mis. 
My chearefull day is turnd to chearelesse 

night. 
And eke my night of death the shadow is ; 
But welcome now, my light, and shining 

lampe of blis ! ' 

XXVIII. 

Hg thereto meeting said, 'My dearest 

Dame, 
Far be it from your thought, and fro my 

wil. 
To thinke that knighthood I so much 

should shame, 
As you to leave that have me loved stil, 
And chose in Faery court, of mcere good- 

wil. 
Where noblest knights were to be found 

on earth. 
The earth shall sooner leave her kindly 

skil 



To bring forth fruit, and make eternal 

derth. 
Then I leave you, my liefe, yborn of hev- 

enly berth. 

xxrx. 

' And sooth to say, why I lefte you so 
long. 
Was for to seeke adventure in straunge 

place ; 
Where, Archimago said, a felon strong 
To many knights did daily worke disgrace ; 
But knight he now shall never more de- 
face: 
Good cause of mine excuse, that mote ye 

please 
Well to accept, and evermore embrace 
My faithf ull service, that by land and seas 
Have vowd you to defend. Now then, 
your plaint appease.' 

xxx. 

His lovely words her seemd due recom- 

pence 
Of all her passed paines : one loving howre 
For many yeares of sorrow can dispence ; 
A dram of sweete is worth a pound of 

sowre. 
Shee has forgott how many a woeful 

stowre 
For him she late endurd ; she speakes no 

more 
Of past: true is, that true love hath no 

powre 
To looken backe ; his eies be fixt before. 
Before her stands her knight, for whom 

she toyld so sore. 

xxxi. 

Much like, as when the beaten marinere. 
That long hath wandred in the Ocean wide. 
Of te soust in swelling Tethys saltish teare ; 
And long time having tand his tawney hide 
With blustring breath of Heaven, that 

none can bide, 
And scorching flames of fierce Orions 

hound ; 
Soone as the port from far he has espide, 
His chearfuU whistle merily doth sound, 
And Nereus crownes with cups ; his mates 

him pledg around. 

xxxii. 

Such joy made Una, when her knight 

she found ; 
And eke th' enchaunter joyous seemde 

no lesse 
Then the glad marchant, that does vew 

from ground 



CANTO III.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



33 



His ship far come from watrie wilder- 



He hurles out vowes, and Neptune oft 

doth blesse. 
So forth they past ; and all the way they 

spent 
Discoursing of her dreadful late distresse, 
In which he askt her, what the Lyon ment ; 
Who told her all that fell, in journey as 

she went. 

XXXIII. 

They had not ridden far, when they 

might see 
One pricking towards them with hastie 

heat, 
Full strongly armd, and on a courser free 
That through his fiersnesse fomed all with 

sweat, 
And the sharpe yron did for anger eat, 
When his hot ryder spurd his chauffed 

side : 
His looke was sterne, and seemed still to 

threat 
Cruell revenge, which he in hart did hyde ; 
And on his shield Sa7isloy in bloody lines 

was dyde. 

XXXIV. 

When nigh he drew unto this gentle 
pay re, 

And saw the Red-crosse which the knight 
did beare. 

He burnt in fire ; and gan eftsoones pre- 
pare 

Himselfe to batteill with his couched 
speare. 

Loth was that other, and did faint through 
feare, 

To taste th' untryed dint of deadly Steele : 

But yet his Lady did so well him cheare. 

That hope of new good hap he gan to f eele ; 

So bent his speare, and spurd his horse 
with yron heele. 



But that proud Paynim forward came 

so ferce 
And full of wrath, that, with his sharp- 
head speare, 
Through vainly crossed shield he quite 

did perce ; 
And, had his staggering steed not shronke 

for feare, 
Through shield and body eke he should 

him beare : 
Yet, so great was the puissance of his push. 
That from his sadle quite he did him beare. 
He, tombling rudely downe, to ground did 

rush, 
And from his gored wound a well of bloud 

did gusii. 



Dismounting lightly from his loftie 

steed. 
He to him lept, in minde to reave his life, 
And proudly said ; ' Lo ! there the worthie 

meed 
Of him that slew Sansfoy with bloody 

knife: 
Henceforth his ghost, freed from repining 

strife. 
In peace may passen over Lethe lake ; 
When mourning altars, purgd with eni- 

mies life. 
The black infernall Furies doen aslake : 
Life from Sansfoy thou tookst, Sansloy 

shall from thee take.' 



Therewith in haste his helmet gan un- 
lace. 
Till Una cride, ' O ! hold that heavie hand, 
Deare Sir, what ever that thou be in place : 
Enough is, that thy foe doth vanquisht 

stand 
Now at thy mercy : Mercy not withstand ; 
For he is one the truest knight alive. 
Though conquered now he lye on lowly 

land; 
And, whilest him fortune favourd, fayre 

did thrive 
In bloudy field ; therefore, of life him not 
deprive.' 

xxxvin. 

Her piteous wordes might not abate his 

rage, 
But, rudely rending up his helmet, would 
Have slayne him streight; but when he 

sees his age, 
And hoarie head of Archimago old, 
His hasty hand he doth amased hold, 
And halfe ashamed wondred at the sight: 
For the old man well knew he, though 

untold. 
In charmes and magick to have wondrous 

might, 
Ne ever wont in field, ne in round lists, 

to fight : 

XXXIX. 

And said, ' Why Archimago, lucklesse 

syre. 
What doe I see? what hard mishap is 

this. 
That hath thee hether brought to taste 

mine yre? 
Or thine the fault, or mine the error is, 
In stead of foe to wound my friend amis ? ' 
He answered nought, but in a traunce 

still lay, 
And on those guilefull dazed eyes of his 



34 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book I. 



The cloude of death did sit. Which doen 

away, 
He left him lying so, ne would no lenger 

stay : 

XL. 

But to the virgin comes ; who all this 

while 
Amased stands, her selfe so mockt to see 
By him, who has the guerdon of his guile. 
For so misfeiguing her true kiiight to 

bee: 
Yet is she now in more perplexitie. 
Left in the hand of that same Paynim 

bold. 
From whom her booteth not at all to flie : 
Who, by her cleanly garment catching 

hold, 
Her from her Palfrey pluckt, her visage 

to behold. 

XLI. 

But her fiers servant, full of kingly aw 
And high disdaine, whenas his soveraiue 

Dame 
So rudely handled by her foe he saw, 
With gaping jawes full greedy at him 

came. 
And, ramping on his shield, did weene the 

same 
Have reft away with his sharp rending 

clawes : 
But he was stout, and lust did now inflame 
His corage more, that from his griping 

pawes 
He hath his shield redeemd, and forth his 

swerd he drawes. 

XLII. 

O! then, too weake and feeble was the 
forse 

Of salvage beast his puissance to with- 
stand ; 

For he was strong, and of so mightie 
corse, 

As ever wielded speare in warlike hand. 



And feates of armes did wisely under- 
stand. 

Eft soones he perced through his chaufed 
chest 

With thrilling point of deadly yron brand. 

And launcht "his Lordly hart : with death 
opprest 

He ror'd aloud, whiles life forsooke his 
stubborne brest. 

XLIII. 

Who now is left to keepe the forlorne 

maid 
From raging spoile of lawlesse victors 

will ? 
Her faithfull gard remov'd, her hope dis- 

maid. 
Her selfe a yielded pray to save or spill : 
He now, Lord of the field, his pride to fill. 
With foule reproches and disdaiueful 

spight 
Her vildly entcrtaines; and, will or nill, 
Beares her away upon his courser light : 
Her prayers nought prevaile, his rage is 

more of might. 

XLIV. 

And all the way, with great lamenting 

paine. 
And piteous plaintes, she filleth his dull 

eares. 
That stony hart could riven have in 

twaine ; 
And all the way she wetts with flowing 

teares ; 
But he, enrag'd with rancor, nothing 

heares. 
Her servile beast yet would not leave her 

so, 
But followes her far off, ne ought he 

feares 
To be partaker of her wandring woe ; 
More mild in beastly kind then that her 

beastly foe. 



CANTO IV. 

To sinfull hous of Pryde Duessa 

Guydes the faithfull knight ; 
Where, brothers death to wreak, Sansjoy 

Doth chaleng him to fight. 



Young knight whatever, that dost 

armes prof esse. 
And through long labours huntest after 

fame. 
Beware of fraud, beware of ficklenesse. 
In choice, and chaunge of thy deare-loved 

Dame; 



Least thou of her believe too lightly 

blame. 
And rash misweeniug doe thy hart re- 
move : 
For unto knight there is no greater shame 
Then lightnesse and inconstancie in love : 
That doth this Redcrosse knights en- 
sample plainly prove. 



CANTO IV.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



35 



II. 

Who, after that he had fairo Una h)rnc, 
Through liglit misdeeming of her loialtie; 
And false Duessa in her sted had borne, 
Called Fidess', and so supposd to be, 
Long with her traveild ; till at last they 

see 
A goodly building bravely garnished ; 
The house of mightie Prince it seemd 

to be. 
And towards it a broad high way that 

led, 
All bare through peoples feet which 

thether travelled. 



Great troupes of people traveild theth- 

erward 
Both day and night, of each degree and 

place; 
But few returned, having scaped hard. 
With balefull beggery, or foule disgrace ; 
Which ever after in most wretched case, 
Like loathsome lazars, by the hedges lay. 
Thether Duessa badd him bend his pace, 
For she is wearie of the toilsom way, 
And also nigh consumed is the lingring 

day. 



A stately Pall ace built of squared 
bricke, 
Which cunningly was without morter 

laid. 
Whose wals were high, but nothing- 
strong nor thick. 
And golden foile all over them displaid, 
That purest skye with brightnesse they 

dismaid: 
High lifted up were many loftie towres. 
And goodly galleries far over laid, 
Full of faire windowes and delightful 

bowres : 
And on the top a Diall told the timely 
howres. 



It was a goodly heape for to behould, 
And spake the praises of the workmans 

witt; 
But full great pittie, that so faire a mould 
Did on so weake foundation ever sitt: 
For on a sandie hill, that still did flitt 
And fall away, it mounted was full hie, 
That every breath of heaven shaked itt : 
And all the hinder partes, that few could 

spie, 
Were ruinous and old, but painted cun- 
ningly. 



Arrived there, they passed in forth 

right ; 
For still to all the gates stood open wide ; 
Yet charge of them was to a Porter hight, 
Cald Malvenii, who entrance none denide : 
Thence to the hall, which was on every 

side 
With rich array and costly arras dight. 
Intiuite sortes of people did abide 
There waiting long, to win the wished sight 
Of her, that was the Lady of that Pallace 

bright. 

VII. 

By them they passe, all gazing on them 
round, 
And to the Presence mount ; whose glori- 
ous vew 
Their frayle amazed senses did confound : 
In living Princes court none ever knew 
Such endlesse richesse, and so sumpteous 

shew ; 
Ne Persia selfe, the nourse of pompous 

pride, 
Like ever saw. And there a noble crew 
Of Lords and Ladies stood on every side. 
Which with their presence fayre the place 
much beautifide. 



High above all a cloth of State was spred, 
And a rich throne, as bright as sunny day; 
On which there sate, most brave embel- 
lished 
With royall robes and gorgeous array, 
A mayden Queene that shone as Titans 

ray, 
In glistring gold and perelesse pretious 

stone ; 
Yet her bright blazing beautie did assay 
To dim the brightnesse of her glorious 

throne, 
As envying her selfe, that too exceeding 
shone : 



Exceeding shone, like Phoebus fay rest 
childe. 

That did presume his fathers fyri6 wayne, 

And flaming m.outhes of steedes, un- 
wonted wilde, 

Through highest heaven with weaker hand 
to rayne : 

Proud of such glory and advancement 
vayne, 

Wliile flashing beames do daze his feeble 
eyen, 

He leaves the welkin way most beaten 
playne, 



3G 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book I. 



Aud, rapt with whirling wheeles, inflames 

the skyen 
With fire not made to burne, but fayrely 

for to shyne. 



So proud she shyned iu her princely 

state, 
Looking to heaven, for earth she did dis- 

dayne, 
And sitting high, for lowly she did hate : 
Lo! underneath her scornefull feete was 

layne 
A dreadfull Dragon with an hideous 

trayne ; 
And in her hand she held a mirrhour 

bright, 
Wherein her face she often vewed fayne, 
And in her selfe-lov'd semblance took de- 
light ; 
For she was wondrous faire, as any living 

wight. 

XI. 

Of griesly Pluto she the daughter was, 
And sad Proserpina, the Queene of hell ; 
Yet did she thinke her pearelesse worth to 

pas 
That parentage, with pride so did she 

swell ; 
And thundring Jove, that high in heaven 

doth dwell 
And wield the world, she claymed for her 

syre. 
Or if that any else did Jove excell ; 
For to the highest she did still aspyre. 
Or, if ought higher were than that, did it 

desyre. 

XII. 

And proud Lucifera men did her call, 
That made her selfe a Queene, and crownd 

to be ; 
Yet rightf ull kingdome she had none at all, 
Ne heritage of native soveraintie ; 
But did usurpe with wrong and tyrannic 
Upon the scepter which she now did hold : 
Ne ruld her Realme with lawes, but polli- 

cie. 
And strong advizement of six wisards old. 
That, with their counsels bad, her king- 
dome did uphold. 

XIII. 

Soone as the Elfin knight in presence 

came. 
And false Duessa, seeming Lady fay re, 
A gentle Husher, Vanitie by name. 
Made rowme, and passage for them did 

prepaire : 
So goodly brought them to the lowest 

stay re 



Of her high throne ; where they, on hum- 
ble knee 

Making obeysaunce, did the cause declare, 

Why they were come her roiall state to 
see. 

To prove the wide report of her great 
Majestec. 

XIV. 

With loftie eyes, halfe loth to looke so 

lowe. 
She thancked them in her disdainefuU 

wise; 
Ne other grace vouchsafed them to showe 
Of Princesse worthy; scarse them bad 

arise. 
Her Lordes and Ladies all this while de- 
vise 
Themselves to setten forth to straungers 

sight : 
Some frounce their curled heare in courtly 

guise ; 
Some prancke their ruffes; and others 

trimly dight 
Their gay attyre; each others greater 

pride does spight. 

XV. 

Goodly they all that knight doe enter- 

tayne. 
Right glad with him to have increast their 

crew ; 
But to Duess' each one himselfe did payne 
All kindnesse and faire courtesie to shew. 
For in that court whylome her well they 

knew : 
Yet the stout Faery mongst the middest 

crowd 
Thought all their glorie vaine in knightly 

vew, 
And that great Princesse too exceeding 

prowd. 
That to strange knight no better counte- 
nance allowd. 



Suddein upriseth from her stately place 
The roiall Dame, and for her coche doth 

call: 
All hurtlen forth ; and she, with princely 

pace, 
As faire Aurora in her purple pall 
Out of the East the dawning day doth 

call. 
So forth she comes ; her brightnes brode 

doth blaze. 
The heapes of people, thronging in the 

hall, 
Doe ride each other upon her to gaze : 
Her glorious glitterand light doth all 

mens eies amaze. 



CANTO IV.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



37 



So forth she comes, and to her coche 
does clyme, 

Adorued all with gold and girlonds gay, 

That seemd as fresh as Flora in her prime ; 

And strove to match, in roiall rich array, 

Great Junoes golden chayre ; the which, 
they say, 

The gods stand gazing on, when she does 
ride 

To Joves high hous through heavens bras- 
paved way, 

Drawne of fayre Pecocks, that excell in 
pride, 

And full of Argus eyes their tayles dis- 
predden wide. 



But this was drawne of six unequall 

beasts, 
On which her six sage Counsellours did 

ryde, 
Taught to obay their bestiall beheasts 
"With like conditions to their kindes ap- 

plyde : 
Of which the first, that all the rest did 

guyde. 
Was sluggish Idlenesse, the nourse of sin ; 
Upon a slouthfull Asse he chose to ryde, 
Arayd in habit blacke, and amis thin, 
Like to an holy Monck, the service to 

begin. 



And in his hand his Portesse still he 

bare, 
That much was worne, but therein little 

redd; 
For of devotion he had little care, 
Still drownd in sleepe, and most of his 

dales dedd: 
Scarse could he once uphold his heavie 

hedd. 
To looken whether it were night or day. 
May seeme the wayne was very evill ledd, 
When such an one had guiding of the way, 
That knew not whether right he went, or 

else astray. 



From worldly cares himselfe he did 

esloyne, 
And greatly shunned manly exercise ; 
From everie worke he chalenged essoyne. 
For contemplation sake : yet otherwise 
His life he led in lawlesse riotise. 
By which he grew to grievous malady ; 
For in his lustlesse limbs, through evill 

guise, 



A shaking fever raignd continually. 
Such one was Idlenesse, first of this com- 
pany. 

XXI. 

And by his side rode loathsome Gluttony, 
Deformed creature, on a filthie swyne. 
His belly was upblowne with luxury, 
And eke with fatnesse swollen were his 

eyne; 
And like a Crane his necke was long and 

fyne 
With which he swallowed up excessive 

feast, 
For want whereof poore people oft did 

pyne: 
And all the way, most like a brutish beast, 
He spued up his gorge, that all did him 

deteast. 

XXII. 

In greene vine leaves he was right fitly 

clad. 
For other clothes he could not weare for 

heate ; 
And on his head an yvie girland had. 
From under which fast trickled dovme the 

sweat. 
Still as he rode he somewhat still did eat, 
And in his hand did beare a bouzing can. 
Of which he supt so oft, that on his seat 
His dronken corse he scarse upholden can: 
In shape and life more like a monster then 

a man. 

xxni. 

Unfit he was for any worldly thing. 
And eke unhable once to stirre or go ; 
Not meet to be of counsell to a king, 
Whose mind in meat and drinke was 

drowned so, 
That from his f rend he seeldome knew his 

fo. 
Full of diseases was his carcas blew. 
And a dry dropsie through his flesh did 

flow. 
Which by misdiet daily greater grew. 
Such one was Gluttony, the second of that 

crew. 

xxrv. 

And next to him rode lustfull Lechery 

Upon a bearded Gote, whose rugged heare. 

And whally eies (the signe of gelosy,) 

Was like the person selfe whom he did 

beare : 
Who rough, and blacke, and filthy, did ap- 

peare, 
Unseemely man to please faire Ladies eye ; 
Yet he of Ladies oft was loved deare, 
When fairer faces were bid standen by : 
O! who does know the bent of womens 

fantasy ? 



38 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book I. 



XXV. 

Ill a greene gowue he clothed was full 

faire, 
Which underneath did hide his filthinesse ; 
And it! his hand a l)iu'ning hart he bare, 
Full of vainH lollir;-; and ij^ew fanglenesse : 
For he was I'.vImc, aud fraught with fickle- 

nesse, 
And learned had to love with sccretlookes ; 
And well could dauuce, and sing with rue- 

f ulnesse ; 
And fortunes tell, and read in loving 

bookes. 
And thousand other waies to bait his 

fleshly hookes. 



XXVI. 

Inconstant man, that loved all he saw, 
And lusted after all that he did love ; 
Ne would his looser life be tide to law, 
But joyd weake wemens hearts to tempt, 

and prove. 
If from their loiall loves he might them 

move : 
Which lewdnes fild him with reprochfull 

pain 
Of that foule evill, which all men reprove, 
That rotts the marrow, and consumes the 

braine. 
Such one was Lechery, the third of all 

this traine. 

XXVII. 

And greedy Avarice by him did ride, 
Uppon a Camell loaden all with gold ; 
Two iron coffers hong on either side, 
With precious metall full as they might 

hold; 
And in his lap an heap of coine he told ; 
For of his wicked pelfe his God he made, 
And unto hell him self e for money sold : 
Accursed usury was all his trade. 
And right and wrong ylike in equall bal- 

launce waide. 



XXVIII. 

His life was nigh unto deaths dore 

yplaste ; 
And thred-bare cote, and cobled shoes, hee 

ware ; 
Ne scarse good mor.sell all his life did taste, 
But both from backe and belly still did 

spare. 
To fill his bags, and richesse to compare : 
Yet childe ne kinsman living had he none 
To leave them to ; but thorough daily care 
To get, and nightly feare to lose hisowne. 
He led a wretched life, unto himselfe un- 

knowne. 



Most wretched wight, whom nothing 

might surtise ; 
Whose greedy lust did lacke in greatest 

store ; 
Whose need had end, but no end covetise ; 
Whose welth was want, whose plenty made 

him pore ; 
Who had enough, yett wished ever more ; 
A vile disease : and eke in foote and hand 
A grievous gout tormented him full sore, 
That well he could not touch, nor goe, nor 

stand. 
Such one was Avarice, the fourth of this 

faire band. 



And next to him malicious Envy rode 
Upon a ravenous wolfe, and still did chaw 
Between his cankred teeth a venemous 

tode, 
That all the poison ran about his chaw ; 
But inwardly he chawed his owne maw 
At neighbours welth, that made him ever 

sad, 
For death it was, when any good he saw ; 
And wept, that cause of weeping none he 

had; 
But when he heard of harme he wexed 

wondrous glad. 



All in a kirtle of discolourd say 
He clothed was, ypaynted full of eies ; 
And in his bosome secretly there lay 
An hatef ull Snake, the which his taile up- 

tyes 
In many folds, and mortall sting implyes. 
Still as he rode he gnasht his teeth to 

see 
Those heapes of gold with griple Covetyse ; 
And grudged at the great felicitee 
Of proud Lucifera, and his owne com- 

panee. 

XXXII. 

He hated all good workes and vertuous 
deeds. 

And him no lesse, that any like did use ; 

And who with gratious bread the hungry 
feeds, 

His almes for want of faith he doth ac- 
cuse. 

So every good to bad he doth abuse ; 

And eke the verse of famous Poets witt 

He does backebite, and spightfull poison 
spues 

From leprous mouth on all that ever 
writt. 

Such one vile Envy was, that fifte in row 
did sitt. 



CANTO IV.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



39 



Aud him beside rides fierce revenging 
Wrath, 
Upon a Lion, loth for to be led ; 
AJid in his hand a burning broiid he hath. 
The which he brandisheth about his bed : 
His eiesdid liurle forth sparcles fiery red, 
And stared sterne on all that him beheld ; 
As ashes pale of hew, and seeming ded ; 
And on his dagger still his hand he held, 
Trembling through hasty rage when choler 
in him sweld. 



His ruffin raiment all was staind with 

blood 
Which he had spilt, and all to rags yrent. 
Through unadvized rashnes woxeu wood ; 
For of his hands he had no governement, 
Ne'car'd for blood in his avengement: 
But, when the furious fitt was overpast, 
His cruel facts he often would repent ; 
Yet, wilf ull man, he never would forecast 
How many mischieves should ensue his 

heedlesse hast. 

XXXV. 

Full many mischiefes follow cruell 
Wrath: 
Abhorred bloodshed, and tumultuous 

strife. 
Unmanly murder, and mithrifty scath, 
Bitter despight, with rancours rusty 

knife. 
And fretting grief e, the enemy of life : 
All these, aud many evils moe haunt ire, 
The swelling Splene, and Frenzy raging 

rife, 
The shaking Palsey, and Saint Fraunces 

fire. 
Such one was Wrath, the last of this un- 
godly tire. 

XXXVI. 

And, after all, upon the wagon beame. 
Rode Sathan with a smarting whip in 

hand. 
With which he forward lasht the laesy 

teme, 
So oft as Slowth still in the mire did 

stand. 
Huge routs of people did about them 

band, 
Showting for joy; and still before their 

way 
A foggy mist had covered all the land ; 
And, underneath their feet, all scattered 

lay 
Dead sculls and bones of men whoie life 

had gone astray. 



So forth they marchen in this goodly 

sort. 
To take the solace of the open aire, 
And in fresh flowring fields themselves 

to sport : 
Emongst the rest rode that false Lady 

faire. 
The foule Duessa, next unto the chaire 
Of proud Lucifer', as one of the traine : 
But that good knight would not so nigh 

repaire. 
Him self e estraunging from their joyaunce 

vaine, 
Whose fellowship seemd far unfitt for 

warlike swaine. 



So, having solaced themselves a space 
With pleasaunce of the breathing fields 

yfed. 
They backe retourned to the princely 

Place ; 
Whereas an errant knight inarmesycled, 
Aud heathnish shield, wherein with letters 

red. 
Was writt Sansjoy, they new arrived 

find: 
Enflam'd with fury and fiers hardy bed. 
He seemd in hart to harbour thoughts 

unkind, 
And nourish bloody vengeaunce in his 

bitter mind. 



Who, when the shamed shield of slaine 

Sansfoy 
He spide with that same Faery champions 

page, 
Bewraying him that did of late destroy 
His eldest brother ; burning all with 

rage, 
He to him lept, and that same envious 

gage 
Of victors glory from him snacht away : 
But th' Elfin knight, which ought that 

warlike wage, 
Disdaind to loose the meed he wonne in 

fray; 
And, him rencountring fierce, reskewd 

the noble pray. 



Therewith they gan to hurtlen greedily. 
Redoubted battaile ready to darrayne. 
And clash their shields, and shake their 

swerds on by, 
That with their sturre they troubled all 

the traine ; 



40 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book I. 



Till that great Queeue, upon eternall 

paine 
Of high displeasure that ensewen might, 
Commaunded them their fury to refraine ; 
And, if that either to that shield had 

right, 
In equall lists they should the morrow 

next it fight. 



' Ah dearest Dame,' quoth then the Pay- 

nim bold, 
* Pardon the error of enraged wight, 
Whome great griefe made forgett the 

raines to hold 
Of reasons rule, to see this recreaunt 

knight, 
No knight, but treachour full of false 

despight 
And shameful treason, who through guile 

hath slayn 
The prowest knight that ever field did 

fight, 
Even stout Sansfoy, (O who can then 

ref rayn ?) 
Whose shield he beares renverst, the 

more to heap disdayn. 



XLII. 

* And, to augment the glorie of his guile. 
His dearest love, the faire Fidessa, loe! 
Is there possessed of the traytour vile ; 
Who reapes the harvest sowen by his 

foe, 
Sowen in bloodie field, and bought with 

woe: 
That brothers hand shall dearely well 

req night. 
So be, O Queene! you equall favour 

showe.' 
Him litle answerd th' angry Elfin knight ; 
He never meant with words, but swords, 

to plead his right : 



But threw his gauntlet, as a sacred 

pledge 
His cause in combat the next day to try : 
So been they parted both, with harts on 

edge 
To be aveng'd each on his eniray. 
That night they pas in joy and jollity. 
Feasting and courting both in bowre and 

hall ; 
For Steward was excessive Gluttony, 
That of his plenty poured forth to all : 
Which doen, the Chamberlain, Slowth, 

did to rest them call. 



XLIV. 

Now whenas darkesome night had all 

displayd 
Her coleblacke curtein over brightest 

skye ; 
The warlike youthes, on dayntie couches 

layd. 
Did chace away sweet sleepe from sluggish 

eye. 
To muse on meanes of hoped victory. 
But whenas Morpheus had with leaden 

mace 
Arrested all that courtly company. 
Uprose Duessa from her resting place. 
And to the Paynims lodging comes with 

silent pace. 



Whom broad awake she findes, in 

troublous fitt. 
Fore-casting how his foe he might annoy; 
And him amoves with speaches seeming 

fitt: 
'Ah deare Sansjoy, next dearest to 

Sansfoy, 
Cause of my new griefe, cause of my new 

joy; 
Joyous to see his ymage in mine eye, 
And greevd to thinke how foe did him 

destroy. 
That was the flowre of grace and 

chevalrye ; 
Lo ! his Fidessa, to thy secret faith I flye.* 

XLVI. 

With gentle wordes he can her fayrely 

greet. 
And bad say on the secrete of her hart : 
Then, sighing soft; 'I learne that litle 

sweet 
Oft tempred is,' (quoth she,) * with 

muchell smart: 
For since my brest was launcht with 

lovely dart 
Of deare Sansfoy, I never joyed howre. 
But in eternall woes my weaker hart 
Have wasted, loving him with all my 

powre. 
And for his sake have felt full many an 

heavie stowre. 

XLVII. 

* At last, when perils all I weened past. 
And hop'd to reape the crop of all my 

care. 
Into new woes unweeting I was cast 
By this false faytor, who unworthie ware 
His ^orthie shield, whom he with guile- 
full snare 



CANTO v.] 



THE FAERIE QUEEN E. 



41 



Entrapped slew, and brought to shamef ull 

grave : 
Me, silly maid, away with him he bare, 
And ever since hath kept in darksom 

cave, 
For that I would not yeeld that to Sans- 

foy I gave. 

XLVIII. 

' But since faire Sunne hath sperst that 

lo wring clowd. 
And to my loathed life now shewes some 

light, 
Under your beames I will me safely 

shrowd 
From dreaded storme of his disdainfull 

spight : 
To you th' inheritance belonges by right 
Of brothers prayse, to you eke longes his 

love. 
Let not his love, let not his restlesse 

spright. 
Be unreveng'd, that calles to you above 
From wandring Stygian shores, where it 

doth endlesse move.' 



XLIX. 

Thereto said he, ' Faire Dame, be nought 

dismaid 
For sorrowes past; their griefe is with 

them gone : 
Ne yet of present perill be affraid, 
For needlesse feare did never vantage 

none; 
And helplesse hap it bootethnot to mone. 
Dead is Sansfoy, his vitall paines are past. 
Though greeved ghost for vengeance deep 

do grone : 



He lives that shall him pay his dewties 

last. 
And guiltie Elfin blood shall sacrifice in 

hast.' 

L. 

'O! but I feare the fickle freakes,' 

(quoth shee) 
' Of fortune false, and oddes of armes in 

field.' 
'Why, dame,' (quoth he) 'what oddes 

can ever bee, 
Where both doe fight alike, to win or 

yield ? ' 
' Yea, but,' (quoth she) ' he beares a 

charmed shield. 
And eke enchaunted armes, that none 

can perce ; 
Ne none can wound the man that does 

them wield.' 
' Charmd or enchaunted,' answerd he 

then ferce, 
* I no whitt reck ; ne you the like need to 

reherce. 

LI. 

'But, faire Fidessa, sithens fortunes 

guile. 
Or enimies powre, hath now captived you, 
Returne from whence ye came, and rest 

a while, 
Till morrow next that I the Elfe subdew. 
And with Sansfoyes dead dowry you 

endew.' 
' Ah me ! that is a double death,' (she 

said) 
' With proud foes sight my sorrow to 

renew. 
Where ever yet I be, my secret aide 
Shall follow you.' So, passing forth, she 

him obaid. 



CANTO V. 

The faithfull knight in equall field 
Subdewes his faithlesse foe ; 

Whom false Duessa saves, and for 
His cure to hell does goe. 



The noble hart that harbours vertuous 

thought. 
And is withchilde of glorious great intent, 
Can never rest, untill it forth have brought 
Th'eternall brood of glorie excellent : 
Such restlesse passion did all night 

torment 
The flaming corage of that Faery knight. 
Devizing how that doughtie turnament 
With greatest honour he atchieven might : 
Still did he wake, and still did watch for 

dawning light. 



At last, the golden Orientall gate 
Of greatest heaven gan to open fayre ; 
And Phoebus, fresh as brydegrome to his 

mate, 
Came dauncing forth, shaking his deawie 

hay re, 
And hurld his glistring beams through 

gloomy ay re. 
Which when the wakeful Elfe perceiv'd, 

streight way, 
He started up, and did him selfe prepayre 
In sunbright armes, and battailous array ; 



42 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book I. 



For with that Pagan proud he combatt 
will that day. 



And forth he comes into the commune 

hall; 
Where earely waite him many a gazing 

eye, 
To weet what end to straunger knights 

may fall. 
There many Minstrales maken melody, 
To drive away the dull melancholy ; 
And many Bardes, that to the trembling 

chord 
Can time their timely voices cunningly ; 
And many Chroniclers, that can record 
Old loves, and warres for Ladies doen by 

many a Lord. 



Soone after comes the cruell Sarazin, 
In woven Maile all armed warily ; 
And sternly lookes at him, who not a pin 
Does care for looke of living creatures eye. 
They bring them wines of Greece and 

Araby, 
And daintie spices fetch from furthest 

Ynd, 
To kindle heat of corage privily ; 
And in the wine a solemne oth they bynd 
T' observe the sacred lawes of armes that 

are assynd. 

V. 

At last forth comes that far renowmed 
Queene : 
With royall pomp and princely majestic 
She is ybrought unto a paled greene, 
And placed under stately canapee. 
The warlike feates of both those knights 

to see. 
On th' other side in all mens open vew 
Duessa placed is, and on a tree 
Sansfoy his shield is hangd with bloody 

hew; 
Both those the lawrell girlonds to the vic- 
tor dew. 

VI. 

A shrilling trompett sownded from on 

hye, 
And unto battaill bad them selves ad- 

dresse : 
Their shining shieldes about their wrestes 

they tye. 
And burning blades about their heades 

doe blesse. 
The instruments of wrath and heavinesse. 
With greedy force each other doth assay le, 
And strike so fiercely, that they do im- 

presse 



Deepe dinted furrowes in the battred 

mayle : 
The yron walles to ward their blowes are 

weak and fraile. 



The Sarazin was stout and wondrous 

strong. 
And heaped blowes like yron hammers 

great ; 
For after blood and vengeance he did 

long: 
The knight was fiers, and full of youthly 

heat, 
And doubled strokes, like dreaded thun- 
ders threat ; 
For all for praise and honour he did fight. 
Both stricken stryke, and beaten both doe 

beat, 
That from their shields forth flyeth firie 

light. 
And hewen helmets deepe shew marks of 

eithers might. 



So th' one for wrong, the other strives 

for right. 
As when a Gryfon, seized of his pray, 
A Dragon fiers encountreth in his flight. 
Through widest ayre making his ydle 

way, 
That would his rightfull ravine rend 

away: 
With hideous horror both together smight. 
And souce so sore that they the heavens 

affray ; 
The wise Southsayer, seeing so sad sight, 
Th' amazed vulgar telles of warres and 

mortall fight. 



So th' one for wrong, the other strives 

for right, 
And each to deadly shame would drive 

his foe: 
The cruell Steele so greedily doth bight 
In tender flesh, that streames of blood 

down flow ; 
With which the armes, that earst so bright 

did show, 
Into a pure vermillion now are dyde. 
Great ruth in all the gazers harts did 

grow. 
Seeing the gored woundes to gape so wyde, 
That victory they dare not wish to either 

side. 

X. 

At last the Paynim chamist to cast his 
eye, 



CANTO v.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



43 



His suddein eye flaming with wrathfull 
fyre, 

Upou his brothers shield, which hong 
thereby : 

Therewith redoubled was his raging yre, 

And said ; ' Ah ! wretched sonne of wof nil 
syre, 

Doest thou sit wayliug by blacke Stygian 
lake, 

Whylest here thy shield is haugd for vic- 
tors hyre ? 

And, sluggish german, doest thy forces 
slake 

To after-send his foe, that him may over- 
take ? 

XI. 

'Goe, caytive Elfe, him quickly over- 
take. 
And soone redeeme from his long-wan- 

dring woe : 
Goe, guiltie ghost, to him my message 

make, 
That I his shield have quit from dying foe.' 
Therewith upon his crest he stroke him so, 
That twise he reeled, readie twise to fall : 
End of the doubtfull battaile deemed tho 
The lookers on ; and lowd to him gan call 
The false Duessa, ' Thine the shield, and 
I, and all! ' 

XII. 

Soone as the Faerie heard his Ladie 

speake, 
Out of his swowning dreame he gan 

awake ; 
And quickning faith, that earst was woxen 

weake. 
The creeping deadly cold away did shake : 
Tho mov'dwith wrath, and shame, and 

Ladies sake, 
Of all attonce he cast avengd to be. 
And with so' exceeding furie at him strake, 
That forced him to stoupe upon his knee : 
Had he not stouped so, he should have 

cloven bee. 

XIII. 

And to him said ; ' Goe now, proud Mis- 
creant, 

Thyself e thy message do to german deare ; 

Alone he, wandring, thee too long doth 
want : 

Goe say, his foe thy shield with his doth 
beare.' 

Therewith his heavie hand he high gan 
reare, 

Him to have slaine; when lo! a darke- 
some clowd 

Upon him fell : he no where doth appeare, 

But vanisht is. The Elfe him calls alowd, 

But answer none receives; the darknes 
him does shrowd. 



In haste Duessa from her place arose, 
And to him running said; 'O! prowest 

knight, 
That ever Ladie to her love did chose. 
Let now abate the terrour of your might, 
And quench the flame of furious despight, 
And bloodie vengeance: lo! th' iniernall 

powres. 
Covering your foe with cloud of deadly 

night, 
Have borne him hence to Plutoes balefull 

bowres : 
The conquest yours ; I yours ; the shield, 

and glory yours.' 



Not all so satisfide, with greedy eye 
He sought all round about, his thristy 

blade 
To bathe in blood of faithlesse enimy ; 
Who all that while lay hid in secret sliade. 
He standes amazed how he thence should 

fade: 
At last the trumpets Triumph sound on 

hie; 
And running Heralds humble homage 

made. 
Greeting him goodly with new victorie, 
And to him brought the shield, the cause 

of enmitie. 



Wherewith he goeth to that soveraine 

Queene ; 
And falling her before on lowly knee. 
To her makes present of his service scene : 
Which she accepts with thankes and 

goodly gree, 
Greatly advauncing his gay chevalree : 
So marcheth home, and by her takes the 

knight. 
Whom all the people followe with great 

glee. 
Shouting, and clapping all their hands on 

hight. 
That all the ayre it fills, and flyes to 

heaven bright. 



Home is he brought, and layd in sump- 
tons bed, 
Where many skilfull leaches him abide 
To salve his hurts, that yet still freshly 

bled. 
In wine and oyle they wash his woundes 

wide, 
And softly gan embalm e on everie side : 
And all the while most heavenly melody 
About the bed sweet musicke did divide, 



44 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book I. 



Him to beguile of griefe and agony ; 
And all the while Duessa wept full bitterly. 

XVIII. 

As when a wearie traveller, that strayes 
By muddy shore of broad seven-mouthed 

Nile, 
Unweeting of the perillous wandring 

wayes, 
Doth meete a cruell craftie Crocodile, 
Which, in false griefe hyding his harme- 

f uU guile, 
Doth weepe full sore, and sheddeth tender 

teares ; 
The foolish man, that pities all this while 
His mournefull plight, is swallowed up 

unwares, 
ForgetfuU of his owne that mindes an 

others cares. 



So wept Daessa untill eventyde. 
That shyning lampes in Joves high house 

were light ; 
Then forth she rose, ne lenger would 

abide. 
But comes unto the place where th' He- 
then knight. 
In slombring swownd, nigh voyd of vitall 

spright, 
Lay cover'd with inchaunted cloud all 

day: 
Whom when she found, as she him left in 

plight. 
To wayle his wofull case she would not 

stay, 
But to the Easterne coast of heaven makes 

speedy way : 

XX. 

Where griesly Night, with visage deadly 
sad, 
That Phoebus chearefull face durst never 

vew. 
And in a foule blacke pitchy mantle clad, 
She findes forth comming from her dark- 
some mew. 
Where she all day did hide her hated hew. 
Before the dore her yron charet stood. 
Already harnessed for journey new, 
And cole blacke steedes yborne of hellish 

brood. 
That on their rusty bits did champ as they 
were wood. 

XXI. 

Who when she saw Duessa, sunny 

bright, 
Adornd with gold and jewels shining 

cleare, 
She greatly grew amazed at the sight. 



And th' unacquainted light began to 

feare, 
For never did such brightnes there ap- 

peare ; 
And would have backe retyred to her 

cave, 
Untill the witches speach she gan to 

heare, 
Saying ; ' Yet, O thou dreaded Dame ! I 

crave 
Abyde, till I have told the message which 

I have.' 

XXII. 

She stayd ; and foorth Duessa gan pro- 

ceede : 
* O ! thou most auncient Grandmother of 

all. 
More old then Jove, whom thou at first 

didst breede, 
Or that great house of Gods cselestiall. 
Which wast begot in Dsemogorgons hall, 
And sawst the secrets of the world un- 
made; 
Why suffredst thou thy Nephewes deare 

to fall. 
With Elfin sword most shamefully be- 

trade ? 
Lo ! where the stout Sans joy doth sleepe 

in deadly shade. 

XXIII. 

'And him before, I saw with bitter 

eyes 
The bold Sansfoy shrinck underneath his 

speare ; 
And now the pray of fowles in field he 

lyes, 
Nor way Id of friends, nor layd on gron- 

ing beare, 
That whylome was to me too dearely 

deare. 
O ! what of gods then boots it to be borne, 
If old Aveugles sonnes so evill heare ? 
Or who shall not great Nightes children 

scorne. 
When two of three her Nephewes are so 

fowle forlorne? 

XXIV. 

' Up, then ! up, dreary Dame, of dark- 
nes Queene! 

Go, gather up the reliques of thy race ; 

Or else goe them avenge, and let be 
seene 

That dreaded Night in brightest day hath 
place, 

And can the children of fayre light de- 
face.' 

Her feeling speaches some compassion 
mov'd 



CANTO v.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



45 



In hart, and chaunge in that great mo- 
thers face : 
Yet pitty in her hart was never prov'd 
Till then, for evermore she hated, never 
lov'd: 

XXV. 

And said, 'Deare daughter, rightly may 

I rew 
The fall of famous children borne of mee, 
And good successes which their foes 

ensew : 
But who can turne the stream of destinee, 
Or breake the chayne of strong ueces- 

sitee, 
Which fast is tyde to Joves eternall seat ? 
The sounes of Day he favoureth, I see, 
And by my mines thinkes to make them 

great : 
To make one great by others losse is bad 

excheat." 

XXVI. 

'Yet shall they not escape so freely all, 
For some shall pay the price of others 

guilt; 
And he the man that made Sansfoy to 

fall. 
Shall with his owne blood price that he 

hath spilt. 
But what are thou, that telst of Nephews 

kilt?' 
* I, that do seeme not I, Duessa ame,' 
Quoth she, *liow ever now, in garments 

gilt 
And gorgeous gold arayd, I to thee 

came, 
Duessa I, the daughter of Deceipt and 

Shame.' 

XXVII, 

Then, bowing downe her aged backe, 

she kist 
The wicked witch, saying, ' In that fayre 

face 
The false resemblaunce of Deceipt, I wist. 
Did closely lurke; yet so true-seeming 

grace 
It carried, that I scarse in darksome 

place 
Could it discerne, though I the mother 

bee 
Of falshood, and roote of Duessaes race. 
O welcome, child ! whom I have longd to 

see. 
And now have scene unwares. Lo ! now 

I goe with thee.' 

XXVIII. 

Then to her yron wagon she betakes, 
And with her beares the fowle welfavourd 
witch. 



Through mirkesome aire her ready way 

she makes: 
Her twyfold Teme, of which two blacke 

as pitch. 
And two were browne, yet each to each 

uulich. 
Did softly swim away, ne ever stamp 
Unlesse she chamist their stubborne 

mouths to twitch ; 
Then, foming tarre, their bridles they 

would champ, 
And trampling the fine element would 

fiercely ramp. 

xxrx. 

So well they sped, that they be come at 

length 
Unto the place whereas the Paynim lay, 
Devoid of outward sence and native 

strength, 
Coverd with charmed cloud from vew of 

day, 
And sight of men, since his late luckelesse 

fray. 
His cruell wounds, with cruddy bloud 

congeald , 
They binden up so wisely as they may, 
And handle sof tlj^ till they can be heald : 
So lay him in her charett, close in night 

conceald. 



And, all the while she stood upon the 

ground. 
The wakefuU dogs did never cease to bay, 
As giving warning of th' unwonted 

sound. 
With which her yron wheeles did them 

affray, 
And her darke griesly looke them much 

dismay : 
The messenger of death, the ghasty owle, 
With drery shriekes did also her bewray; 
And hungry wolves continually did howle 
At her abhorred face, so filthy and so 

fowle. 



Thence turning backe in silence softe 

they stole. 
And brought the heavy corse with easy 

pace 
To yawning gulfe of deepe Avernus hole. 
By that same hole an entraunce, darke 

and bace. 
With smoake and sulphur hiding all the 

place. 
Descends to hell: there creature never 

past. 
That backe retourned without heavenly 

grace ; 



46 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book 1. 



But dreadfull Furies, which their chaiues 

have brastj 
And damned sprights sent forth to make 

ill men aghast. 

XXXII. 

By that same way the direfull dames 

doe drive 
Their mournefull charett, fild with rusty 

blood, 
And downe to Plutoes house are come 

bilive : 
Which passing through, on every side 

them stood 
The trembling ghosts with sad amazed 

mood, 
Chattring their iron teeth, and staring 

wide 
With stony eies; and all the hellish 

brood 
Of feends infernall flockt on every side, 
To gaze on erthly wight that with the 

Night durst ride. 



They pas the bitter waves of Acheron, 
Where many soules sit wailing woefully, 
And come to fiery flood of Phlegeton, 
Whereas the damned ghosts in torments 

fry, 

And with sharp shrilling shriekes doe 
bootlesse cry, 

Cursing high Jove, the which them thither 
sent. 

The house of endlesse paine is built thereby. 

In which ten thousand sorts of punish- 
ment 

The cursed creatures doe eternally tor- 
ment. 

XXXI v. 

Before the threshold dreadfull Cerberus 
His three deformed heads did lay along. 
Curled with thousand adders venemous, 
And lilled forth his bloody flaming tong : 
At them he gan to reare his bristles 

strong, 
And felly gnarre, untill Dayes enemy 
Did him appease ; then downe his taile he 

hong, 
And suffered them to passen quietly ; 
For she in hell and heaven had power 

equally. 

XXXV. 

There was Ixion turned on a wheele, 
For daring tempt the Queene of heaven 

to sin; 
And Sisyphus and huge round stone did 

reele 
Against an hill, ne might from labour lin ; 



There thristy Tantalus hong by the chin ; 
And Tityus fed a vultur on his maw; 
Typhoeus joynts were stretched on a gin ; 
Theseus condemned to endlesse slouth by 

law; 
And fifty sisters water in leke vessels 

draw. 

xxxvi. 
They all, beholding worldly wights in 

place, 
Leave off their worke, unmindfull of their 

smart, 
To gaze on them ; who forth by them doe 

pace. 
Till they be come unto the furthest part ; 
Where was a Cave y wrought by wondrous 

art. 
Deepe, darke, uneasy, dolefull, comfort- 

lesse. 
In which sad Aesculapius far apart 
Emprisond was in chaines remedilesse ; 
For that Hippolytus rent corse he did re- 

dresse. 



Hippolytus a jolly huntsman was. 
That wont in charett chace the foming 

bore: 
He all his Peeres in beauty did surpas. 
But Ladies love as losse of time forbore : 
His wanton stepdame loved him the more ; 
But, when she saw her offred sweets re- 

fusd. 
Her love she turnd to hate, and him before 
His father fierce of treason false accusd, 
And with her gealous termes his open 

eares, abusd : 

xxxvni. 
Who, all in rage, his Sea-god syre be- 
sought 

Some cursed vengeaunce on his sonne to 
cast. 

From surging gulf two Monsters streight 
were brought. 

With dread whereof his chacing steedes 
aghast 

Both charett swifte and huntsman over- 
cast: 

His goodly corps, on ragged cliffs yrent, 

Was quite dismembred, and his members 
chast 

Scattered on every mountaine as he went, 

That of Hippolytus was lef te no moniment. 

XXXIX. 

His cruell step-dame, seeing what was 
donne. 
Her wicked dales with wretched knife 
did end, 



CANTO v.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



47 



In death avowing th' innocence of her 

Sonne. 
"Which hearing, his rash syre began to 

rend 
His heare, and hasty tong that did offend : 
Tho, gathering up the reliques of his 

smart, 
By Dianes naeanes, who was Hippolyts 

freud, 
Them brought to Aesculape that by his art 
Did heale them all againe, and joyned 

every part. 

XL. 

Such wondrous science in mans witt to 
rain 
When Jove avizd, that could the dead 

revive. 
And fates expired could renew again, 
Of endlesse life he might him not deprive, 
But unto hell did thrust him downe alive. 
With flashing thunderbolt ywounded sore : 
Where, long remaining, he did alwaies 

strive 
Himselfe with salves to health for to re- 
store. 
And slake the heavenly fire that raged 
evermore. 

XLI. 

There auncient Night arriving did alight 
From her nigh weary wayne, and in her 

armes 
To iEsculapius brought the wounded 

knight : 
Whome having softly disaraid of armes, 
Tho gan to him discover all his harmes, 
Beseeching him with prayer and with 

praise, 
If either salves, or oyles, or herbes, or 

charmes, 
A fordonue wight from dore of death 

mote raise, 
He would at her request prolong her 

nephews dales. 



* Ah Dame,' (quoth he) * thou temptest 
me in vaine, 
To dare the thing which daily yet I rew, 
And the old cause of my continued paine 
With like attempt to like end to renew. 
Is not enough, that, thrust from heaven 

dew, 
Here endlesse penaunce for one fault I pay, 
But that redoubled crime with vengeaunce 

new 
Thou biddest me to eeke ? Can Night de- 
fray 
The wrath of thundring Jove, that rules 
both night and day ? ' 



'Not so,' (quoth she) 'but, sith that 

heavens king 
From hope of heaven hath thee excluded 

quight, 
Why f earest thou, that canst not hope for 

thing ; 
And fearest not that more thee hurten 

might, 
Now in the powre of everlasting Night ? 
Goe to then, O thou far renowmed sonne 
Of great Apollo ! shew thy famous might 
In medicine, that els hath to thee wonne 
Great pains, and greater praise, both never 

to be donne.' 



Her words prevaild : And then the 

learned leach 
His cunning hand gan to his wounds to lay. 
And all things els the which his art did 

teach : 
Which having seene, from thence arose 

away 
The mother of dredd darknesse, and let 

stay 
Aveugles sonne there in the leaches cure ; 
And, backe retourning, took her wonted 

way 
To ronne her timely race, whilst Phoebus 

pure 
In westerne waves his weary wagon di\ 

recure. 

XLV. 

The false Duessa, leaving noyous Night, 
Returnd to stately pallace of Dame Pryde : 
Where when she came, she found the 

Faery knight 
Departed thence ; albee his woundes wyde 
Not throughly heald unready were to ryde. 
Good cause he had to hasten thence away ; 
For on a day his wary Dwarfe had spyde 
Where in a dungeon deepe huge nombers 

lay 
Of caytive wretched thralls, that wayled 

night and day : 

XLVI. 

A ruef ull sight as could be seene with eie, 
Of whom he learned had in secret wise 
The hidden cause of their captivitie ; 
How mortgaging their lives to Covetise, 
Through wastfull Pride and wanton Ri- 

otise, 
They were by law of that proud Tyran- 

nesse, 
Provokt with Wrath and Envyes false 

surmise. 
Condemned to that Dongeon mercilesse, 



48 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book I. 



Where they should live in wo, and dye in 
wretchednesse. 



There was that great proud king of 

Babylon, 
That would compell all nations to adore, 
And him as onely God to call upon ; 
Till, through celestiall doome thrown out 

of dore, 
Into an Oxe he was transformd of yore. 
There also was king Croesus, that en- 

haunst 
His hart too high through his great 

richesse store; 
And proud Antiochus, the which ad- 

vaunst 
His cursed hand gainst God, and on his 

altares daunst. 



And them long time before, great Nim- 

rod was, 
That first the world with sword and fire 

warrayd ; 
And after him old Ninus far did pas 
In princely pomp, of all the world obayd. 
There also was that mightie Monarch 

layd 
Low under all, yet above all in pride, 
That name of native syre did fowle up- 

brayd, 
And would as Ammons sonne be magni- 

fide. 
Till, scorud of God and man, a shamefull 

death he dide. 



All these together in one heape were 

throwne, 
Like carkases of beastes in butchers stall. 
And in another corner wide were strowne 
The Antique ruins of the Romanes fall : 
Great Romulus, the Grandsyre of them 

all; 
Proud Tarquin, and too lordly Lentulus ; 
Stout Scipio, and stubborne Hanniball ; 
Ambitious Sylla, and sterne Marius ; 
High Caesar, great Pompey, and fiers An- 

tonius. 



Amongst these mightie men were wemen 

mixt, 
Proud wemen, vaine, forgetfull of their 

yoke: 
The bold Semiramis, whose sides trans- 

fixt 
With sonnes own blade her fowle re- 

proches spoke: 



Fayre SthenobcEa, that her selfe did 

choke 
With wilfull chord for wanting of her 

will; 
High minded Cleopatra, that with stroke 
Of Aspes sting her selfe did stoutly 

kill ; 
And thousands moe the like that did that 

dongeon fill. 



Besides the endlesse routes of wretched 

thralles. 
Which thither were assembled day by day 
From all the world, after their wofuU 

falles, 
Through wicked pride and wasted welthes 

decay. 
But most of all, which in that dongeon 

lay, 
Fell from high Princes courtes, or Ladies 

bowres, 
Where they in ydle pomp, or wanton play, 
Consumed had their goods and thriftlesse 

howres. 
And lastly thrown themselves into these 

heavy stowres. 



Whose case whenas the careful Dwarfe 

had tould, 
And made ensample of their mournfull 

sight 
Unto his Maister, he no lenger would 
There dwell in perill of like painefull 

plight. 
But earely rose; and, ere that dawning 

light 
Discovered had the world to heaven wyde, 
He by a privy Posterne tooke his flight, 
That of no envious eyes he mote be 

spyde ; 
For, doubtlesse, death ensewd if any him 

descryde. 

Lni. 

Scarse could he footing find in that 

fowle way, 
For many corses, like a great Lay-stall, 
Of murdred men, which therein strowed 

lay 
Without remorse or decent f unerall ; 
Which al through that great Princesse 

pride did fall, 
And came to shamefull end. And them 

besyde, 
Forth ryding underneath the castell wall, 
A Donghill of dead carcases he spyde ; 
The dreadfull spectacle of that sad house 

of Pryde. 



CANTO VI,] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



49 



CANTO VI. 

From lawlesse lust by wondrous grace 

Fayre Una is releast : 
Whom salvage nation does adore, 

And learnes her wise beheast. 



As when a ship, that flyes fayre under 
sayle, 
An hidden rocke escaped hath unawares, 
That lay in waite her wrack for to be- 

waile, 
The Marriner yet halfe amazed stares 
At perill past, and yet in doubt ne dares 
To joy at his foolhappie oversight : 
So doubly is distrest twixt joy and cares 
The dreadlesse corage of this Elfin knight, 
Having escapt so sad ensamples in his 
sight. 

n. 
Yet sad he was, that his too hastie speed 
The fayre Duess' had forst him leave be- 
hind ; 
And yet more sad, that Una, his deare 

dreed, 
Her truth had staynd with treason so un- 
kind: 
Yet cryme in her could never creature find ; 
But for his love, and for her own selfe sake, 
She wandred had from one to other Ynd, 
Him for to seeke, ne ever would forsake, 
Till her unwares the fiers Sansloy did 
overtake : 



Who, after Archimagoes fowle defeat, 
Led her away into a forest wilde ; 
And, turning wrathf uU fyre to lustf ull heat, 
With beastly sin thought her to have de- 

filde. 
And made the vassall of his pleasures 

vilde. 
Yet first he cast by treatie, and by traynes 
Her to persuade that stubborne fort to 

yilde : 
For greater conquest of hard love he 

gaynes, 
That workes it to his will, then he that it 

constraiues. 



With fawning wordes he courted her a 

while ; 
And, looking lovely and oft sighing sore, 
Her constant hart did tempt with diverse 

guile: 
But wordes, and lookes, and sighes she 

did abhore : 



As rock of Diamond stedfast evermore. 

Yet for to feed his fyrie lustf ull eye. 

He snatcht the vele that hong her face 

before : 
Then gan her beautie shyne as brightest 

skye, 
And burnt his beastly hart t'efforce her 

chastitye. 

V. 

So when he saw his flatt'ring artes to 
fayle. 
And subtile engines bett from batteree ; 
With greedy force began the fort assayle, 
TSTiereof he weeud possessed soone to bee. 
And win rich spoile of ransackt chastitee. 
Ah heavens! that doe this hideous act 

behold, 
And heavenly virgin thus outraged see, 
How can ye vengeance just so long with- 
hold. 
And hurle not flashing flames upon that 
Paynim bold ? 



The pitteous may den, carefull, com- 

fortlesse, 
Does throw out thrilling shriekes, and 

shrieking cryes, 
The last vaine helpe of wemens great 

distresse, 
And with loud plaintes importuneth the 

skyes, 
That molten starres doe drop like weeping 

eyes ; 
And Phoebus, flying so most shamefull 

sight, 
His blushing face in foggy cloud imply es. 
And hydes for shame. What witt of 

mortal wight 
Can now devise to quitt a thrall from 

such a plight ? 



Eteruall providence, exceeding thought, 
Where none appeares can make her selfe 

a way. 
A wondrous way it for this Lady wrought. 
From Lyons clawes to pluck the gryped 

pray. 
Her shrill outcryes and shrieks so loud 

did bray. 



50 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book I. 



That all the woodes and forestes did 

resownd : 
A troupe of Faunes and Satyres far away 
Within the wood were dauucing in a 

rownd, 
Whiles old Sylvanus slept in shady arber 

sownd : 

VIII. 

Who, when they heard that pitteous 

strained voice, 
In haste forsooke their rurall meriment. 
And ran towardes the far rebownded 

noyce, 
To weet what wight so loudly did lament. 
Unto the place they come incontinent : 
AVhom when the raging Sarazin espyde, 
A rude, mishapen, monstrous rablemeut, 
AVhose like he never saw, he durst not 

byde, 
But got his ready steed, and fast away 

gan ryde. 

IX. 

The wyld woodgods, arrived in the 

place, 
There find the virgin, doolfuU, desolate. 
With ruffled rayments, and fayre blub- 

bred face. 
As her outrageous foe had left her late ; 
And trembling yet through feare of 

former hate. 
All stand amazed at so uncouth sight. 
And gin to pittie her unhappie state : 
All stand astonied at her beautie bright, 
In their rude eyes unworthie of so wofuU 

plight. 

X. 

She, more amazd, in double dread doth 

dwell ; 
And every tender part for feare does 

shake. 
As when a greedy Wolfe, through honger 

fell, 
A seely Lamb far from the flock does 

take. 
Of whom he meanes his bloody feast to 

make, 
A Lyon spyes fast running towards him, 
The innocent pray in hast he does for- 
sake; 
Which, quitt from death, yet quakes in 

every lim 
With chaunge of feare, to see the Lyon 

looke so grim. 



Such fearefull fitt assaid her trembling 
hart, 
Ne word to speake, ne joynt to move, 
she had ; 



The salvage nation feele her secret smart, 
And read her sorrow in her count' nance 

sad ; 
Their frowning forheades, with rough 

homes yclad. 
And rustick horror, all asyde doe lay ; 
And, gently grenuiug, shew a semblance 

glad 
To comfort her; and, feare to put away. 
Their backward bent knees teach her 

humbly to obay. 



The doubtfull Damzell dare not yet 

committ 
Her single person to their barbarous 

truth ; 
But still twixt feare and hope amazd 

does sitt, 
Late learnd what harme to hasty trust 

ensu'th. 
They, in compassion of her tender youth, 
And wonder of her beautie soverayne, 
Are wonue with pitty and unwonted ruth ; 
And, all prostrate upon the lowly playne. 
Doe kisse her feete, and fawne on her 

with count'nance fayne. 

XIII. 

Their harts she ghesseth by their 

humble guise, 
And yieldes her to extremitie of time : 
So from the ground she fearelesse doth 

arise. 
And walketh forth without suspect of 

crime. 
They, all as glad as birdes of joyous 

Pryme, 
Thence lead her forth, about her dauncing 

round. 
Shouting, and singing all a shepheards 

ryme ; 
And with greene braunches strowing all 

the ground. 
Do worship her as Queene with olive gir- 

lond cround. 

XIV. 

And all the way their merry pipes they 

sound. 
That all the woods with doubled Eccho 

ring; 
And with their horned feet doe weare the 

ground. 
Leaping like wanton kids in pleasant 

Spring. 
So towards old Sylvanus they her bring ; 
Who, with the noyse awaked, commeth 

out 



CANTO VI.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



51 



To weet the cause, his weake steps gov- 
ern iug 

And aged limbs on cypresse stadle stout ; 

And with an yvie twyue his waste is girt 
about. 

XV. 

Far off he wonders what them makes 

so glad ; 
Or Bacchus merry fruit they did invent, 
Or Cybeles franticke rites have made 

them mad : 
They, drawing nigh, unto their God 

present 
That flowre of faythandbeautie excellent. 
The God himselfe, vewing that mirrhour 

rare, 
Stood long amazd, and burnt in his intent: 
His owne fayre Dryope now he thinkes 

not faire. 
And Pholoe fowle, when her to this he 

doth com pal re. 



The woodborne people fall before her 

flat, 
And worship her as Goddesse of the wood ; 
And old Sylvan us selfe bethinkes not 

what 
To thinke of wight so fayre, but gazing 

stood 
In doubt to deeme her borne of earthly 

brood : 
Sometimes dame Venus selfe he seemes 

to see ; 
But Venus never had so sober mood : 
Sometimes Diana he her takes to be, 
But misseth bow and shaf tes, and buskins 

to her knee. 

XVII. 

By vew of her he ginneth to revive 
His ancient love, and dearest Cyparisse ; 
And calles to mind his pourtraiture alive, 
How fayre he was, and yet not fayre to 

this ; 
And how he slew with glauncing dart 

amisse 
A gentle Hynd, the which the lovely boy 
Did love as life, above all worldly blisse ; 
For griefe whereof the lad n'ould after 

joy. 
But pynd away in anguish and selfe-wild 

annoy. 

XVIII. 

The wooddy nymphes, faire Hama- 
dryades. 
Her to behold do thither runne apace ; 
And all the troupe of light-foot Naiades 
Flocke all about to see her lovely face ; 



But, when they vewed have her heavenly 

grace, 
They envy her in their malitious mind, 
And fly away for feare of fowle disgrace : 
But all the Satyres scorne their woody 

kind. 
And henceforth nothing faire but her on 

earth they find. 



Glad of such lucke, the luckelesse lucky 

mayd 
Did her content to please their feeble eyes. 
And long time with that salvage people 

stayd, 
To gather breath in many miseryes. 
During which time her gentle wit she 

plyes 
To teach them truth, which worshipt her 

in vaine. 
And made her th' Image of Idolatryes; 
But when their bootlesse zeale she did 

restrayne 
From her own worship, they her Asse 

would worship fayn. 



It fortuned, a noble warlike knight 
By just occasion to that forrest came 
To seeke his kindred, and the lignage 

right 
From whence he tooke his weldeserved 

name: 
He had in armes abroad wonne muchell 

fame. 
And fild far landes with glorie of his 

might : 
Plaine, faithful!, true, and enimy of 

shame, 
And ever lov'd to fight for Ladies right ; 
But in vaine glorious frayes he litle did 

delight. 

XXI. 

A Satyres Sonne, yborne in forrest wyld, 
By straunge adventure as it did betyde. 
And there begotten of a Lady myld, 
Fayre Thyamis, the daughter of Labryde ; 
That was in sacred bandes of wedlocke 

tyde 
To Therion, a loose unruly swayne, 
Who had more joy to raunge the forrest 

wyde. 
And chase the salvage beast with busie 

payne, 
Then serve his Ladies love, and waste in 

pleasures vayne. 



The forlorne mayd did with loves long- 
ing burne, 



52 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book I. 



And could not lacke her lovers company ; 
But to the woods she goes, to serve her 

turne, 
And seeke her spouse that from her still 

does fly, 
And followes other game and venery : 
A Satyre chauust her wandring for to 

finde; 
And, kindling coles of lust in brutish eye, 
The loyall linkes of wedlocke did unbinde. 
And made her person thrall unto his 

beastly kind. 



So long in secret cabin there he held 
Her captive to his sensuall desyre, 
Till that with timely fruit her belly sweld. 
And bore a boy unto that salvage syre : 
Then home he suffred her for to retyre. 
For ransome leaving him the late-borne 

childe ; 
Whom, till to ryper yeares he gan aspyre. 
He nousled up in life and manners wilde, 
Emongst wild beastes and woods, from 

lawes of men exilde. 



For all he taught the tender ymp was 

but 
To banish cowardize and bastard feare : 
His trembling hand he would him force 

to put 
Upon the Lyon and the rugged Beare ; 
And from the she Beares teats her whelps 

to teare ; 
And eke wyld roring Buls he would him 

make 
To tame, and ryde their backes, not made 

to beare ; 
And the Robuckes in flight to overtake, 
That everie beast for feare of him did fly, 

and quake. 

XXV. 

Thereby so f earlesse and so fell he grew. 
That his own syre, and maister of his 

guise. 
Did often tremble at his horrid vew ; 
And oft, for dread of hurt, would him ad- 
vise 
The angry beastes not rashly to despise. 
Nor too much to provoke ; for he would 

learne 
The Lyon stoup to him in lowly wise, 
(A lesson hard) and make the Libbard 

Sterne 
Leave roaring, when in rage he for re- 
venge did earne. 



And for to make his powre approved 

more, 
Wyld beastes in yron yokes he would 

compell ; 
The spotted Panther, and the tusked Bore, 
The Pardale swift, and the Tigre cruell. 
The Antelope, and Wolfe both fiers and 

fell ; 
And them constraine in equall teme to 

draw. 
Such joy he had their stubborne harts to 

quell. 
And sturdie courage tame with dreadfull 

aw, 
That his beheast they feared as a tyrans 

law. 



His loving mother came upon a day 

Unto the woodes, to see her little sonne ; 

And chaunst unwares to meet him in the 
way. 

After his sportes .and cruell pastime 
donne ; 

When after him a Lyonesse did runne. 

That roaring all with rage did lowd re- 
quere 

Her children deare, whom he away had 
wonne : 

The Lyon whelpes she saw how he did 
beare. 

And lull in rugged armes withouten child- 
ish feare. 



The fearefull Dame all quaked at the 

sight. 
And turning backe gan fast to fly away ; 
Untill, with love revokt from vaine 

affright. 
She hardly yet perswaded was to stay, 
And then to him these womanish words 

gan say : 
* Ah Satyrane, my dearling and my joy, 
For love of me leave off this dreadfull 

To dally thus with death is no fit toy : 
Go, find some other play-fellowes, mine 
own sweet boy.' 



XXIX. 

In these and like delightes of bloody 

game 
He trayned was, till ryper years he 

raught ; 
And there abode, whylst any beast of 

name 
Walkt in that forrest, whom he had not 

taught 



CANTO VI.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



53 



To feare his force: and then his courage 

haught 
Desyrd of forreine foemen to be knowue, 
And far abroad for straunge adventures 

sought ; 
In which his might was never over- 

throwne ; 
But through al Faery loud his famous 

worth was blown. 

XXX. 

Yet evermore it was his maner faire, 
After long labours and adventures spent, 
Unto those native woods for to repaire, 
To see his syre and of spring auucient. 
And now he thither came for like intent ; 
"Where he unwares the fairest Una found, 
Straunge Lady in so straunge habiliment, 
Teaching the Satyres, which her sat 

around, 
Trew sacred lore, which from her sweet 

lips did redound. 

XXXI. 

He wondred at her wisedome hevenly 
rare. 
Whose like in womens witt he never knew ; 
And, when her curteous deeds he did 

compare, 
Gan her admire, and her sad sorrowes rew. 
Blaming of Fortune, which such troubles 

threw. 
And joyd to make proofe of her cruelty 
On gentle Dame, so hurtlesse and so trew : 
Thenceforth he kept her goodly company, 
And learnd her discipline of faith and 
verity. 

xxxn. 
But she, all vowd unto the Redcrosse 
Knight, 
His wandring perill closely did lament, 
Ne in this new acquaintaunce could de- 
light; 
But her deare heart with anguish did tor- 
ment. 
And all her witt in secret counsels spent, 
How to escape. At last in privy wise 
To Satyrane she shewed her intent ; 
Who, glad to gain such favour, gan de- 
vise. 
How with that pensive Maid he best might 
thence arise. 

xxxiii. 
So on a day, when Satyres all were gone 
To do their service to Sylvanus old. 
The gentle virgin, left behinde alone. 
He led away with corage stout and bold. 
Too late it was to Satyres to be told. 
Or ever hope recover her againe : 



In vaine he seekes that having cannot 

hold. 
So fast he carried her with carefull paine. 
That they the woods are past, and come 

now to the plaine. 



The better part now of the lingring day 
They traveild had, whenas they far espide 
A weary wight forwandring by the way ; 
And towards him they gan in haste to ride, 
To weete of newes that did abroad betide, 
Or tidings of her knight of the Redcrosse ; 
But he them spying gan to turne aside 
For feare, as seemd, or for some feigned 

losse : 
More greedy they of newes fast towards 

him do crosse. 

XXXV. 

A silly man, in simple weeds forworne. 
And solid with dust of the long dried way ; 
His sandales were with toilsome travail 

torne, 
And face all tand with scorching sunny 

ray, 
And he had traveild many a sommers day 
Through boyling sands of Arabic and 

Ynde, 
And in his hand a Jacobs staffe, to stay 
His weary limbs upon ; and eke behind 
His scrip did hang, in which his needments 

he did bind. 

XXXVI. 

The knight, approching nigh, of him in- 

qiierd 
Tidings of warre, and of adventures new ; 
But warres, nor new adventures, none he 

herd. 
Then Una gan to aske, if ought he knew, 
Or heard abroad of that her chamj)ion 

trew, 
That in his armour bare a croslet red ? 
'Ay me! Deare dame,' (quoth he) 'well 

may I rew 
To tell the sad sight which mine eies have 

red; 
These eies did see that knight both living 

and eke ded.' 

XXXVII. 

That cruell word her tender hart so 

thrild, 
That suddein cold did ronne through every 

vaine. 
And stony horrour all her sences fild 
With dying fitt, that downe she fell for 

paine. 



54 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book I. 



The knight her lightly reared up againe, 
And comforted with curteous kind reliefe : 
Then, wonne from death, she bad him 

tellen plaine 
The further processe of her hidden griefe : 
The lesser pangs can beare who hath en- 

dur'd the chief. 



Then gan the Pilgrim thus : * I chaunst 
this day. 
This fatall day that shall I ever rew. 
To see two knights, in travell on my way, 
(A sory sight) arrauug'd in hatteill new, 
Both breathing vengeaunce, both of wrath- 
full hew. 
My feareful flesh did tremble at their 

strife. 
To see their blades so greedily imbrew, 
That, dronke with blood, yet thristed 

after life : 
What more? the Redcrosse knight was 
slain with Paynim knife.' 

XXXIX. 

*Ah! dearest Lord,' (quoth she) *how 

might that bee. 
And he the stoutest knight that ever 

wonne ? ' 
*Ah! dearest dame,' (quoth hee) 'how 

might I see 
The thing that might not be, and yet was 

donne ? ' 
' Where is,' (said Satyrane) * that Paynims 

Sonne, 
That him of life, and us of joy, hath 

ref te ? ' 
* Not far away,' (quoth he) * he hence doth 

wonne, 
Foreby a fountaine, where I late him 

lefte 
Washing his bloody wounds, that through 

the Steele were cleft.' 

XL. 

Therewith the knight thence marched 

forth in hast. 
Whiles Una, with huge heavlnesse op- 

prest. 
Could not for sorrow follow him so fast ; 
And soone he came, as he the place had 

ghest, 
Whereas that Pagan proud him selfe did 

rest 
In secret shadow by a fountaine side : 
Even he it was, that earst would have 

supprest 
Faire Una ; whom when Satyrane espide, 
With foule reprochfull words he boldly 

him defide. 



And said ; ' Arise, thou cursed Mis- 

creaunt, 
That hast with knightlesse guile, and 

trecherous train, 
Faire knighthood fowly shamed, and do- 

est vaunt 
That good knight of the Redcrosse to have 

slain : 
Arise, and with like treason now maintain 
Thy guilty wrong, or els thee guilty yield.' 
The Sarazin, this hearing, rose amain, 
And, catching up in hast his three-square 

shield 
And shining helmet, soone him buckled to 

the field. 



And, drawing nigh him, said ; * Ah ! mis- 
born Elfe, 
In evill houre thy foes thee hither sent 
Anothers wrongs to wreak upon thy selfe : 
Yet ill thou blamest me for having blent 
My name with guile and traiterous intent : 
That Redcrosse knight, perdie, I neverw 

slew; 
But had he beene where earst his armes 

were lent, 
Th' enchaunter vaine his errour should 

not rew : 
But thou his errour shalt, I hope, now 
proven trew.' 



Therewith they gan, both furious and 

fell, 
To thunder blowes, and fiersly to assaile 
Each other, bent his enimy to quell. 
That with their force they perst both plate 

and maile. 
And made wide furrowes in their fleshes 

fraile. 
That it would pitty any living eie. 
Large floods of blood adowne their sides 

did raile ; 
But floods of blood could not them satisfie : 
Both hongred after death ; both chose to 

win, or die. 

XLIV. 

So long they fight, and full revenge 
pursue, 

That, fainting, each themselves to 
breathen lett, 

And, ofte refreshed, battelloft renue. 

As when two Bores, with rancling malice 
mett. 

Their gory sides fresh bleeding fiercely 
f rett ; 

Til breathlesse both themselves aside re- 
tire, 



CANTO VI.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



55 



Where fomiiig wrath their cruell tuskes 

they w'hett, 
Aud trample th' earth, the whiles they 

may respire, 
Then backe to fight agaiue, new breathed 

and entire. 



So fiersly, when these knights had 

breathed once, 
They gan to fight retourne, increasing 

more 
Their puissant force, and cruell rage at- 

tonce, 
With heaped strokes more hugely then 

before; 
That with their drery wounds, and bloody 

gore, 
They both, deformed, scarsely could bee 

known. 
By this, sad Una fraught with anguish 

sore. 
Led with their noise which through the 

aire was thrown, 
Arriv'd wher they in erth their fruitles 

blood had sown. 



, Whom all so soone as that proud Sarazin 
Espide, he gan revive the memory 
Of his lend lusts, aud late attempted sin, 
And lefte the doubtfull battell hastily. 
To catch her, newjy off red to his eie ; 
But Satyraue, with strokes him turning, 
staid, 



And sternely bad him other busiuesse plie 
Then hunt the steps of pure unspotted 

Maid : 
Wherewith he al enrag'd these bitter 

speaches said. 



' O foolish faeries sonne ! what fury mad 
Hath thee inceust to hast thy dolefull 

fate? 
Were it not better I that Lady had 
Then that thou hadst repented it too 

late? 
Most sencelesse man he, that himself e 

doth hate, 
To love another : Lo! then, for thine ayd, 
Here take thy lovers token on thy pate.' 
So they to fight; the whiles the royall 

Mayd 
Fledd farre away, of that proud Paynim 

sore afrayd. 



But that false Pilgrim, which that leas- 
ing told. 
Being in deed old Archimage, did stay 
In secret shadow all this to behold ; 
And much rejoyced in their bloody fray : 
But, when he saw the Damsell passe 

away, 
He left his stond, aud her pursewd apace, 
In hope to bring her to her last decay. 
But for to tell her lamentable cace. 
And eke this battels end, will need another 
place. 



CANTO VII. 

The Eedcrosse knight is captive made 
By Gyaunt proud opprest : 

Prince Arthure meets with Una great- 
ly with those newes distrest. 



What man so wise, what earthly witt 

so ware, 
As to discry the crafty cunning traine. 
By which deceipt doth maske in visour 

faire, 
And cast her coulours, died deepe in 

grain e, 
To seeme like truth, whose shape she well 

can faine, 
And fitting gestures to her purpose frame, 
The guiltlesse man with guile to enter- 

taine ? 
Great maisti esse of her art was that false 

Dame, 
The false Daessa, cloked with Fidessaes 

name. 



Who when, returning from the drery 

Night, 
She fownd not in that perilous hous of 

Pryde, 
Where she had left the noble Redcrosse 

knight. 
Her hoped pray, she would no lenger 

byde, 
But forth she went to seeke him far and 

wide. 
Ere long she fownd, whereas he wearie 

sate 
To reste him selfe f oreby a fountaine syde, 
Disarmed all of yron-coted Plate ; 
And by his side his steed the grassy 

forage ate. 



56 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book I. 



Hee feedes upon the cooling shade, and 

bayes 
His sweatie forehead in the breathing 

wyud, 
Which through the trembling leaves full 

gently playes, 
Wherein the chearefull birds of sundry 

kynd 
Doe chaunt sweet musick to delight his 

mynd. 
The witch approching gan him fayrely 

greet, 
And with reproch of carelesnes unkynd 
Upbrayd, for leaving her in place unmeet, 
With fowle words tempring faire, soure 

gall with hony sweet. 



Unkindnesse past, they gan of solace 

treat, 
And bathe in pleasaunce of the joyous 

shade, 
Which shielded them against the boyling 

heat, 
And with greene boughes decking a 

gloomy glade, 
About the f ountaine like a girlond made ; 
Whose bubbling wave did ever freshly 

well, 
Ne ever would through fervent sommer 

fade: 
The sacred Nymph, which therein wont 

to dwell. 
Was out of Dianes favor, as it then befell. 



The cause was this: one day, when 
Phoebe fayre 

With all her band was following the chace, 

This nymph, quite tyr'd with heat of 
scorching ay re, 

Satt downe to rest in middest of the race : 

The goddesse wroth gan fowly her dis- 
grace, 

And badd the waters, which from her did 
flow, 

Be such as she her self e was then in place. 

Thenceforth her waters wexed dull and 
slow, 

And all that drinke thereof do faint and 
feeble grow. 

VI. 

Hereof this gentle knight unweeting 
was; 
And lying downe upon the sandie graile, 
Dronke of the streame, as cleare as 

christall glas: 
Eftsoones his manly forces gan to fayle, 



And mightie strong was turnd to feeble 

frayle. 
His chaunged powres at first them selves 

not felt ; 
Till crudled cold his corage gan assayle, 
And chearef ul blood in fayutnes chill did 

melt, 
Which like a fever fit through all his 

bodie swelt. 



Yet goodly court he made still to his 

Dame, 
Pourd out in loosnesse on the grassy 

grownd, 
Both carelesse of his health, and of his 

fame; 
Till at the last he heard a dreadf ull sownd, 
Which through the wood loud bellowing 

did rebownd. 
That all the earth for terror seemd to 

And trees did tremble. Th' Elfe, there- 
with astownd. 
Upstarted lightly from his looser make. 
And his unready weapons gan in hand to 
take. 

VIII. 

But ere he could his armour on him 

dight. 
Or gett his shield, his monstrous enimy 
With sturdie steps came stalking in his 

sight. 
An hideous Geaunt, horrible and hye. 
That with his tallnesse seemd to threat 

the skye ; 
The ground eke groned under him for 

dreed : 
His Jiving like saw never living eye, 
Ne durst behold : his stature did exceed 
The hight of three the tallest sonnes of 

mortall seed. 



The greatest Earth his uncouth mother 

was, 
And blustring ^Eolus his boasted syre ; 
Who with his breath, which through the 

world doth pas, 
Her hollow womb did secretly inspyre, 
And fild her hidden caves with stormie 

yre, 
That she conceiv'd ; and trebling the dew 

time 
In which the wombes of wemen doe 

expyre, 
Brought forth this monstrous masse of 

earthly slyme, 
Puft up with emptie wynd, and fild with 

sinf ull cryme. 



CANTO VII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



57 



So growen great, through arrogant 

delight 
Of th' high descent whereof he was yborne, 
And through presumption of his match- 

lesse might, 
All other powres and knighthood he did 

scorue. 
Such now he marcheth to this man for- 

lorne, 
And left to losse ; his stalking steps are 

stayde 
Upon a snaggy Oke, which he had torne 
Out of his mothers bowelles, and it made 
His mortall mace, wherewith his foemen 

he dismayde. 

XI. 

That, when the knight he spyde, he gan 
advaunce 
With huge force and insupportable mayne, 
And towardes him with dreadfull fury 

praunce ; 
Who haplesse, and eke hopelesse, all in 

vaine 
Did to him pace sad battaile to darrayne, 
Disarmd, disgraste, and inwardly dis- 
mayde ; 
And eke so faint in every joynt and vayne. 
Through that fraile fountain which him 

feeble made, 
That scarsely could he weeld his bootlesse 
single blade. 

xn. 

The Geaunt strooke so maynly merci- 

lesse, 
That could have overthrowne a stony 

towre ; 
And, were not hevenly grace that did him 

blesse, 
He had beene pouldred all as thin as 

flowre : 
But he was wary of that deadly stowre, 
And lightly lept from underneath the 

blow : 
Yet so exceeding was the villeins powre. 
That with the winde it did him over- 
throw, 
And all his sences stound that still he lay 

full low. 

xin. 
As when that divelish yron Engin, 

wrought 
In deepest Hell, and framd by Furies 

skill, 
With windy Nitre and quick Sulphur 

fraught. 
And ramd with bollet rownd, ordaind to 

kill, 



Conceiveth fyre,the heavens it doth fill 
With thundring noyse, and all the ayre 

doth choke. 
That none can breath, nor see, nor heare 

at will. 
Through smouldry cloud of duskish 

stincking smoke; 
That th' only breath him daunts, who 

hath escapt the stroke. 



So daunted when the Geaunt saw the 

knight. 
His heavie hand he heaved up on hye, 
And him to dust thought to have battred 

quight, 
Untill Duessa loud to him gan crye, 
' O great Orgoglio ! greatest under skye, 
O! hold thy mortall hand for I^adles 

sake; 
Hold for my sake, and doe him not to 

dye, 
But vanquisht thine eternall bondslave 

make. 
And me, thy worthy meed, unto thy Le- 

man take.' 



He hearkned, and did stay from fur- 
ther harmes, 
To gayne so goodly guerdon as she spake : 
So willingly she came into his armes, 
Who her as willingly to grace did take. 
And was possessed of his newfound make. 
Then up he tooke the slombred sencelesse 

corse, 
And, ere he could out of his swowne 

awake, 
Him to his castle brought with hastie 

forse, 
And in a Dongeon deepe him threw with- 
out remorse. 



From that day forth Duessa was his 

deare, 
And highly honourd in his haughtie 

eye: 
He gave her gold and purple pall to 

weare, 
And triple crowne set on her head full 

And her endowd with royall majestye. 
Then, for to make her dreaded more of 

men, 
And peoples hartes with awfull terror 

tye, 
A monstrous beast ybredd in filthy fen 
He chose, which he had kept long time in 

darksom den. 



58 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book I. 



Such one it was, as that renowraed 

Snake 
Which great Alcides in Streraoua slew, 
Long iostred in the tilth of Lerna lake : 
Whose many heades, out budding ever 

new, 
Did breed him endlesse labor to subdew. 
But this same Monster much more ugly 

was. 
For seven great heads out of his body 

grew, 
An yron brest, and back of scaly bras, 
And all embrewd in blood his eyes did 

shine as glas. 

XVIII. 

His tayle was stretched out in wondrous 

length, 
That to the hous of hevenly gods it raught : 
And with extorted powre, and borrow'd 

strength, 
The everburning lamps from thence it 

br aught. 
And prowdly threw to ground, as things 

of naught ; 
And underneath his filthy feet did tread 
The sacred thinges, and holy heastes fore- 
taught. 
Upon this dreadf ull Beast with sevenfold 

head 
He sett the false Duessa, for more aw and 

dread. 

XIX. 

The wofuU Dwarfe, which saw his mais- 

ters fall 
Whiles he had keeping of his grasing 

steed, 
And valiant knight become a caytive 

thrall, 
When all was past, tooke up his forlorne 

weed; 
His mightie Armour, missing most at 

need ; 
His silver shield, now idle, maisterlesse ; 
His poynant speare that many made to 

bleed, 
The rueful moniments of heavinesse ; 
And with them all departes to tell his 

great distresse. 

XX. 

He had not travaild long, when on the 

way 
He wofull Lady, wofull Una, met, 
Fast flying from that Paynims greedy 

pray, 
Whilest Satyrane him from pursuit did 

let; 



Who when her eyes she on the Dwarf had 
set, 

And saw the signes that deadly tydinges 
spake, 

She fell to ground for sorrowfuU re- 
gret, 

And lively breath her sad brest did for- 
sake ; 

Yet might her pitteous hart be scene to 
pant and quake. 



The messenger of so unhappie newes 
Would faine have dyde: dead was his 

hart within, 
Yet outwardly some little comfort shewes. 
At last, recovering hart, he does begin 
To rubb her temples, and to chaufe her 

chin, 
And everie tender part does tosse and 

turne : 
So hardly he the flitted life does win 
Unto her native prison to retourne ; 
Then gins her grieved ghost thus to 

lament and mourne : 



*Ye dreary instruments of dolefull 

sight, 
That doe this deadly spectacle behold, 
Why doe ye lenger feed on loathed light. 
Or liking find to gaze on earthly mould, 
Sith cruell fates the carefull threds un- 

fould. 
The which my life and love together 

tyde? 
Now let the stony dart of sencelesse 

cold 
Perce to my hart, and pas through everie 

side, 
And let eternall night so sad sight fro me 

hyde. 

xxin. 

' O lightsome day! the lampe of highest 

Jove, 
First made by him mens wandring wayes 

to guyde, 
When darknesse he in deepest dongeon 

drove. 
Henceforth thy hated- face for ever hyde. 
And shut up heavens windowes shyning 

wyde ; 
For earthly sight can nought but sorrow 

breed. 
And late repentance which shall long 

abyde : 
Mine eyes no more on vanitie shall feed, 
But seeled up with death shall have their 

deadly meed.' 



CANTO VII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



59 



Then downe againe she fell unto the 

ground, 
But he her quickly reared up againe : 
Thrise did she siuke adowne in deadly 

swownd, 
And thrise he her reviv'd with busie 

paine. 
At last when life recover'd had the raine, 
And over-wrestled his strong enimy, 
With foltring tong, and trembling everie 

vaine, 
'Tell on,' (quoth she) ' the wofull Tragedy, 
The which these reliques sad present unto 

mine eye. 

XXV. 

' Tempestuous fortune hath spent all 

her spight, 
And thrilling sorrow throwne his utmost 

dart: 
Thy sad tong cannot tell more heavy 

plight 
Then that I feele, and harbour in mine 

hart: 
Who hath endur'd the whole can beare 

ech part. 
If death it be, it is not the first wound 
That launched hath my brest with bleed- 
ing smart. 
Begin, and end the bitter balefull stound ; 
If lesse then that I feare, more favour I 

have found.' 



Then gan the Dwarfe the whole dis- 
course declare ; 
The subtile traines of Archimago old ; 
The wanton loves of false Fidessa fayre, 
Bought with the blood of vanquisht Pay- 

nim bold ; 
The wretched payre transformd to treen 

mould ; 
The house of Pryde, and perilles round 

about ; 
The combat which he with Sansjoy did 

hould ; 
The lucklesse conflict with the Gyaunt 

stout, 
Wherein captiv'd, of life or death he stood 

in doubt. 

XXVII. 

She heard with patience all unto the 
end, 

And strove to maister sorrowfull assay, 

Which greater grew the more she did con- 
tend, 

And almost rent her tender hart in tway ; 

And love fresh coles unto her fire did lay ; 

For greater love, the greater is the losse. 



Was never Lady loved dearer day 

Then she did love the knight of the Ked- 

crosse, 
For whose deare sake so many troubles 

her did tosse. 



At last when fervent sorrow slaked was, 
She up arose, resolving him to find 
Alive or dead; and forward forth doth 

pas. 
All as the Dwarfe the way to her assynd ; 
And evermore, in constant carefull mind. 
She fedd her wound with fresh renewed 

bale. 
Long tost with stormes, and bet with bit- 
ter wind. 
High over hills, and lowe adowne the 

dale. 
She wandred many a wood, and measurd 
many a vale. 



At last she chaunced by good hap to 

meet 
A goodly knight, faire marching by the 

way, 
Together with his Squyre, arayed meet: 
His glitterand armour sliined far away. 
Like glauncing light of Phoebus brightest 

ray; 
From top to toe no place appeared bare, 
That deadly dint of Steele endanger may. 
Athwart his brest a bauldrick brave he 

ware. 
That shind, like twinkling stars, with 

stones most pretious rare. 

XXX. 

And in the midst thereof one pretious 

stone 
Of wondrous worth, and eke of wondrous 

mights, 
Shapt like a Ladies head, exceeding 

shone, 
Like Hesperus emongst the lesser lights, 
And strove for to amaze the weaker 

sights : 
Thereby his mortall blade full comely hong 
In yvory sheath, ycarv'd with curious 

slights. 
Whose hilts were burnisht gold, and 

handle strong 
Of mother perle; and buckled with a 

golden tong. 

XXXI. 

His haughtie Helmet, horrid all with 
gold. 



6o 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book I. 



Both glorious brightiiesse and great ter- 

rour bredd : 
For all the crest a Dragon did enfold 
With greedie pawes, and over all did 

spredd 
His golden winges : his dreadfull hideous 

hedd, 
Close couched on the bever, seemd to 

throw 
From flaming mouth bright sparckles 

fiery redd, 
That suddeine horrour to faint hartes did 

show; 
And scaly tayle was stretcht adowne his 

back full low. 



Upon the top of all his loftie crest, 
A bounch of heares discolourd diversly, 
With sprincled pearle and gold full richly 

drest, 
Did shake, and seemd to daunce for jollity. 
Like to an almond tree y mounted hye 
Od top of greene Selinis all alone. 
With blossoms brave bedecked daintily ; 
Whose tender locks do tremble every one 
At everie little breath thkt under heaven 

is blowne. 



His warlike shield all closely cover'd 
was, 
Ne might of mortall eye be ever scene ; 
Not made of Steele, nor of enduring bras, 
Such earthly mettals soon consumed 

beene. 
But all of Diamond perfect pure and 

cleene 
It framed was, one massy entire mould. 
He wen out of Adamant rocke with engines 

keene. 
That point of speare it never percen could, 
Ne dint of direfull sword divide the sub- 
stance would. 



The same to wight he never wont dis- 
close, 
But whenas monsters huge he would dis- 
may. 
Or daunt unequall armies of his foes, 
Or when the flying heavens he would 

affray ; 
For so exceeding shone his glistring ray. 
That Phoebus golden face it did attaint, 
As when a cloud his beames doth over-lay ; 
And silver Cynthia wexed pale and faynt. 
As when her face is staynd with magicke 
arts constraint. 



XXXV. 

No magicke arts hereof had any might. 

Nor bloody wordes of bold Enchaunters 
call; 

But all that was not such as seemd in 
sight 

Before that shield did fade, and suddeine 
fall : 

And when him list the raskall routes ap- 
pall. 

Men into stones therewith he could trans- 
mew. 

And stones to dust, and dust to nought at 
all; 

And, when him list the prouder lookes 
subdew, 

He would them gazing blind, or turne to 
other hew. 

XXXVI. 

Ne let it seeme that credence this ex- 

ceedes ; 
For he that made the same was knowne 

right well 
To have done much more admirable 

deedes. 
It Merlin was, which whylome did excell 
All living wightes in might of magicke 

spell : 
Both shield and sword, and armour all he 

wrought 
For this young Prince, when first to armes 

he fell ; 
But, when he dyde, the Faery Queene it 

brought 
To Faerie lond, where yet it may be scene, 

if sought : 

XXXVII. 

Agentle youth, his dearely loved Squire, 
His speare of heben wood behind him bare. 
Whose harmeful head, thrise heated in the 

fire, 
Had riven many a brest with pikehead 

square : 
A goodly person, and could menage faire 
His stubborne steed with curbed canon 

bitt, 
Who under him did trample as the aire, 
And chauft that any on his backe should 

sitt: 
The yron rowels into frothy fome he bitt. 

XXXVIII. 

Whenas this knight nigh to the Lady 
drew, 
With lovely court he gan her entertaine ; 
But, when he heard her answers loth, he 
knew 



CANTO VII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



6l 



Some secret sorrow did her heart dis- 

traiue ; 
Which to allay, and calms her storming 

paine, 
Faire feeling words he wisely gan display, 
And for her humor fitting purpose faine. 
To tempt the cause it selfe for to be- 
wray, 
Wherewith enmovd, these bleeding words 
she gan to say. 

XXXIX. 

' What worlds delight, or joy of living 

speach. 
Can hart, so plungd in sea of sorrowes 

deep. 
And heaped with so huge misfortunes, 

reach ? 
The carefull cold beginneth for to creep, 
And in my heart his yron arrow steep, 
Soone as I thinke upon my bitter bale. 
Such helplesse harmes yts better hidden 

keep. 
Then rip up griefe where it may not 

availe : 
My last left comfort is my woes to weepe 

and waile.' 

XL. 

'Ah Lady deare,' quoth then the gentle 
knight, 

* Well may I ween your griefe is wondrous 

great ; 
For wondrous great griefe groneth in my 

spright, 
Whiles thus 1 heare you of your sorrowes 

treat. 
But, woefull Lady, let me you intrete. 
For to unfold the anguish of your hart : 
Mishaps are maistred by advice discrete, 
And counsell mitigates the greatest smart : 
Found never help who never would his 

hurts impart.' 

XLI. 

' O, but,' (quoth she) * great griefe will 
not be tould, 
And can more easily be thought then 
said.' 

* Right so,' (quoth he) * but he that never 

would 
Could never : will to might gives greatest 

aid.' 
'But griefe,' (quoth she) 'does greater 

grow displaid, 
If then it find not helpe, and breeds des- 

paire.' 
'Despaire breeds not,' (quoth he) 'where 

faith is- staid.' 

* No faith so fast,' (quoth she) ' but flesh 

doespaire.' 



'Flesh may empaire,' (quoth he) 'but 
reason can repaire.' 



His goodly reason, and well-guided 

speach, 
So deepe did settle in her gracious thought, 
That her perswaded to disclose the breach 
Which love and fortune in her heart had 

wrought ; 
And said ; ' Faire Sir, I hope good hap 

hath brought 
You to inquere the secrets of my griefe, 
Or that your wisedome will direct my 

thought, 
Or that your prowesse can me yield re- 

liefe : 
Then, heare the story sad, which I shall 

tell you briefe. 



' The forlorne Maiden, whom your eies 
have seene 
The laughing stocke of fortunes mockeries, 
Am th' onely daughter of a King and 

Queene, 
Whose parents deare, whiles equal des- 
tinies 
Did roune about, and their felicities 
The favourable heavens did not envy. 
Did spred their rule through all the terri- 
tories, 
Which Phison and Euphrates floweth by. 
And Gehons golden waves doe wash con- 
tinually : 

XLIV. 

' Till that their cruell cursed enemy, 
An huge great Dragon, horrible in sight. 
Bred in the loathly lakes of Tartary, 
With murdrous ravine, and devouring 

might, 
Their kingdome spoild, and countrey 

wasted quight : 
Themselves, for feare into his iawes to 

fall. 
He forst to castle strong to take their 

flight ; 
Where, fast embard in mighty brasen 

wall, 
He has them now fowr years besiegd to 

make them thrall. 

XLV. 

' Full many knights, adventurous and 

stout, 
Have enterpriz'd that Monster to subdew : 
From every coast that heaven walks about 
Have thither come the noble Martial crew, 
That famous harde atchievements still 

pursew ; 



62 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book I. 



Yet never any could that girlond win, 
But all still siirouke, and still he greater 

grew : 
All they, for want of faith, or guilt of sin, 
The pitteous pray of his tiers cruelty have 

bin. 

XLVI. 

' At last, yled with far reported praise. 
Which flying fame throughout the world 

had spred, 
Of doughty knights, whom Faery land did 

raise, 
That noble order hight of maidenhed, 
Forthwith to court of Gloriane I sped. 
Of Gloriane, great Queene of glory bright, 
Whose kingdomes seat Cleopolis is red ; 
There to obtaine some such redoubted 

knight. 
That Parents deare from tyrants powre 

deliver might. 



' Yt was my chaunce (my chaunce was 

faire and good) 
There for to find a fresh unproved knight ; 
Whose manly hands imbrewd in guilty 

blood 
Had never beene, ne ever by his might 
Had throwne to ground the unregarded 

right : 
Yet of his prowesse proofe he since hath 

made 
(I witnes am) in many a cruell fight ; 
The groning ghosts of many one dismaide 
Have felt the bitter dint of his avenging 
blade. 

XLVIII. 

'And ye, the forlorne reliques of his 

powre, 
His biting sword, and his devouring 

speare, 
Which have endured many a dreadfuU 

stowre. 
Can speake his prowesse that did earst you 

beare. 
And well could rule ; now he hath left you 

heare 
To be the record of his ruefull losse. 
And of my dolefull disaventurous deare. 
O! heavie record of the good Redcrosse, 
Where have yee left your lord that could 

so well you tosse ? 



* Well hoped I, and faire beginnings had. 
That he my captive languor should re- 

deeme : 
Till, all unweeting, an Enchaunter bad 



His sence abusd, and made him to mis- 

deeme 
My loyalty, not such as it did seeme, 
That rather death desire then such de- 

spight. 
Be judge, ye heavens, that all things right 

esteeme. 
How I him lov'd, and love with all my 

might. 
So thought I eke of him, and think I 

thought aright. 



' Thenceforth me desolate he quite for- 

sooke. 
To wander where wilde fortune would me 

lead, 
And other bywaies he himself e betooke,^ 
Where never foote of living wight did 

tread. 
That brought not backe the baleful! body 

dead: 
In which him chaunced false Duessa 

meete, 
Mine onely foe, mine onely deadly dread ; 
Who with her witchcraft, and misseeming 

sweete. 
Inveigled him to follow her desires un- 

meete. 

LI. 

'At last, by subtile sleights she him be- 

traid 
Unto his foe, a Gyaunt huge and tall ; 
Who him disarmed, dissolute, dismaid, 
Un wares surprised, and with mighty mall 
The monster mercilesse him made to fall. 
Whose fall did never foe before behold : 
And now in darkesome dungeon, wretched 

thrall, 
Remedilesse for aie he doth him hold. 
This is my cause of griefe, more great then 

may be told.' 



Ere she had ended all she gan to faint : 
But he her comforted, and faire bespake: 
' Certes, Madame, ye have great cause of 

plaint ; 
That stoutest heart, I weene, could cause 

to quake : 
But be of cheare, and comfort to you take ; 
For till I have acquitt your captive knight. 
Assure your selfe I will you not for- 
sake.' 
His chearefull words reviv'd her cheare- 

lesse spright, 
So forth they went, the Dwarfe them guid- 
ing ever right. 



CANTO VIII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



63 



CANTO VIII. 

Faire virgin, to redeeme her deare, 

Brings Arthure to the fight : 
Who slayes the Gyaunt, wounds the beast, 

And strips Duessa quight. 



Ay me ! how many perils doe enfold 
The righteous man, to make him daily fall, 
Were not that heavenly grace doth him 

uphold, 
And stedfast truth acquite him out of all. 
Her love is firme, her care continuall. 
So oft as he, through his own foolish pride 
Or weakues, is to sinfull bands made 

thrall : 
Els should this Redcrosse knight in bands 

have dyde, 
For whose deliverance she this Prince doth 

thither guyd. 



They sadly traveild thus, untill they 

came 
Nigh to a castle builded strong and hye : 
Then cryde the Dwarf e, *Lo! yonder is 

the same, 
In which my Lord, my liege, doth luck- 

lesse ly 
Thrall to that Gyaunts hateful! tyranny : 
Therefore, deare Sir, your mightie powres 

assay.' 
The noble knight alighted by and by 
From loftie steed, and badd the Ladie stay. 
To see what end of fight should him befall 

that day. 

in. 

So with his Squire, th' admirer of his 

might. 
He marched forth towardes that castle 

wall, 
Whose gates he fownd fast shutt, ne living 

wight 
To warde the same, nor answere commers 

call. 
Then tooke that Squire an home of bugle 

small. 
Which hong adowne his side in twisted 

gold 
And tasselles gay. Wyde wonders over all 
Of that same homes great virtues weren 

told, 
Which had approved bene in uses mani- 
fold. 



Was never wight that heard that shrill- 
ing sownd. 



But trembling feare did feel in every 

vaine : 
Three miles it might be easy heard aro wnd , 
And Ecchoes three aunswer'd it selfe 

againe : 
No false enchauntment, nor deceiptfull 

traiue. 
Might once abide the terror of that blast, 
But presently was void and wholly vaine : 
No gate so strong, no locke so firme and 

fast, 
But with that percing noise flew open 

quite, or brast. 



The same before the Geaunts gate he 

blew. 
That all the castle quaked from the 

grownd, 
And every dore of freewill open flew. 
The Gyaunt selfe, dismaied with that 

sownd, 
Where he with his Duessa dalliaunce 

fownd. 
In hast came rushing forth from inner 

bowre, 
With staring countenance steme, as one 

astownd. 
And staggering steps, to weet what sud- 

dein stowre 
Had wrought that horror strange, and 

dar'd his dreaded powre. 



And after him the proud Duessa came, 
High mounted on her many headed beast, 
And every head with fyrie tongue did 

flame, 
And every head was crowned on his 

creast, 
And bloody mouthed with late cruell 

feast. 
That when the knight beheld, his mightie 

shild 
Upon his manly arme he soone addrest, 
And at him fiersly flew, with corage fild, 
And eger greedinesse through every mem- 
ber thrild. 



Therewith the Gyant buckled him to 

fisht, 



64 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book 



Inflamd with scornefull wrath and high 
disdaine, 

And lifting up his dreadf ull club on hight, 

All armd with ragged snubbes and knottie 
grain e, 

Him thought at first encounter to have 
slaiue. 

But wise and wary was that noble Pere ; 

And, lightly leaping from so monstrous 
niaiue, 

Did fayre avoide the violence him nere : 

It booted nought to thinke such thunder- 
bolts to beare. 



Ne shame he thought to shonne so hide- 
ous might: 
The ydle stroke, enforcing furious way, 
Missing the marke of his misaymed sight, 
Did fall to ground, and with his heavy 

sway 
So deepely dinted in the driven clay. 
That three yardes deepe a furrow up did 

throw. 
The sad earth, wounded with so sore assay, 
Did grone full grievous underneath the 

blow, 
And trembling with strange feare did like 
an erthquake show. 



As when almightie Jove, in wrathfull 

mood, 
To wreake the guilt of mortall sins is 

bent, 
Hurles forth his thundring dart with 

deadly food 
Enrold in fiames, and smouldring dreri- 

ment, 
Through riven cloudes and molten firma- 
ment; 
The fiers threeforked engin, making 

way. 
Both loftie towres and highest trees hath 

rent, 
And all that might his angry passage 

stay ; 
And, shooting in the earth, castes up a 

mount of clay. 



His boystrous club, so buried in the 

grownd, 
He could not rearen up againe so light. 
But that the Knight hiin at advantage 

foN\Tid ; 
And, whiles he strove his combred clubbe 

to quight 
Out of the earth, with blade all burning 

bright 



He smott off his left arme, which like a 

block 
Did fall to ground, depriv'd of native 

might: 
Large streames of blood out of the 

truncked stock 
Forth gushed, like fresh water streame 

from riven rocke. 



Dismayed with so desperate deadly 
wound, 

And eke impatient of unwonted payne. 

He loudly brayd with beastly yelling 
sownd. 

That all the fieldes rebellowed againe. 

As great a noyse, as when in Cymbrian 
plaine 

An heard of Bulles, whom kindly rage 
doth sting. 

Doe for the milky mothers want com- 
plain e. 

And fill the fieldes with troublous bellow- 
ing: 

The neighbor woods arownd with hollow 
murmur ring. 

XII. 

That when his dears Duessa heard, and 

saw 
The evil stownd that daungerd her estate, 
Unto his aide she hastilj^ did draw 
Her dreadfuU beast; who, swolne with 

blood of late, 
Came ramping forth with proud presump- 

teous gate. 
And threatned all his heades like flaming 

brandes. 
But him the Squire made quickly to re- 

trate, 
Encountring fiers with single sword in 

hand; 
And twixt him and his Lord did like a 

bulwarke stand. 

xin. 

The proud Duessa, full of wrathfull 

spight. 
And fiers disdaine to be affronted so, 
Enforst her purple beast with all her 

might, 
That stop out of the way to overthroe, 
Scorniug the let of so unequall foe : 
But nathemore would that corageous 

swayne 
To her yeeld passage gainst his Lord to goe, 
But with outrageous strokes did him re- 

straine, 
And with his body bard the way atwixt 

them twaine. 



CANTO VIII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



65 



Then tooke the angrie witch her golden 

cup, 
Which still she bore, replete with magick 

artes ; 
Death and despeyre did many thereof sup, 
And secret poyson through their inner 

partes, 
Th' eternall bale of heavie wounded harts : 
Which, after charmes and some enchaunt- 

ments said, 
She lightly sprinkled on his weaker partes : 
Therewith his sturdie corage soon was 

quayd, 
And all his sences were with suddein dread 

dismay d. 

XV. 

So downe he fell before the cruell beast, 

Who on his neck his bloody clawes did 
seize, 

That life nigh crusht out of his panting 
brest : 

No powre he had to stirre, nor will torize. 

That when the carefull knight gan well 
avise, 

He lightly left the foe with whom he 
fought. 

And to the beast gan turne his enterprise ; 

For wondrous anguish in his hart it 
wrought, 

To see his loved Squyre into such thral- 
dom brought : 



And, high advauncing his blood-thirstie 

blade. 
Stroke one of those deformed heades so 

sore, 
That of his puissaunce proud ensample 

made : 
His monstrous scalpe downe to his teeth 

it tore, 
And that misformed shape misshaped 

more. 
A sea of blood gusht from the gaping 

wownd, 
That her gay garments staynd with filthy 

gore, 
And overflowed all the field arownd. 
That over shoes in blood he waded on the 

grownd. 

XVII. 

Tliereat he rored for exceeding paine. 

That to have heard great horror would 

have bred ; 
And scourging th' emptie ayre with his 

long trayne. 
Through great impatience of his grieved 

hed. 
His gorgeous ryder from her loftie sted 



Would have cast downe, and trodd in 

durty my re, 
Had not the Gyaunt soone her succoured ; 
Who, all enrag'd with smart and f ran tick 

yre. 
Came hurtling in full fiers, and forst the 

knight re tyre. 

XVIII. 

The force, which wont in two to be dis- 
perst. 
In one alone left hand he now unites. 
Which is through rage more strong then 

both were erst ; 
With which his hideous club aloft he 

dites, 
And at his foe with furious rigor smites, 
That strongest Oake might seeme to over- 
throw. 
The stroke upon his shield so heavie lites, 
That to the ground it doubleth him full 

low: 
What mortall wight could ever beare so 
monstrous blow? 

XIX. 

And in his fall his shield, that covered 

was. 
Did loose his vele by chaunce, and open 

flew; 
The light whereof, that hevens light did 

pas, 
Such blazing brightnesse through the 

ayer threw. 
That eye mote not the same endure to 

vew. 
Which when the Gyaunt spyde with 

staring eye, 
He downe let fall his arme, and soft with- 
drew 
His weapon huge, that heaved was on hye 
For to have slain the man, that on the 

ground did lye. 



And eke the fruitfull-headed beast, 

amazd 
At flashing beames of that sunshiny 

shield. 
Became stark blind, and all his sences 

dazd, 
That downe he tumbled on the durtie 

field, 
And seemd himselfe as conquered to 

yield. 
Whom when his maistresse proud per- 

ceiv'd to fall. 
Whiles yet his feeble feet for faintuesse 

reeld. 
Unto the Gyaunt lowdly she gan call ; 



66 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book I. 



Oi helpe, Orgoglio : 
perish all.' 



helpe! or els we 



At her so pitteous cry was much 

amoov'd 
Her champion stout; and for to ayde his 

frend, 
Againe his wonted angry weapon proov'd, 
Biit all in value, for he has redd his end 
In that bright shield, and all their forces 

spend 
Them selves in vaine: for, since that 

glaunciug sight, 
He hath no powre to hurt, nor to defend. 
As where th' Almighties lightning brond 

does light, 
It dimmes the dazed eyen, and daunts the 

sences quight. 

xxn. 
Whom when the Prince, to batteill new 

addrest 
And threatning high his dreadfuU stroke, 

did see. 
His sparkling blade about his head he 

blest. 
And smote off quite his right leg by the 

knee, 
That downe he tombled; as an aged 

tree, 
High growing on the top of rocky clif t, 
Whose liar I strings with keene Steele nigh 

hewen be ; 
The mightie trunck, halfe rent with rag- 
ged rift. 
Doth roll adowne the rocks, and fall with 

fearefull drift. 



Or as a Castle, reared high and round, 
By subtile engins and malitious slight 
Is undermined from the lowest ground. 
And her foundation forst, and feebled 

quight. 
At last downe falles ; and with her heaped 

bight 
Her hastie mine does more heavie make. 
And yields it selfe unto the victours 

might. 
Such was this Gyaunts fall, that seemd to 

shake 
The stedfast globe of earth, as it for 

feare did quake. 

XXIV. 

The knight, then lightly leaping to the 
pray. 
With mortall Steele him smot agaiue so 
sore, 



That headlesse his unweldy bodie lay. 

All wallowd in his owne fowle bloody 
gore. 

Which flowed from his wounds in won- 
drous store. 

But, soone as breath out of his brest did 
pas, 

That huge great body, which the Gyaunt 
bore. 

Was vanisht quite ; and of that monstrous 
mas 

Was nothing left, but like an emptie 
blader was. 

XXV. 

Whose grievous fall when false Duessa 

spyde, 

Her golden cup she cast unto the ground, 

And crowned mitre rudely threw asyde : 

Such percing griefe her stubborne hart 

did wound. 
That she could not endure that dolefull 

stound. 
But leaving all behind her fled away : 
The light-foot Squyre her quickly turnd 

around, 
And, by hard meanes enforcing her to 

stay, 
So brought unto his Lord as his deserved 

pray. 

XXVI. 

The roiall Virgin Vhich beheld from 

farre. 
In pensive plight and sad perplexitie, 
The whole atchievement of this doubtfuU 

warre. 
Came running fast to greet his victorie. 
With sober gladnesse and myld modestie ; 
And with sweet joyous cheare him thus 

bespake : 
' Fayre braunch of noblesse, flowre of 

chevalrie. 
That with your worth the world amazed 

make. 
How shall I quite the paynes ye suffer for 

my sake ? 

XXVII. 

' And you, fresh budd of vertue spring- 
ing fast. 

Whom these sad eyes saw nigh unto 
deaths dore, 

What hath poore Virgin for such perill 
past 

Wherewith you to reward ? Accept there- 
fore 

My simple selfe, and service evermore : 

And he that high does sit, and all things 
see 

With equall eye, their merites to restore, 

Behold what ye this day have done for 
mee, 



CANTO VIII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



67 



Aud what I caimot quite requite with 
usuree. 

XXVIII. 

' But sith the heavens, and your faire 

handeliug, 
Have made you master of the field this 

day, 
Your fortune maister eke with governing, 
And, well begoune,eud all so well, I pray! 
Ne let that wicked woman scape away ; 
For she it is, that did my Lord bethrall, 
My dearest Lord, and deepe in dongeon 

lay. 
Where he his better dayes hath wasted 

all: 
O heare, how piteous he to you for ayd 

does call ! ' 



Forthwith he gave in charge unto his 

Squyre, 
That scarlot whore to keepen carefully ; 
Whyles he himselfe with greedie great 

desyre 
Into the Castle entred forcibly, 
Where living creature none he did espye. 
Then gan he lowdly through the house to 

call; 
But no man car'd to answere to his crye : 
There raignd a solemne silence over all ; 
Nor voice was heard, nor wight was seene 

in bowre or hall. 



At last, with creeping crooked pace 

forth came 
An old old man, with beard as white as 

snow. 
That on a staffe his feeble steps did 

frame, 
And guyde his wearie gate both too and 

fro. 
For his eye sight him f ayled long ygo ; 
And on his arme a bounch of keyes he 

bore, 
The which unused rust did overgrow: 
Those were the keyes of every inner 

dore; 
But he could not them use, but kept them 

still in store. 

XXXI. 

But very uncouth sight was to behold. 
How he did fashion his untoward pace ; 
For as he forward moovd his footing old, 
So backward still was turnd his wrincled 

face : 
Unlike to men, who ever, as they trace. 
Both feet and face one way are wont to 

lead. 



This was the auncient keeper of that 

place. 
And foster father of the Gyaunt dead ; 
His name Ignaro did his nature right 

aread. 

XXXII. 

His reverend 'heares and holy gravitee 
The knight much honord, as beseemed 

well; 
And gently askt, tvhere all the people 

bee, 
Which in that stately building wont to 

dwell : 
Who an.swerd him full soft, he could not 

tell. 
Again he askt, where that same, knight 

was layd, 
Whom great Orgoglio with his puissaunce 

fell 
Had made his caytive thrall: againe he 

sayde, 
He could not tell : ne ever other answere 

made. 

XXXIII. 

Then asked he, which way he in might 

pas? 
He could not tell, againe he answered. • 
Thereat the courteous knight displeased 

was. 
And said ; ' Old syre, it seemes thou hast 

not red 
How ill it sits with that same silver bed. 
In vaine to mocke, or mockt in vaine to 

bee: 
But if thou be, as thou art pourtrahed 
With natures pen, in ages grave degree, 
Aread in graver wise what I demaund of 

thee.' 

XXXIV. 

His answere likewise was, he could not 

tell: 
Whose sencelesse speach, and doted 

ignorance, 
Whenas the noble Prince had marked 

well, 
He ghest his nature by his countenance, 
And calmd his wrath with goodly tem- 
perance. 
Then, to him stepping, from his arme did 

reach 
Those keyes, and made himselfe free 

enterance. 
Each dore he opened without any breach; 
There was no barre to stop, nor foe him to 

empeach. 

XXXV. 

There all within full rich arayd he 
found, 
With royall arras, and resplendent gold. 



68 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book I. 



And did with store of every thing abound, 

That greatest Princes presence might be- 
hold. 

But all the floore (too filthy to be told) 

^Vith blood of gailtlesse babes, and inno- 
cents trew, 

"Which there were slaine as sheepe out of 
the fold, 

Defiled was, that dreadf ull was to vew ; 

And sacred ashes over it was strowed new. 



And there beside of marble stone was 

built 
An Altare, carv'd with cunning ymagery, 
On which trew Christians blood was often 

spilt, 
And holy Martyres often doen to dye 
With cruell malice and strong tyranny : 
Whose blessed sprites, from underneath 

the stone, 
To God for vengeance cryde continually ; 
And with great griefe were often heard to 

grone, 
That hardest heart would bleeds to hear 

their piteous mone. 



Through every rowme he sought, and 

everie bowr. 
But no where could he find that wofull 

thrall : 
At last he came unto an yron doore. 
That fast was lockt, but key found not at 

all 
Emongst that bounch to open it withall ; 
But in the same a little grate was pight, 
Through which he sent his voyce, and lowd 

did call 
With all his powre, to weet if living 

wight 
Were housed therewithin, whom he en- 

largen might. 



Therewith an hollow, dreary, murmur- 
ing voyce 
These pitteous plaintes and dolours did 

resound : 
* O ! who is that, which bringes me happy 

choyce 
Of death, that here lye dying every stound, 
Yet live perforce in balefuU darkenesse 

bound ? 
For now three Moones have changed thrice 

their hew. 
And have been thrice hid underneath the 

ground, 
Since I the heavens chearefuU face did 

vew. 



O! welcome thou, that doest of death 
bring tydings trew.' 



Which when that Champion heard, with 

percing point 
Of pitty deare his hart was thrilled sore ; 
And trembling horrour ran through every 

joynt. 
For ruth of gentle knight so f owle forlore : 
Which shaking off, he rent that yron 

dore 
With furious force and indignation fell ; 
Where entred in, his foot could find no 

flore, 
But all a deepe descent, as darke as hell. 
That breathed ever forth a filthie banef ull 

smell. 

XL. 

But nether darkenesse fowle, nor filthy 
bands. 
Nor noyous smell, his purpose could with- 
hold, 
(Entire affection hateth nicer hands) 
But that with constant zele and corage 

bold, 
After long paines and labors manifold. 
He found the meanes that Prisoner up to 

reare ; 
Whose feeble thighes, unable to uphold 
His pined corse, him scarse to light could 

beare ; 
A ruefuU spectacle of death and ghastly 
drere. 

XLI. 

His sad dull eies, deepe sunck in hollow 

pits. 
Could not endure th' unwonted sunne to 

view; 
His bare thin cheekes for want of better 

bits. 
And empty sides deceived of their dew. 
Could make a stony hart his hap to rew ; 
His rawbone armes, whose mighty 

brawned bowrs 
Were wont to rive Steele plates, and hel- 
mets hew. 
Were clene consum'd; and all his vitall 

powres 
Decayd, and al his flesh shronk up like 

withered flowres. 

XLH. 

Whome when his Lady saw, to him she 

ran 
With hasty joy : to see him made her glad, 
And sad to view his visage pale and wan, 
Who earst in flowres of freshest youth 

was clad. 



CANTO VIII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



69 



Tho, when her well of teares she wasted 

had, 
She said ; ' Ah dearest Lord ! what evill 

starre 
On you hath frownd, and pouid his iu- 

tluenee bad, 
That ot your selfe ye thus berobbed arre, 
And this misseeming hew your manly 

looks doth mar re ? 

XLIII. 

* But welcome now, my Lord in wele or 

woe. 
Whose presence I have lackt too long a 

day: 
And fie on Fortune, mine avowed foe, 
Whose wrathful wreakes them selves doe 

now alay ; 
And for these wronges shall treble pen- 

aunce pay 
Of treble good: good growes of evils 

priefe.' 
The chearelesse man, whom sorrow did 

dismay. 
Had no delight to treaten of his griefe ; 
His long endured famine needed more 

reliefe. 

XLIV. 

' Faire Lady, ' then said that victorious 

knight, 
* The things, that grievous were to doe, 

or beare. 
Them to renew, I wote, breeds no delight ; 
Best musicke breeds delight in loathing 

eare: 
But th' only good that growes of passed 

feare 
Is to be wise, and ware of like agein. 
This dales ensample hath this lesson deare 
Deepe written in my heart with yron pen, 
That blisse may not abide in state of 

mortall men. 



'Henceforth, Sir knight, take to you 

wonted strength, 
And maister these mishaps with patient 

might. 
Loe ! where your foe lies strecht in mon- 
strous length ; 
And loe! that wicked woman in your 

sight, 
The roote of all your care and wretched 

plight, 
Now in your powre, to let her live, or die.' 
*To doe her die,' (quoth Una) 'were de- 

spight, 
And shame t'avenge so weake an enimy; 
But spoile her of her scarlot robe, and let 

her fly.' 



So, as she bad, that witch they disaraid, 
And robd of roiall robes, and purple pall, 
And ornaments that richly were displaid ; 
Ne spareid they to strip her naked all. 
Then, when they had despoyld her tire 

and call, 
Such as she was their eies might her be- 
hold. 
That her misshaped parts did them appall : 
A loathly, wrinckled hag, ill favoured, 

old. 
Whose secret filth good manners biddeth 
not be told. 



Her crafty head was altogether bald, 
And, as in hate of honorable eld. 
Was overgrowne with scurfe and filthy 

scald ; 
Her teeth out of her rotten gummes were 

feld, 
And hersowre breath abhomiuably smeld ; 
Her dried dugs, lyke bladders lacking 

wind, 
Hong downe, and filthy matter from them 

weld; 
Her wrizled skin, as rough as maple rind. 
So scabby was that woutd have loathd all 

womankind. 



Her neather parts, the shame of all her 

kind. 
My chaster Muse for shame doth blush to 

write ; 
But at her rompe she growing had behind 
A foxes taile, with dong all fowly dight ; 
And eke her feete most monstroiis were in 

sight ; 
For one of them was like an Eagles claw. 
With srriping talaunts armd to greedy 

fight ; 
The other like a beares uneven paw. 
More ugly shape yet never living creature 

saw. 



Which when the knights beheld amazd 

they were, 
And wondred at so fowle deformed wight. 
' Such then,' (said Una,) ' as she seemeth 

here, 
Such is the face of falshood : such the sight 
Of fowle Duessa, when her borrowed light 
Is laid away, and counterfesaunce 

knowne.' 
Thus when they had the witch disrobed 

quight. 
And all her filthy feature open showne. 



70 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book I, 



They let her goe at will, and wander wales 
uukuowne. 

L. 

Shee, flying fast from heavens hated 
face, * 

And from the world that her discovered 

wide, 
Fled to the wastfull wildernesse apace, 
From living eies her open shame to hide, 



And lurkt in rocks and caves, long un- 

espide. 
But that faire crew of knights, and Una 

faire, 
Did in that castle afterwards ahide, 
To rest them selves, and weary powres 

repaire ; 
Where store they fownd of al that dainty 

was and rare. 



CANTO IX. 

His loves and lignage Arthure tells : 
The knights knitt friendly bands : 

Sir Trevisan flies from Despeyre, 
Whom Eedcros knight withstands. 



O GOODLY golden chayne, wherewith 

yfere 
The vertues linked are in lovely wize ; 
And nohle mindes of yore allyed were. 
In brave poursuitt of chevalrous emprize, 
That none did others safety despize. 
Nor aid envy to him in need that stands ; 
But friendly each did others praise devize. 
How to advaunce with favourable hands, 
As this good Prince redeemd the Red- 

crosse knight from bands. 



Who when their powres, empayrd 
through labor long, 
With dew repast they had recured well, 
And that weake captive wight now wexed 

strong. 
Them list no lenger there at leasure dwell. 
But forward fare as their adventures fell : 
But, ere they parted, Una faire besought 
That straunger knight his name and na- 
tion tell ; 
Least so great good, as he for her had 

wrought. 
Should die unknown, and buried be in 
thankles thought. 



' Faire virgin,' (said the Prince,) * yee 

me require 
A thing without the compas of mv witt ; 
For both the lignage, and the certein Sire, 
From which I sprong, from mee are hidden 

yitt; 
For all so soone as life did me admitt 
Into this world, and shewed hevens light. 
From mothers pap I taken was unfitt, 
And streight deliver'd to a Fary knight, 
To be upbrought in gentle thewes and 

martiall might. 



* Unto Old Timon he me brought bylive ; 
Old Timon, who in youthly yeares hath 

beene 
In warlike feates th' expertest man alive. 
And is the wisest now on earth I weene : 
His dwelling is low in a valley greene, 
Under the foot of Rauran mossy hore. 
From whence the river Dee, as silver 

cleene. 
His tombling billowes rolls with gentle 

rore; 
There all my dales he traind mee up in 

vertuous lore. 

V. 

* Thither the great magicien Merlin 

came. 
As was his use, ofttimes to visitt mee ; 
For he had charge my discipline to frame, 
And Tutors nouriture to oversee. 
Him oft and oft I askt in privity. 
Of what loines and what lignage I did 

spring ; 
Whose aunswere bad me still assured bee, 
That I was sonne and heire unto a king. 
As time in her just term the truth to light 

should bring." 

VI. 

* Well worthy impe,' said then the Lady 

gent, 

' And Pupill fitt for such a Tutors hand! 

But what adventure, or what high intent. 

Hath brought you hither into Faery 
land, 

Aread, Prince Arthure, crowne of Martiall 
band?' 

' Full hard it is,' (quoth he) ' to read aright 

The course of heavenly cause, or under- 
stand 

The secret meaning of th' eternall might. 



CANTO IX.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



71 



That rules mens waies, and rules the 
thoughts of livinsr wight. 



' For whether he, through fatal deepe 

foresight, 
Me hither sent for cause to me unghest; 
Or that fresh bleediug wound, which day 

and night 
AVhilome doth rancle in my riven brest, 
With forced fury following his behest, 
Me hither brought by wayes yet never 

found. 
You to have helpt I hold my selfe yet 

blest.' 
' All ! courteous Knight,' (quoth she) 

' what secret wound 
Could ever find to grieve the gentlest hart 

on ground ? ' 



' Dear Dame,' (quoth he) 'you sleeping 

sparkes awake. 
Which, troubled once, into huge flames 

will grow ; 
Ne ever will their fervent fury slake, 
Till living moysture into smoke do flow, 
And wasted life doe lye in ashes low : 
Yet sithens silence lesseneth not my fire. 
But, told, it flames ; and, hidden, it does 

glow, 
I will revele what ye so much desire. 
Ah, Love ! lay down thy bow, the whiles 

I may respyre. 



' It was in freshest flowre of youthly 
yeares, 
When corage first does creepe in manly 

* chest, 
Then first the cole of kindly heat appeares 
To kindle love in every living brest : 
But me had warnd old Timons wise behest. 
Those creeping flames by reason to sub- 
dew. 
Before their rage grew to so great unrest, 
As miserable lovers use to rew, 
TMiich still wex old in woe, whiles wo stil 
wexeth new. 



' That ydle name of love, and lovers life. 
As losse of time, and vertues enimy, 
I ever scorud, and joyd to stirre up strife. 
In middest of their mournfull Tragedy ; 
Ay wont to laugh when them I lieard to 

cry, 
And blow the fire which them to ashes 
brent : 



Their God himself e, grievd at my libertie, 
Shott many a dart at me with fiers intent ; 
But I them warded all with warj* govern- 
ment. 

XI. 

* But all in value : no fort can be so 

strong, 
Ne fleshly brest can armed be so sownd. 
But will at last be wonne with battrie long, 
Or unawares at disavantage fownd. 
Nothing is sure that growes on earthly 

grownd ; 
And who most trustes in arme of fleshly 

might. 
And boastes in beauties chaine not to be 

bowud. 
Doth soonest fall in disaventrous fight. 
And yeeldes his caytive neck to victours 

most despight. 



' Ensample make of him your haplesse 

joy, 
And of my selfe now mated, as ye see ; 
Whose prouder vaunt that proud avenging 

boy 
Did sooue pluck downe, and curbd my 

libertee. 
For on a day, prickt forth with jollitee 
Of looser life and heat of liardiment, 
Raunging the forest wide on courser free, 
The fields, the floods, the heavens, with 

one consent, 
Did seeme to laugh on me, and favour 

mine mtent. 



' Forwearied with my sportes, I did 

alight 
From loftie steed, and downe to sleepe me 

layd; 
The verdant gras my couch did goodly 

dight, 
And pillow was my helmett fayre dis- 

• playd ; 
Whiles every sence the humour sweet 

embayd. 
And slombring soft my hart did steale 

away, 
Me seemed, by my side a royall Mayd 
Her daintie limbes full softlv down did 

lay : 
So fayre a creature yet saw never sunny 

day. 

XIV. 

' Most goodly glee and lovely blandish- 
ment 
She to me made, and badd me love her 
deare ; 



72 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book I. 



For dearely sure her love was to me bent, 
As, when just time expired, should 

appeare. 
But whether dreames delude, or true it 

were, 
Was never hart so ravisht with delight, 
Ne living man like wordes did ever heare, 
As she to me delivered all that night ; 
And at her parting said, She Queene of 

Faeries hight. 

XV. 

'When I awoke, and found her place 

devoyd , 
And nought but pressed gras where she 

had lyen, 
I sorrowed all so much as earst I joyd, 
And washed all her place with watry eyen. 
From that day forth I lov'd that face 

divyne ; 
From that day forth I cast in carefull 

mynd. 
To seek her out with labor and long tyne, 
And never vowd to rest till her I fynd : 
Nyne monethes I seek in vain, yet ni'll 

that vow unbynd.' 



Thus as he spake, his visage wexed pale, 
And chaunge of hew great passion did 

bewray ; 
Yett still he strove to cloke his inward 

bale, 
And hide the smoke that did his fire dis- 
play. 
Till gentle Una thus to him gan say : 
* O happy Queene of Faeries ! that hast 

fownd, 
Mongst many, one that with his prowesse 

may 
Defend thine honour, and thy foes con- 

fownd. 
True loves are often sown, but seldom 

grow on grownd.' 

XVII. 

'Thine, O! then,' said the gentle Red- 

crosse knight, 
' Next to that Ladies love, shalbe the place, 
O fayrest virgin ! full of heavenly light. 
Whose wondrous faith, exceeding earthly 

race, 
Was firmest fixt in myne extremest case. 
And you, my Lord, the Patrone of my life. 
Of that great Queene may well gaine 

worthie grace ; 
For onely worthie you through prowes 

priefe, 
Yf living man mote worthie be to be her 

liefe.' 



So diversly discoursing of their loves, 
The golden Sunne his glistring head gan 

shew. 
And sad remembraunce now the Prince 

amoves 
With fresh desire his voyage to pursew ; 
Als Una earnd her traveill to renew. 
Then those two knights, fast friendship 

for to bynd, 
And love establish each to other trew. 
Gave goodly gifts, the signes of gratefull 

mynd. 
And eke, as pledges firme, right hands 

together joynd. 



Prince Arthur gave a boxe of Diamond 
sure, 

Embowd with gold and gorgeous orna- 
ment. 

Wherein were closd few drops of liquor 
pure. 

Of wondrous worth, and vertue excellent. 

That any wownd could heale incontinent. 

Which to requite, the Redcrosse knight 
him gave 

A booke, wherein his Saveours testament 

Was writt with golden letters rich and 
brave : 

A worke of wondrous grace, and hable 
soules to save. 



Thus beene they parted ; Arthur on his 

way 
To seeke his love, and th' other for to 

fight 
With Unaes foe, that all her realme did 

pray. 
But she, now weighing the decayed plight 
And shrunken synewes of her chosen 

knight. 
Would not a while her forward course 

pursew, 
Ne bring him forth in face of dreadfull 

fight. 
Till he recovered had his former hew ; 
For him to be yet weake and wearie well 

she knew. 



So as they traveild, lo ! they gan espy 
An armed knight towards them gallop 

fast, 
That seemed from some feared foe to fly, 
Or other griesly thing that him aghast. 
Still as he fledd his eye was backward 

cast. 
As if his feare still followed him behynd : 



CANTO IX.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



73 



Als flew his steed as he his bandes had 

brast. 
And with his winged heeles did tread the 

wynd, 
As he had beene a fole of Pegasus his 

kynd. 

xxn. 
Nigh as he drew, they might perceive 

his head 
To bee unarmd, and curld uncombed 

heares 
Upstaring stiffe, dismaid with uncouth 

dread : 
Nor drop of blood in all his face appeares, 
Nor life in limbe; and, to increase his 

feares, 
In fowle reproch of knighthoodes fayre 

degree. 
About his neck an hempen rope he weares, 
That with his glistring armes does ill 

■ agree ; 
But he of rope or armes has now no 

memoree. 

xxm. 

The Eedcrosse knight toward him 
crossed fast. 

To weet what mister wight was so dis- 
may d. 

There him he findes all sencelesse and 
aghast, 

That of him selfe he seemd to be afrayd ; 

Whom hardly he from flying forward 
stayd. 

Till he these wordes to him deliver might : 

* Sir knight, aread who hath ye thus arayd. 

And eke from whom make ye this hasty 
flight ? 

For never knight I saw in such misseem- 
mg plight.' 

XXIV. 

He answerd nought at all ; but adding 

new 
Feare to his first amazment, staring wyde 
With stony eyes and hartlesse hollow hew, 
Astonisht stood, as one that had aspyde 
lufernall furies with their chaines untyde. 
Him yett againe, and yett againe, bespake 
The gentle knight; who nought to him 

replyde ; 
But, trembling every joyut, did inly 

quake. 
And foltring tongue, at last, these words 

seemd forth to shake ; 

XXV. 

'For Grods deare love, Sir knight, doe 
me not stay ; 
For loe! he comes, he comes fast after 
mee.' 



Eft looking back would faine have runne 

away ; 
But he him forst to stay, and tell en free 
The secrete cause of his perplexitie : 
Yet nathemore by his bold hartie speach 
Could his blood frosen hart emboldened 

bee, 
But through his boldnes rather feare did 

reach ; 
Yett, forst, at last he made through silence 

suddein breach. 

XXVI. 

'And am I now in safetie sure,' (quoth 

he) 
' From him that would have forced me to 

dye? 
And is the point of death now turnd fro 

mee, 
That I may tell this haplesse history ? ' 
'Fear nought,' (quoth he) 'no daunger 

now Is nye.' 
' Then shall I you recount a ruefull cace,' 
(Said he) ' the which with this unlucky 

eye 
I late beheld; and, had not greater grace 
Me reft from it, had bene partaker of the 

place. 

xxvn. 

'I lately chaunst (Would I had never 

chaunst!) 
With a fayre knight to keepen companee, 
Sir Terwin hight, that well himselfe ad- 

vauust 
In all affayres, and was both bold and 

free { 
But not so happy as mote happy bee : 
He lov'd, as was his lot, a Lady gent. 
That him againe lov'd ia the least degree ; 
For she was proud, and of too high intent, 
And joyd to see her lover languish and 

lament : 

XX vm. 
* From whom retourning sad and com- 

fortlesse, 
As on the way together we did fare, 
We met that villen, (God from him me 

blesse I) 
That cursed wight, from whom I scapt 

whyleare, 
A man of hell that calls himselfe De- 

spayre : 
Who first us greets, and after fayre 

areedes 
Of tydinges straunge, and of adventures 

rare: 
So creeping close, as Snake in hidden 

weedes, 
Inquireth of our states, and of our knightly 

deedes. 



74 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book I. 



' Which when he knew, and felt our 

feeble harts 
Embost with bale, and bitter byting 

grief e, 
Which love had launched with his deadly 

darts, 
With wounding words, and termes of 

foule repriefe, 
He pluckt from us all hope of dew relief e. 
That earst us held in love of lingring 

life; 
Then hopelesse, hartlesse, gan the cun- 
ning thiefe 
Perswade us dye, to stint all further 

strife : 
To me he lent this rope, to him a rusty 

knife. 



'With which sad instrument of hasty 

death, 
That wofuU lover, loathing lenger light, 
A wyde way made to let forth living 

breath : 
But I, more f earef nil or more lucky wight, 
Dismayd with that deformed dismall 

sight, 
Fledd fast away, halfe dead with dying 

feare ; 
Ne yet assur'd of life by you. Sir knight, 
Whose like infirmity like chaunce may 

beare ; 
But God you never let his charmed 

speaches heare ! ' 

XXXI. 

'How may a man,' (said he) 'with 

idle speach 
Be wonne to spoyle the Castle of his 

health?' 
' I wote, ' (quoth he) ' whom tryall late 

did teach, 
That like would not for all this worldes 

wealth. 
His subtile tong like dropping honny 

mealt'h 
Into the heart, and searcheth every vaine ; 
That, ere one be aware, by secret stealth 
His powre is reft, and weaknes doth re- 

maine. 
O! never, Sir, desire to try his guilefull 

traine.' 

XXXII. 

* Certes,' (sayd he) ' hence shall I never 

rest, 
Till I that treachours art have heard and 

tryde : 
And you, Sir knight, whose name mote I 

request, 



Of grace do me unto his cabin guyde.' 
'I, that hight Trevisau,' (quoth he) 'will 

ryde 
Against my liking backe to doe you grace : 
But nor for gold nor glee will I abyde 
By you, when ye arrive in that same 

place ; 
For lever had I die then see his deadly 

face.' 

XXXIII. 

Ere long they come where that same 

wicked wight 
His dwelling has, low in an hollow cave, 
For underneath a cragy cliif ypight, 
Darke, dolefull, dreary, like a greedy 

grave. 
That still for carrion carcases doth crave: 
On top whereof ay dwelt the ghastly 

Owle, 
Shrieking his balefull note, which ever 

drave 
Far from that haunt all other chearefull 

f owle ; 
And all about it wandring ghostes did 

wayle and howle. 

xxxrv. 
And all about old stockes and stubs of 

trees, 
Whereon nor fruit nor leafe was ever 

scene, 
Did hang upon the ragged rocky knees ; 
On which had many wretches hanged 

beene, 
Whose carcases were scattred on the 

greene, 
And throwne about the cliffs. Arrived 

there, 
That bare-head knight, for dread and 

dolefull teene, 
Would faine have fled, ne durst approchen 

neare ; 
But th' other forst him staye, and com- 
forted in feare. 

XXXV. 

That darkesome cave they enter, where 
they find 
That cursed man , low sitting on the ground, 
Musing full sadly in his sullein mind : 
His griesie lockes, long growen and un- 
bound, 
Disordred hong about his shoulders round. 
And hid his face, through which his hol- 
low eyne 
Lookt deadly dull, and stared as astound ; 
His raw-bone cheekes, through penurie 

and pine, 
Were shronke into his jawes, as he did 
never dyne. 



CANTO IX.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



75 



XXXVI. 

His garment, nought but many ragged 
clouts, 
With thornes together piud and patched 

was, 
The which his naked sides he wrapt 

abouts ; 
And him beside there lay upon the gras 
A dreary corse, whose life away did pas. 
All wallowd in his own yet luke-warme 

blood, 
That from his wound yet welled fresh, 

alas! 
In which a rusty knife fast fixed stood, 
Aad made an open passage for the gush- 
ing flood. 

XXXVII. 

Which piteous spectacle, approving trew 
The wofull tale that Trevisan had told, 
Whenas the gentle Redcrosse knight did 

vew, 
With firie zeale he burnt in courage bold 
Him to avenge before his blood were cold, 
And to the villein sayd ; ' Thou damned 

wight, 
The authour of this fact we here behold. 
What justice can but judge against thee 

right. 
With thine owne blood to price his blood, 

here shed in sight ? ' 



* What franticke fit,' (quoth he) ' hath 

thus distraught 
Thee, foolish man, so rash a doome to 

give? 
What justice ever other judgement taught. 
But he should dye who merites not to 

live? 
None els to death this man despayring 

drive 
But his owne guiltie mind, deserving 

death. 
Is then unjust to each his dew to give ? 
Or let him dye, that loatheth living 

breath. 
Or let him die at ease, that liveth here 

uneath? 

XXXIX. 

* Who travailes by the wearie wandring 

way, 
To come unto his wished home in haste, 
And meetes a flood that doth his passage 

stay. 
Is not great grace to helpe him over past, 
Or free his feet that in the myre sticke 

fast? 
Most envious man, that grieves at neigh- 
bours good; 



And fond, that joyest in the woe thou 

hast! 
Why wilt not let him passe, that long 

hath stood 
Upon the bancke, yet wilt thy selfe not 

pas the flood? 

XL. 

' He there does now enjoy eternall rest 
And happy ease, which thou doest want 

and crave. 
And further from it daily wanderest : 
What if some little payne the passage 

have. 
That makes f rayle flesh to f eare the bitter 

wave. 
Is not short payne well borne, that bringes 

long ease, 
And layes the soule to sleepe in quiet 

grave ? 
Sleepe after toyle, port after stormie 

seas, 
Ease after warre, death after life, does 

greatly please.' 

XLI. 

The knight much wondred at his sud- 
deiue wit. 
And sayd ; ' The terme of life is limited, 
Ne may a man prolong, nor shorten, it: 
The souldier may not move from watch- 
full sted. 
Nor leave his stand untill his Captaine 

bed.' 
' Who life did limit by almightie doome,' 
(Quoth he) ' kuowes best the termes es- 
tablished ; 
And he, that points the Centonell his 

roome, 
Doth license him depart at sound of morn- 
ing droome.' 

XLn. 

'Is not his deed, what ever thing is 

donne 
In heaven and earth? Did not he all 

create 
To die againe? All ends that was be- 

gonne : 
Their times in his eternall booke of fate 
Are written sure, and have their certein 

date. 
Who then can strive with strong neces- 

sitie, 
That holds the world in his still chaung- 

ing state, 
Or sliunne the death ordaynd by des- 

tinie? 
AVlien houre of death is come, let none 

aske whence, nor why. 



76 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book I. 



' The lenger life, I wote, the greater sin ; 
The greater sin, the greater punishment: 
All those great battels, which thou boasts 

to wiji 
Through strife, and blood-shed, and 

avengement, 
Now praysd, hereafter deare thou shalt 

repent ; 
For life mast life, and blood must blood, 

repay. 
Is not enough thy evill life forespent ? 
For he that once hath missed the right 

way, 
The further he doth goe, the further he 

doth stray. 



' Then doe no further goe, no further 
stray, 

But here ly downe, and to thy rest betake, 

Th' ill to prevent, that life ensewen may ; 

For what hath life that may it loved make, 

And gives not rather cause it to forsake ? 

Feare, sicknesse, age, losse, labour, sor- 
row, strife, 

Payne, hunger, cold that makes the hart 
to quake. 

And ever fickle fortune rageth rife ; 

All which, and thousands mo, do make a 
loathsome life. 



'Thou, wretched man, of death hast 

greatest need. 
If in true ballaunce thou wilt weigh thy 

state ; 
For never knight, that dared warlike 

deed. 
More luckless dissa ventures did amate : 
Witnes the dungeon deepe, wherein of late 
Thy life shutt up for death so oft did call ; 
And though good lucke prolonged hath 

thy date. 
Yet death then would the like mishaps 

forestall, 
Into the which hereafter thou maist 

happen fall. 



'AVhy then doest thou, O man of sin! 
desire 
To draw thy dayes forth to their last de- 
gree? 
Is not the measure of thy shifnll hire 
High heaped up with huge iniquitee. 
Against the day of wrath to burden thee ? 
Isuot enough, that to this Lady mild 
Thou falsed hast thy faith with perjuree. 



And sold thy selfe to serve Duessa vild, 
With whom in al abuse thou hast thy 
selfe defild? 



' Is not he just, that all this doth behold 
From highest heven, and beares an equall 

eie? 
Shall he thy sins up in his knowledge fold, 
And guilty be of thine impietie ? 
Is not his lawe, Let every sinner die ; 
Die shall all flesh? What then must 

needs be donne. 
Is it not better to doe willinglie. 
Then linger till the glas be all out ronne ? 
Death is the end of woes: die soone, O 

faeries sonne ! -' 

XLVIII. 

The knight was much enmoved with his 
speach, 

That as a swords poynt through his hart 
did perse. 

And in his conscience made a secrete 
breach, 

Well knowing trew all that he did reherse, 

And to his fresh remembraunce did re- 
verse 

The ugly vew of his deformed crimes ; 

That all his manly powres it did disperse, 

As he were charmed with inchaunted 
rimes ; 

That oftentimes he quakt, and fainted 
oftentimes. 

XLIX. 

In which amazement when the Mis- 

creaunt 
Perceived him to waver, weake and fraile, 
Whiles trembling horror did his conscience 

daunt. 
And hellish anguish did his soule assaile ; 
To drive him to despaire, and quite to 

quaile, 
Hee shewd him, painted in a table plaine, 
The damned ghosts that doe in torments 

waile. 
And thousand feends that doe them end- 

lesse paine 
With fire and brimstone, which for ever 

shall remaine. 



The sight whereof so throughly him 

dismaid, 
That nought but death before his eies he 

saw. 
And ever burning wrath before him laid. 
By righteous sentence of th* Almighties 

law. 



CANTO X.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



77 



Then gan the villein him to overcraw, 
And brought unto him swords, ropes, 

poison, fire. 
And all that might him to perdition draw ; 
And bad him choose what death he would 

desire ; 
For death was dew to him that had pro- 

vokt Gods ire. 



But, whenas none of them he saw liim 

take. 
He to him raught a dagger sharpe and 

keene. 
And gave it him in hand: his hand did 

quake 
And tremble like a leafe of Aspin greene, 
And troubled blood through his pale face 

was seene 
To come and goe with tidings from the 

. heart. 
As it a ronning messenger had beene. 
At last, resolv'd to work his finall smart. 
He lifted up his hand, that backe againe 

did start. 

LII. 

Which whenas Una saw, through every 

vaine 
The crudled cold ran to her well of life, 
As in a swowne : but, soone reliv'd againe, 
Out of his hand she snatcht the cursed 

knife. 
And threw it to the ground, enraged rife. 
And to him said; ' Fie, fie, faint hearted 

Knight! 
"What meanest thou by this reprochfull 

strife? 
Is this the battaile which thou vauntst to 

fight 



With that fire-mouthed Dragon, horrible 
and bright ? 



' Come ; come away, f raile, feeble, 

fleshly wight, 
Ne let vaine words bewitch thy manly 

hart, 
Ne divelish thoughts dismay thy constant 

spright : 
In heavenly mercies hast thou not a part ? 
Why shonldst thou then despeire, that 

chosen art ? 
Where justice growes, there grows eke 

greater grace, 
The which doth quench the brond of 

hellish smart. 
And that accurst hand-writing doth de- 
face. 
Arise, sir Knight; arise, and leave this 

cursed place.' 



So up he rose, and thence amounted 

streight. 
Which when the carle beheld, and saw 

his guest 
Would safe depart, for all his subtile 

sleight. 
He chose an halter from among the rest, 
And with it hong him selfe, unhid, un- 

blest. 
But death he could not worke himselfe 

thereby ; 
For thousand times he so him selfe had 

drest. 
Yet nathelesse it could not doe him die. 
Till he should die his last, that is, eter- 
nally. 



CANTO X. 

Her faithfull knight faire Una brhigs 

To house of Holinesse: 
Where he is taught repentaunce, and 

The way to hevenly blesse. 



What man is he, that boasts of fleshly 

might 
And vaine assuraunce of mortality. 
Which, all so soone as it doth come to 

fight 
Against spirituall foes, yields by and by. 
Or from the fielde most cowardly doth fly ! 
Ne let the man ascribe it to his skill. 
That thorough grace hath gained victory: 
If any strength we have, it is to ill. 



But all the good is Gods, both power and 
eke will. 



By that which lately hapned Una saw 
That this her knight was feeble, and too 

faint ; 
And all his sinewes woxen weake and raw, 
Through long enprisonment, and hard 

constraint, 
Which he endured in his late restraint. 
That yet he was unfitt for bloody fight. 



78 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book I. 



Therefore, to cherish him with diets daint, 
She cast to hring him where he chearen 

might, 
Till he recovered had his late decayed 

plight. 

III. 

There was an auncient house nor far 

away, 
Renowmd throughout the world for sacred 

lore 
And pure unspotted life: so well, they 

say. 
It governd was, and guided evermore, 
Through wisedome of a matrone grave 

and hore ; 
Whose onely joy was to relieve the needes 
Of wretched soules, and helpe the helpe- 

lesse pore : 
All night she spent in bidding of her bedes, 
And all the day in doing good and godly 

deedes. 

IV. 

Dame Caelia men did her call, as thought 
From heaven to come, or thither to arise ; 
The mother of three daughters, well up- 
brought 
In goodly thewes, and godly exercise: 
The eldest two, most sober, chast, and 

wise, 
Fidelia and Speranza, virgins were ; 
Though spousd, yet wanting wedlocks 

solemnize ; 
But faire Charissa to a lovely fere 
Was lincked, and by him had many 
pledges dere. 

V. 

Arrived there, the dore they find fast 

lockt, 
For it was warely watched night and day. 
For feare of many foes; but, when they 

knockt, 
The Porter opened unto them streight way. 
He was an aged syre, all hory gray. 
With lookes full lowly cast, and gate full 

slow. 
Wont on a staffe his feeble steps to stay, 
Hight Humilta. They passe in, stouping 

low; 
For streight and narrow was the way 

which he did show. 



Each goodly thing is hardest to begin ; 
But, entred in, a spatious court they see, 
Both plaine and pleasaunt to be walked 

in ; 
Where them does meete a francklin faire 

and free, 



And entertaiues with comely courteous 

glee; 
His name was Zele, that him right well 

became : 
For in his speaches and behaveour hee 
Did labour lively to expresse the same. 
And gladly did them guide, till to the Hall 

they came. 

VII. 

There fayrely them receives a gentle 

Squyre, 
Of myld demeanure and rare courtesee. 
Right cleanly clad in comely sad attyre ; 
In word and deede that shewd great 

modestee, 
And knew his good to all of each degree, 
Hight Reverence. He them with speaches 

meet 
Does faire entreat ; no courting nicetee. 
But simple, trew, and eke unfained sweet. 
As might become a Squyre so great persons 

to greet. 

vin. 

And afterwardes them to his Dame he 

leades. 
That aged Dame, the Lady of the place, 
Who all this while was busy at her beades ; 
Which doen, she up arose with seemely 

grace. 
And toward them full matronely did pace. 
Where, when that fairest Una she beheld, 
Whom well she knew to spring from 

hevenly race. 
Her heart with joy unwonted inly sweld. 
As feeling wondrous comfort in her weaker 

eld: 

rx. 

And, her embracing, said; *0 happy 

earth, 
Whereon thy innocent feet doe ever tread ! 
Most vertuous virgin, borne of hevenly 

berth, 
That, to redeeme thy woefull parents head 
From tyrans rage and ever-dying dread, 
Hast wandred through the world now long 

a day, 
Yett ceassest not thy weary soles to lead ; 
What grace hath thee now hither brought 

this way? 
Or doen thy feeble feet unweeting hither 

stray ? 

X. 

* Straunge thing it is an errant knight to 
see 
Here in this place ; or any other wight, 
Tliat hither turnes his steps. So few there 

bee. 
That chose the narrow path, or seeke the 
- right: 



CANTO X.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



79 



All keepe the broad high way, and take 

delight 
With many rather for to goe astray, 
And be partakers of their evill plight, 
Then with a few to walke the rightest way. 
O foolish men ! why hast ye to your own 

decay ? ' 

XI. 

* Thy selfe to see, and tyred limbes to 

rest, 
O matrone sage,' (quoth she) * I hither 

came; 
And this good knight his way with me 

addrest, 
Ledd with thy prayses, and broad-blazed 

fame. 
That up to heven is blowne.' The auncient 

Dame 
Him goodly greeted in her modest guyse, 
And enterteynd them both, as best became, 
With all the court'sies that she could 

devyse, 
Ne wanted ought to shew her bounteous 

or wise. 

XII. 

Thus as they gan of sondrie thiuges 

devise, 
Loe! two most goodly virgins came in 

place, 
Ylinked arme in arme in lovely wise: 
With countenance demure, and modest 

grace, 
They numbred even steps and equall pace ; 
Of which the eldest, that Fidelia hight. 
Like sunny beames threw from her 

Christall face 
That could have dazd the rash beholders 

sight. 
And round about her head did shine like 

hevens light. 



She was araied all in lilly white. 
And in her right hand bore a cup of gold. 
With wine and water fild up to the hight, 
In which a Serpent did himself e enfold, 
That horrour made to all that did behold ; 
But she no wliitt did cliaunge her constant 

mood : 
And in her other hand she fast did hold 
A booke, that was both signd and seald 

with blood ; 
Wherein darke things were writt, hard to 

be understood. 



Her younger sister, that Speranza hight. 
Was clad in blew, that her beseemed 
well ; 



Not all so chearefull seemed she of sight. 
As was her sister: whether dread did 

dwell 
Or anguish in her hart, is hard to tell. 
Upon her arme a silver anchor lay, 
Whereon she leaned ever, as befell ; 
And ever up to heven, as she did pray. 
Her stedfast eyes were bent, ue swarved 

other way. 

XV. 

They, seeing Una, towardes her gan 
wend. 
Who them encounters with like courtesee ; 
Many kind speeches they betweene them 



And greatly joy each other for to see : 
Then to the knight with shamefast mod- 

estie 
They turne themselves, at Unaes meeke 

request. 
And him salute with well beseeming 

glee; 
Who faire them quites, as him beseemed 

best. 
And goodly gan discourse of many a noble 

gest. 

XVI. 

Then Una thus: 'But she, your sister 

deare, 
The deare Charissa, where is she become ? 
Or wants she health, ol^ busie is els- 

where ? ' 
'Ah! no,' said they, 'but forth she may 

not come ; 
For she of late is lightned of her wombe. 
And hath encreast the world with one 

Sonne more. 
That her to see should be but troublesome.' 
'Indeed,' (quoth she) 'that should her 

trouble sore ; 
But thankt be God, and her encrease so 

evermore ! ' 

XVII. 

Then said the aged Caelia, ' Deare dame, 
And you, good Sir, I wote that of youre 

toyle 
And labors long, through which ye hither 

came. 
Ye both forwearied be: therefore, a 

whyle 
I read you rest, and to your bowres re- 

coyle.' 
Then called she a Groome, that forth him 

ledd 
Into a goodly lodge, and gan despoile 
Of puissant armes, and laid in easie 

bedd: 
His name was meeke Obedience, rightfully 

aredd. 



8o 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book I. 



XVIII. 

Now when their wearie limbes with 

kindly rest, 
And bodies were refreshtwith dew repast, 
Fayre Una gan Fidelia fayre request, 
To have lier knight into her schoolehous 

plaste, 
That of her heavenly learning he might 

taste, 
And heare the wisedom of her wordes 

divine. 
She graunted ; and that knight so much 

agraste. 
That she him taught celestiall discipline. 
And opened his dull eyes, that light mote 

in them shine. 



And that her sacred Booke, with blood 

ywritt. 
That none could reade except she did them 

teach, 
She unto him disclosed every whitt ; 
And heavenly documents thereout did 

preach, 
That weaker witt of man could never 

reach ; 
Of God ; of grace ; of justice ; of free-will ; 
That wonder was to heare her goodly 

speach : 
For she was hable with her wordes to kill, 
And rayse againe to life the hart that she 

did thrill. 



And, when she list poure out her larger 

spright, 
She would commaund the hasty Sunne to 

stay. 
Or backward turne his course from hevens 

hight : 
Sometimes great hostes of men she could 

dismay ; 
Dry-shod to passe she parts the fiouds in 

tway; 
And eke huge mountaines from their 

native seat 
See would commaund themselves to beare 

away, 
And throw in raging sea with roaring 

threat. 
Almightie God her gave such powre and 

puissaunce great. 



The faithfuU knight now grew in little 
space, 
By hearing her, and by her sisters lore, 
To such perfection of all hevenly grace, 
That wretched world began for to abhore, 



And mortall life gan loath as thing f orlore, 
Greevd with remembrance of his wicked 

wayes, 
And prickt with anguish of his sinnes so 

sore. 
That he desirde to end his wretched dayes : 
So much the dart of sinfull guilt the soule 

dismayes. 

XXII. 

But wise Speranza gave him comfort 

sweet. 
And taught him how to take assured hold 
Upon her silver anchor, as was meet ; 
Els had his sinnes, so great and manifold, 
Made him forget all that Fidelia told. 
In this distressed doubtfull agony, 
When him his dearest Una did beheld 
Disdeining life, desiring leave to dye, 
She found her selfe assayld with great 

perplexity ; 



And came to Cselia to declare her smart ; 

Who, well acquainted with that commune 
plight, 

Which sinfull horror workes in wounded 
hart. 

Her wisely comforted all that she might. 

With goodly counsell and advisement 
right ; 

And streightway sent with careful! dili- 
gence, 

To fetch a Leach, the which had great 
insight 

In that disease of grieved conscience, 

And well could cure the same : His name 
was Patiance. 



Who, comming to that sowle-diseased 

knight, 
Could hardly him intreat to tell his grief : 
Which knowne, and all that noyd his 

heavie spright 
Well searcht, eftsoones he gan apply 

relief 
Of salves and med'cines, which had pass- 
ing prief ; 
And thereto added wordes of wondrous 

might. 
By which to ease he him recured brief, 
And much aswag'd the passion of his 

plight. 
That he his paine endur'd, as seemmg 

now more light, 

XX v. 

But yet the cause and root of all his 
ill, 
Inward corruption and infected sin, 



CANTO X.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



8i 



Not purg'd nor heald, behind remained 

still, 
And festring sore did ranckle yett 

within, 
Close creeping twixt the marow and the 

skin: 
Which to extirpe, he laid him privily 
Downe in a darksome lowly place far 

Whereas he meant his corrosives to 

apply, 
And with streight diet tame his stubborne 

malady. 

XXVI. 

In ashes and sackcloth he did array 
His daintie corse, proud humors to abate ; 
And dieted with fasting every day, 
The swelling of his woundes to mitigate ; 
And made him pray both earely and eke 

late: 
And ever, as superfluous flesh did rott, 
Amendment readie still at hand did wayt, 
To pluck it out with pincers fyrie whott. 
That soone in him was lefte no one cor- 
rupted jott. 

XXVII. 

And bitter Penaunce, with an yron 
whip, 

Was wont him once to disple every 
day: 

And sharp Remorse his hart did prick and 
nip. 

That drops of blood thence like a well did 
play: 

And sad Repentance used to embay 

His blamefull body in salt water sore, 

The filthy blottes of sin to wash away. 

So in short space they did to health re- 
store 

The man that would not live, but erst lay 
at deathes dore. 

XXVIII. 

In which his torment often was so 

great. 
That like a Lyon he would cry and 

rore. 
And rend his flesh, and his owne synewes 

eat. 
His owne deare Una, hearing evermore 
His ruefull shriekes and gronings, often 

tore 
Her guiltlesse garments and her golden 

heare, 
For pitty of his payne and anguish sore : 
Yet all with patience wisely she did 

beare. 
For well she wist his cryme could els be 

never cleare. 



Whom, thus recover'd by wise Patience 

And trew Repentaunce, they to Una 
brought ; 

Who, joyous of his cured conscience. 

Him dearely kist, and fayrely eke be- 
sought 

Himselfe to chearish, and consuming 
thought 

To put away out of his caref nil brest. 

By this Charissa, late in child-bed 
brought. 

Was woxen strong, and left her fruitfull 
nest: 

To her fay re Una brought this un- 
acquainted guest. 



She was a woman in her freshest age. 
Of wondrous beauty, and of bounty rare. 
With goodly grace and comely personage. 
That was on earth not easie to compare ; 
Full of great love, but Cupids wanton 

snare 
As hell she hated ; chaste in worke and 

will: 
Her necke and brests were ever open 

bare. 
That ay thereof her babes might sucke 

their fill ; 
The rest was all in yellow robes arayed 

still. 



A multitude of babes about her hong, 
Playing their sportes, that joyd her to 

behold ; 
Whom still she fed whiles they were 

weake and young. 
But thrust them forth still as they wexed 

old: 
And on her head she wore a tyre of gold, 
Adornd with gemmes and owches won- 
drous fayre, 
Whose passing price uneath was to be 

told: 
And by her syde there sate a gentle payre 
Of turtle doves, she sitting in an yvory 
chayre. 

XXXII. 

The knight and Una entring fayre her 
greet. 

And bid her joy of that her happy brood ; 

Who them requites with court'sies seem- 
ing meet, 

And enter taynes with friendly chearefull 
mood. 

Then Una her besought, to be so good 

As in her vertuous rules to schoole her 
knight, 



S2 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book I. 



Now after all his torment well withstood 
In that sad house of Penaunce, where his 

spright 
Had past the paines of hell and long- 
enduring night. 

XXXIII. 

She was right joyous of her just re- 
quest ; 
And taking by the hand that Faeries 

Sonne, 
Gan him instruct in everie good behest, 
Of love, and righteousnes, and well to 

donue ; 
And wrath and hatred warely to shonne, 
That drew on men Gods hatred and his 

wrath, 
And many soules in dolours had for- 

donne : 
In which when him she well instructed 

hath, 
From thence to heaven she teacheth him 

the ready path. 

XXXIV. 

Wherein his weaker wandring steps to 

guyde, 
An auncient matrone she to her does 

call, 
Whose sober lookes her wisedom well 

descryde : 
Her name was Mercy ; well known e over- 
all 
To be both gratious and eke liberall : 
To whom the carefull charge of him she 

gave, 
To leade aright, that he should never 

fall 
In all his wales through this wide worldes 

wave ; 
That Mercy in the end his righteous soule 

might save. 

XXXV. 

The godly Matrone by the hand him 

beares 
Forth from her presence, by a narrow 

way, 
Scattred with bushy thornes and ragged 

breares, 
Which still before him she remov'd away, 
That nothing might his ready passage 

stay: 
And ever, when his feet encombred 

were, 
■Or gan to shrinke, or from the right to 

stray. 
She held him fast, and firmely did up- 

beare. 
As carefull Nourse her child from falling 

oft does reare. 



Eftsoones unto an holy Hospitall, 
That was foreby the way, she did him 

bring ; 
In which seven Bead-men, that had 

vowed all 
Their life to service of high heavens 

King, 
Did spend their dales in doing godly 

thing. 
Their gates to all were open evermore, 
That by the wearie way were travelling ; 
And one sate way ting ever them before, 
To call in commers-by that needy were 

and pore. 

XXXVII. 

The first of them, that eldest was and 

best. 
Of all the house had charge and governe- 

ment. 
As Guardian and Steward of the rest. 
His office was to give entertainement 
And lodging unto all that came and went ; 
Not unto such as could him feast againe. 
And double quite for that he on them 

spent ; 
But such as want of harbour did con- 

straine : 
Those for Gods sake his dewty was to 

entertaine. 

XXXVIII. 

The second was as Almner of the 

place : 
His office was the hungry for to feed. 
And thristy give to drinke; a worke of 

grace. 
He feard not once himselfe to be in need, 
Ne car'd to hoord for those whom he did 

breede : 
The grace of God he layd up still in store, 
Which as a stocke he left unto his 

seede. 
He had enough ; what need him care for 

more? 
And had he lesse. yet some he would give 

to the pore. 

XXXIX. 

The third had of their wardrobe cus- 
tody, 

In which were not rich tyres, nor gar- 
ments gay. 

The plumes of pride, and winges of 
vanity, 

But clothes meet to keepe keene cold 
away, 

And naked nature seemely to aray ; 

With which bare wretched wights he 
dayly clad, 



CANTO X.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



33 



The images of God in earthly clay ;. 

And, if that no spare clothes to give he 
had, 

His owne cote he would cut, and it dis- 
tribute glad. 



The fourth appointed by his office 

was 
Poore prisoners to relieve with gratious 

ayd, 
And captives to redeeme with price of 

bras 
From Turkes and Sarazins, which them 

had stayd : 
And though they faulty were, yet well he 

wayd, 
That God to us forgiveth every howre 
Much more then that why they in bands 

were layd ; 
And he, that harrowd hell with heavie 

stowre, 
The faulty soules from thence brought to 

his heavenly bowre. 



The fift had charge sick persons to 

attend, 
And comfort those in point of death which 

lay; 
For them most needeth comfort in the 

end, 
When sin, and hell, and death, doe most 

dismay 
The feeble soule departing hence away. 
All is but lost, that living we be- 
stow, 
If not well ended at our dying day. 
O man ! have mind of that last bitter 

throw ; 
For as the tree does fall, so lyes it ever 

low. 

XLII. 

The sixt had charge of them now being 

dead. 
In seemely sort their corses to engrave. 
And deck with dainty fiowres their bry- 

dall bed. 
That to their heavenly spouse both sweet 

and brave 
They might appeare, when he their soules 

shall save. 
The wondrous workmanship of Gods owne 

mould, 
Whose face he made all beastes to feare, 

and gave 
All in his hand, even dead we honour 

should. 
Ah, dearest God, me graunt, I dead be 

not defould ! 



XLIII. 

The seventh, now after death and 

buriall done, 
Had charge the tender Orphans of the 

dead 
And wydowes ayd, least they should be 

undone : 
In face of judgement he their right would 

plead, 
Ne ought the powre of mighty men did 

^read 
In their defence; nor would for gold or 

fee 
Be wonne their rightfull causes downe to 

tread ; 
And, when they stood in most necessitee. 
He did supply their want, and gave them 

ever free. 

XLIV. ' 

There when the Elfin knight arrived 

was. 
The first and chiefest of the seven, whose 

care 
Was guests to welcome, towardes him did 

pas ; 
Where seeing Mercie, that his steps upbare 
And alwaies led, to her with reverence 

rare 
He humbly louted in meeke lowlinesse. 
And seemely welcome for her did prepare : 
For of their order she was Patronesse, 
Albe Charissa were their chiefest found- 

eresse. 

XLV. 

There she awhile him stayes, himselfe to 
rest, 
That to the rest more hable he might bee ; 
During which time, in every good behest. 
And godly worke of Almes and charitee, 
Shee him instructed with great industree. 
Shortly therein so perfect he became. 
That, from the first unto the last degree. 
His mortall life he learned had to frame 
In holy righteousnesse, without rebuke or 
blame. 



Thence forward by that painfull way 
they pas 
Forth to an hill that was both steepe and 

On top whereof a sacred chappell was. 
And eke a litle Hermitage thereby, 
Wherein an aged holy man did lie, 
That day and night said his devotion, 
Ne other worldly busines did apply : 
His name was hevenly Contemplation ; 
Of God and goodnes was his medita- 
tion. 



84 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book I. 



Great grace that old man to him given 

had; 
For God he often saw from heavens hight : 
All were his earthly eien both blunt and 

bad, 
And through great age had lost their 

kindly sight, 
Yet wondrous quick and persauut was his 

spright, 
As Eagles eie that can behold the Sunne. 
That hill they scale with all their powre 

and might. 
That his fraile thighes, nigh weary and 

fordonne, 
Gan f aile ; but by her helpe the top at last 

he wonne. 



There they doe finde that godly aged 

Sire, 
With snowy lockes adowne his shoulders 

shed; 
As hoary frost with spangles doth attire 
The mossy braunches of an Oke halfe ded. 
Each bone might through his body well be 

red 
And every sinew scene, through his long 

fast: 
For nought he car'd his carcas long unfed ; 
His mind was full of spiritual repast, 
And pyn'd his flesh to keepe his body low 

and chast. 



Who, when these two approching he 

aspide. 
At their first presence grew agrieved sore. 
That f orst him lay his hevenly thoughts 

aside ; 
And had he not that Dame respected more, 
Whom highly he did reverence and adore, 
He would not once have moved for the 

knight. 
They him saluted, standing far afore, 
Who, well them greeting, humbly did 

requight, 
And asked to what end they clomb that 

tedious hight? 



'What end,' (quoth she) 'should cause 

us take such paine, 
But that same end, which every living 

wight 
Should make his marke high heaven to 

attaine ? 
Is not from hence the way, that leadeth 

right 



To that most glorious house, that glistreth 

bright 
With burning starres and everliving fire. 
Whereof the keies are to thy hand behight 
By wise Fidelia ? Shee doth thee require, 
To shew it to this knight, according his 

desire.' 

LI. 

' Thrise happy man,' said then the father 

grave, 
' Whose staggering steps thy steady hand 

doth lead, 
And shewes the way his sinf uU soule to 

save ! 
Who better can the way to heaven aread 
Then thou thyselfe, that was both borne 

and bred 
In hevenly throne, where thousand Angels 

shine ? 
Thou doest the praiers of the righteous 

sead 
Present before the majesty divine, 
And his avenging wrath to clemency in- 
cline. 

LII. 

' Yet, since thou bidst, thy pleasure 

shalbe donne. 
Then come, thou man of earth, and see 

the way. 
That never yet was scene of Faeries sonne ; 
That never leads the traveller astray, 
But after labors long and sad delay. 
Brings them to joyous rest and endlesse 

blis. 
But first thou must a season fast and pray, 
Till from her bands the spright assoiled is. 
And have her strength recur'd from fraile 

infirmitis.' 



That done, he leads him to the highest 

Mount ; 
Such one as that same mighty man of God , 
That blood-red billowes, like a walled 

front, 
On either side disparted with his rod, 
Till that his army dry-foot through them 

yod, 
Dwelt forty dales upon; where, writt in 

stone 
With bloody letters by the hand of God, 
The bitter doome of death and balefull 

mone 
He did receive, whiles flashing fire about 

him shone: 



Or like that sacred hill, whose head full 
hie, 



CANTO X.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



85 



Adornd with fruitfull Olives all arownd, 

Is, as it were for endlesse memory 

Of that deare Lord who oft thereon was 

fownd, 
For ever with a flowring girlond crownd : 
Or like that pleasaimt Mount, that is for 

ay 
Through famous Poets verse each where 

renowud, 
On which the thrise three learned Ladies 

play 
Their hevenly notes, and make full many 

a lovely lay. 



From thence, far off he unto him did 

shew 
A little path that was both steepe and 

long. 
Which to a goodly Citty led his vew ; 
Whose wals and towres were builded high 

and strong 
Of perle and precious stone, that earthly 

tong 
Cannot describe, nor wit of man can tell; 
Too high a ditty for my simple song. 
The Citty of the greate king hight it well. 
Wherein eternall peace and happinesse 

doth dwell. 

LVI. 

As he thereon stood gazing, he might 

see 
The blessed Angels to and fro descend 
From highest heven in gladsome com- 

panee. 
And with great joy into that Citty wend, 
As commonly as frend does with his frend. 
Whereat he wondred much, and gan en- 

quere, 
What stately building durst so high extend 
Her lofty towres unto the starry sphere, 
And what unknowen nation there empeo- 

pled were? 



' Faire Knight,' (quoth he) ' Hierusalem 

that is. 
The new Hierusalem, that God has built 
For those to dwell in that are chosen his, 
His chosen people, purg'd from sinful 

guilt 
With pretious blood, which cruelly was 

split 
On cursed tree, of that unspotted lam. 
That for the sinnes of al the world was 

kilt: 
Now are they Saints all in that Citty sam. 
More dear unto their God then younglings 

to their dam.' 



' Till now,' said then the knight, ' I 

weened well. 
That great Cleopolis, where I have beene, 
In which that fairest Faery Queene doth 

dwell, 
The fairest citty was that might be scene ; 
And that bright towre, all built of christall 

clene, 
Panthea, seemd the brighest thing that 

was; 
But now by proof e all otherwise I weene. 
For this great Citty that does far surpas. 
And this bright Angels towre quite dims 

that towre of glas.' 

LIX. 

* Most trew,' then said the holy aged 

man; 
' Yet is Cleopolis, for earthly frame. 
The fairest peece that eie beholden can ; 
And well beseemes all knights of noble 

name. 
That covett in th' immortall booke of 

fame 
To be eternized, that same to haunt, 
And doen their service to that soveraigne 

Dame, 
That glory does to them for guerdon 

graunt : 
For she is hevenly borne, and heaven may 

justly vaunt. 

LX. 

* And thou, faire ymp, sprong out from 

English race. 
How ever now accompted Elfins sonne, 
Well worthy doest thy service for her 

grace, 
To aide a virgin desolate, foredonne ; 
But when thou famous victory hast wonne. 
And high emongst all knights hast hong 

thy shield, 
Thenceforth the suitt of earthly conquest 

shonne. 
And wash thy hands from guilt of bloody 

field: 
For blood can nought but sin, and wars 

but sorrows yield. 



'Then seek this path that I to thee 
presage. 
Which after all to heaven shall thee send ; 
Then peaceably thy painefull pilgrimage 
To yonder same Hierusalem doe bend, 
Where is for thee ordained a blessed end : 
For thou, emongst those Saints whom thou 
doest see, 



86 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book 



Shalt be a Saint, and thine owue nations 

frend 
And Patrone : thou Saint George shalt 

called bee, 
Saint George of mery England, the signe 

of victoree.' 

LXII. 

' Unworthy wretch,' (quoth he) ' of so 
great grace, 
How dare I thinke such glory to attaine ? ' 

* These, that have it attaynd, were in like 

cace, 
As wretched men, and lived in like paine.' 
' But deeds of armes must I at last be f aine 
And Ladies love to leave, so dearely 

bought ? ' 
' What need of armes, where peace doth 

ay remaine,' 
(Said lie) ' and bitter battailes all are 

fought ? 
As for loose loves, they'are vaine, and 

vanish into nought.' 

LXIII. 

' O ! let me not,' (quoth he) ' then turne 
againe 
Backe to the world, whose joyes so fruit- 

lesse are ; 
But let me lieare for aie in peace remaine, 
Or streightway on that last long voiage 

fare, 
That nothing may my present hope em- 
pare.' 
' That may not be,' (said he) ' ne maist 

thou yitt .- 
Forgoe that royaTmaides bequeathed care, 
Who did her cause into thy hand committ. 
Till from her cursed foe thou have her 
freely quitt.' 

LXIV. 

' Then shall I soone,' (quoth he) * so God 
me grace, 
Abett that virgins cause disconsolate, 
And shortly back returne unto this place. 
To walkethis way in Pilgrims poore estate. 
But now aread, old father, why of late 
Didst thou behight me borne of English 

blood , 
Whom all a Faeries sonne doen nomi- 
nate ? ' 

* That word shall I,' (said he) ' avouchen 

good, 
Sith to thee is unknowne the cradle of thy 
brood. 

LXV. 

'For, well I wote, thou springst from 
ancient race 



Of Saxon kinges, that have with mightie 

hand, 
And many bloody battailes fought in face, 
High reard their royall throne in Britans 

land , 
And vanquisht them, unable to withstand : 
From thence a Faery thee unweeting reft. 
There as thou slepst in tender swadling 

band, 
And her base Elfin brood there for thee 

left: 
Such, men do Chaungelings call, so 

chaung'd by Faeries theft. 

LXVI. 

* Thence she thee brought into this 

Faery lond. 
And in an heaped furrow did thee hyde ; 
Where thee a Ploughman all unweeting 

fond. 
As he his toylesome teme that way did 

guyde, 
And brought thee up in ploughmans state 

to byde, 
Whereof Georgos he thee gave to name ; 
Till prickt with courage, and thy forces 

pryde. 
To Faery court thou cam'st to seek for 

fame. 
And prove thy puissant armes, as seemes 

thee best became.' 



* O holy Sire ! ' (quoth he) * how shall I 

quight 
The many favours I with thee have fownd, 
That hast my name and nation redd aright, 
And taught the way that does to heaven 

bownd! ' 
This saide, adowne he looked to the grownd 
To have returnd ; but dazed were his eyne 
Through passing brightnes, which did 

quite confound 
His feeble sence, and too exceeding shyne. 
So darke are earthly thinges compard to 

things divine. 



At last, when as himself e he gan to fynd, 
To Una back he cast him to retyre, 
Who him awaited still with pensive mynd. 
Great thankes, and goodly meed, to that 

good syre 
He thens departing gave for his paynes 

hyre : 
So came to Una, who him joyd to see; 
And, after litle rest, gan him desyre 
Of her adventure myndfull for to bee 
So leave they take of Caelia and her 

daughters three. 



CANTO XI.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE., 



87 



CANTO XI. 

The knight, with that old Dragon fights 

Two days incessantly : 
The third him overthrowes, and gayns 

Most glorious victory. 



I. 

High time now gau it wex for Una fayre 
To thinke of those her captive Parents 

deare, 
And their forwasted kingdom to repayre : 
Whereto whenas they now approched 

neare, 
With hartie wordes her knight she gan to 

cheare, 
And in her modest maner tlius bespake : 
' Deare knight, as deare as ever knight 

was deare, 
That all these sorrowes suffer for my sake, 
High heven behold the tedious toyle ye for 

me take ! 

n. 
* Now are we come unto my native 

soyle. 
And to the place where all our perilles 

dwell ; 
Here hauntes that feend, and does his 

dayly spoyle; 
Therefore, henceforth, bee at your keep- 
ing well, 
And ever ready for your f oeman fell : 
The sparke of noble corage now awake. 
And strive your excellent selfe to excell : 
That shall ye evermore renowmed make 
Above all knights on earth, that batteill 

undertake.' 



And pointing forth, ' Lo ! yonder is,' 

(said she) 
' The brasen towre, in which my parents 

deare 
For dread of that huge feend emprisond 

be; 
Wliom I from far see on the wall es appeare, 
Whose sight my feeble soule doth greatly 

cheare : 
And on the top of all I do espye 
The watchman way ting tydmgs glad to 

heare ; 
That, (0 my Parents!) might I happily 
Unto you bring, to ease you of your 

misery ! ' 

IV. 

With that they heard a roaring hideous 
sownd. 
That all the ay re with terror filled wyde, 



And seemd uneathix) shake the stedfast 

ground. 
Eftsoones that dreadful Dragon they 

espyde, 
Where stretcht he lay upon the sunny side 
Of a great hill, himself e like a great hill : 
But, all so soone as he from far descry de 
Those glistring armes that heven with 

light did fill. 
He rousd himselfe full blyth, and hastned 

them untill. 



Then badd the knight his Lady yede 

aloof, 
And to an hill herselfe withdraw asyde ; 
From whence she might behold that 

battailles proof. 
And eke be safe from daunger far de- 

scryde. 
She him obayd, and turnd a little wyde. — 
Now, O thou sacred Muse ! most learned 

Dame. 
Fayre ympe of Phoebus and his aged 

bryde. 
The Nourse of time and everlasting fame. 
That warlike handes ennoblest with im- 

mortall name ; 



O ! gently come into my feeble brest ; 
Come gently, but not with that mightie 

rage. 
Wherewith the martiall troupes thou doest 

infest. 
And hartes of great Heroes doest enra'ge, 
That nought their kindled corage may 

aswage : 
Soone as thy dreadfull trompe begins to 

sownd. 
The God of warre with his fiers equipage 
Thou doest awake, sleepe never he so 

sownd; 
And scared nations doest with horror 

Sterne astownd. 



Fayre Goddesse, lay that furious fitt 

asyde. 
Till I of warres and bloody Mars doe sing. 
And Bryton fieldes with Sarazin blood 

bedyde. 



88 



. THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book I. 



Twixt that great faery Queene and Paynim 

king, 
That with their horror heven and earth 

did ring ; 
A worke of labour long, and endlesse 

prayse : 
But now a while lett downe that haughtie 

string, 
And to my tunes thy second tenor rayse. 
That I this man of God his gddly armes 

may blaze. 

VIII. 

By this, the dreadful Beast drew nigh 

to hand, 
Halfe flying and halfe footing in his haste, 
That with his largenesse measured much 

land. 
And made wide shadow under his huge 

waste, 
As mountaine doth the valley overcaste. 
Approching nigh, he reared high afore 
His body monstrous, horrible, and vaste ; 
Which, to increase his wondrous greatnes 

more, 
Was swoln with wrath and poyson, and 

with bloody gore ; 

rx. 

And over all with brasen scales was 

armd, 
Like plated cote of Steele, so couched 

neare 
That nought mote perce; ne might his 

corse bee harmd 
With dint of swerd, nor push of pointed 

speare : 
Which as an Eagle, seeing pray appeare. 
His aery plumes doth rouze, full rudely 

dight ; 
So shaked he, that horror was to heare: 
For as the clashing of an Armor bright. 
Such noyse his rouzed scales did send unto 

the knight. 



His flaggy winges, when forth he did 

display. 
Were like two sayles, in which the hollow 

wyud 
Is gathered full, and worketh speedy 

way: 
And eke the pennes, that did his pineons 

bynd, 
Were like mayne-yardes with flying can- 
vas lynd ; 
With which whenas him list the ayre to 

beat. 
And there by force unwonted passage 

fynd, 
The cloudes before him fledd for terror 

great, 



And all the hevens stood still amazed 
with his threat. 



His huge long tayle, wownd up in 

hundred foldes, 
Does overspred his long bras-scaly back, 
Whose wreathed boughtes when ever he 

unfoldes, 
And thick entangled knots adown does 

slack, 
Bespotted as with shieldes of red and 

blacke, 
It sweepeth all the land behind him farre, 
And of three furlongs does but litle 

lacke ; 
And at the point two stinges in fixed 

arre. 
Both deadly sharp, that sharpest Steele 

exceeden farre. 



But stinges and sharpest Steele did far 

exceed 
The sharpnesse of his cruel rending 

clawes : 
Dead was it sure, as sure as death in deed, 
What ever thing does touch his ravenous 

pawes, 
Or what within his reach he ever drawes. 
But his most hideous head my tongue to 

tell 
Does tremble; for his deepe devouring 

jawes 
Wyde gaped, like the griesly mouth of 

hell, 
Through which into his darke abysse all 

ravin fell. 

XIII. 

And, that more wondrous was, in either 

jaw 
Three ranckes of yron teeth enraunged 

were, 
In which yett trickling blood, and gob- 
bets raw, 
Of late devoured bodies did appeare, 
That sight therof bredd cold congealed 

f eare ; 
Which to increase, and all atonce to kill, 
A cloud of smoothering smoke, and sul- 

phure seare. 
Out of his stinking gorge forth steemed 

still. 
That all the ayre about with smoke and 

stench did fill. 

XIV. 

His blazing eyes, like two bright shin- 
ing shieldes, 



CANTO XI.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



89 



Did burne with wrath, and sparkled living 

fyre: 
As two broad Beacons, sett in open fieldes. 
Send forth their flames far off to every 

shyre, 
And warning give that enimies conspyre 
With fire and sword the region to invade : 
So flam'd his eyne with rage and rancor- 
ous yre ; 
But far within, as in a hollow glade, 
Those glaring lanipes were sett that made 
a dreadful! shade. 

XV. 

So dreadfully he towardes him did pas, 
Forelifting up a-loft his speckled brest, 
And often bounding on the brused gras. 
As for great joyance of bis uewcome 

guest. 
Eft&oones he gan advance his haughty 

crest. 
As chauffed Bore his bristles doth up- 

reare ; 
And shoke his scales to battaile ready 

drest, 
That made the Redcrosse knight nigh 

quake for feare. 
As bidding bold defyaunce to his foeman 



The knight gan f ayrely couch his steady 

speare. 
And fiersely ran at him with rigorous 

might : 
The pointed Steele, arriving rudely theare. 
His harder hyde would nether perce nor 

bight. 
But, glauncing by, foorth passed forward 

right. 
Yet sore amoved with so puissaunt push , 
The wrathfuU beast about him turned 

light. 
And him so rudely, passing by, did brush 
With his long tayle, that horse and man 

to ground did rush. 

xvn. 
Both horse and man up lightly rose 

againe, 
And fresh encounter towardes him ad- 

drest ; 
But th' ydle stroke yet backe recoyld in 

vaine. 
And found no place his deadly point to 

rest. 
Exceeding rage enflam'd the furious 

Beast, 
To be avenged of so great despight ; 
For never felt his imperceable brest 



So wondrous force from hand of living 

wight ; 
Yet had he prov'd the powre of many a 

puissant knight. 



Then, with his waving wings displayed 

wyde, 
Himselfe up high he lifted from the 

ground. 
And with strong flight did forcibly divyde 
The yielding ayre, which nigh too feeble 

found 
Her flitting parts, and element unsound. 
To beare so great a weight : he, cutting 

way 
With his broad sayles, about him soared 

round ; 
At last, low stouping with unweldy sway, 
Snatcht up both horse and man, to beare 

them quite away. 



Long he them bore above the subject 

plain e, 
So far as Ewghen bow a shaft may send, 
Till struggling strong did him at last con- 

straine 
To let them downe before his flightes end : 
As hagard hauke, presuming to contend 
With hardy fowle above his hable might, 
His wearie pounces all in vaine doth 

spend 
To trusse the pray too heavy for his 

flight; 
Which, comming down to ground, does 

free it self e by fight. 



He so disseized of his gryping grosse. 
The knight his thrillant speare againe 

assayd 
In his bras-plated body to embosse. 
And three mens strength unto the stroake 

he layd ; 
Wherewith the stiffe beame quaked as 

affrayd. 
And glauncing from his scaly necke did 

glyde 
Close under his left wing, then broad dis- 

playd: 
The percing Steele there wrought a wound 

full wyde, 
That with the uncouth smart the Monster 

lowdly cryde. 



He cryde, as raging seas are wont to 
rore 



90 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book I. 



When wintry storme his wrathful wreck 

does threat ; 
The rolling billowes beate the ragged 

shore, 
As they the earth would shoulder from 

her seat ; 
And greedy gulfe does gape, as he would 

eat 
His neighbour element in his revenge : 
Then gin the blustring brethren boldly 

threat 
To move the world from off his stedfast 

henge. 
And boystrous battaile make, each other 

to avenge. 

XXII. 

The steely head stuck fast still in his 
flesh, 
Till with his cruell clawes he snatcht the 

wood. 
And quite a sunder broke. Forth flowed 

fresh 
A gushing river of blacke gory blood, 
That drowned all the land whereon he 

stood ; 
The streame thereof would drive a water- 
mill: 
Trebly augmented was his furious mood 
With bitter sence of his deepe rooted ill, 
That flames of fire he threw forth from 
his large nosethril. 

xxni. 
His hideous tayle then hurled he about, 
And therewith all enwrapt the nimble 

thyes 
Of his froth-fomy steed, whose courage 

stout 
Striving to loose the kuott that fast him 

tj^es, 
Himselfe in streighter bandes too rash 

implyes, 
That to the ground he is perforce con- 

straynd 
To throw his ryder; who can quickly 

ryse 
From off the earth, with durty blood dis- 

taynd. 
For that reprochfull fall right fowly he 

disdaynd ; 

XXIV. 

And fercely tooke his trenchand blade 

in hand. 
With which he stroke so furious and so 

fell. 
That nothing seemd the puissaunce could 

withstand : 
Upon his crest the hardned yron fell, 
But his more hardued crest was armd so 

well, 



That deeper dint therein it would not 

make; 
Yet so extremely did the buffe him quell. 
That from thenceforth he shund the like 

to take, 
But when he saw them (V3me he did them 

still forsake. 



The knight was wroth to see his stroke 
beguyld. 

And smot againe with more outrageous 
might ; 

But backe againe the sparcling Steele re- 
coy Id, 

And left not any marke where it did light, 

As if in Adamant rocke it had beene pight. 

The beast, impatient of his smarting 
wound 

And of so fierce and forcible despight, 

Thought with his winges to stye above 
the ground ; 

But his late wounded wing unserviceable 
found. 

XXVI. 

Then full of griefe and anguish vehe- 
ment. 
He lowdly brayd, that like was never 

heard ; 
And from his wide devouring oven sent 
A flake of fire, that flashing in his 

beard 
Him all amazd, and almost made afeard: 
The scorching flame sore swinged all his 

face. 
And through his armour all his body 

seard. 
That he could not endure so cruell cace, 
But thought his armes to leave, and hel- 
met to unlace. 

XXVII. 

Not that great Champion ol the antique 

world, 
Whom famous Poetes verse so much doth 

vaunt, 
And hath for twelve huge labours high 

extold, 
So many furies and sharpe fits did 

haunt, 
When him the poysoned garment did en- 

chaunt, 
When Centaures blood and bloody verses 

cliarmd ; 
As did this kuight twelve thousand dolours 

daunt, 
WTiom fyrie Steele now burnt, that erst 

him armd ; 
That erst him goodly armd, now most of 

all him harmd. 



CANTO XI.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



91 



XXVIII. 

Faynt, wearie, sore, emboyled, grieved, 
brent, 

With heat, toyle, wounds, armes, smart, 
and inward fire, 

That never man such mischiefes did tor- 
ment: 

Death better were ; death did he oft de- 
sire, 

But death will never come when needes 
require. 

Whom so dismayd when that his foe be- 
held, 

He cast to suffer him no more respire, 

But gan his sturdy sterne about to weld, 

And him so strongly stroke, that to the 
ground him feld. 

XXIX. 

It fortuned, (as fayre it then befell) 
Behynd his backe, unweeting, where he 

stood. 
Of auncient time there was a springing 

well. 
From which fast trickled forth a silver 

flood. 
Full of great vertues, and for med'cine 

good : 
Whylome, before that cursed Dragon got 
That happy land, and all with innocent 

blood 
Defyld those sacred waves, it rightly hot 
The well of life, ne yet his vertues had 

forgot : 

XXX. 

For unto life the dead it could restore, 
And guilt of sinfull crimes cleane wash 

away; 
Those that with sicknesse were infected 

sore 
It could recure ; and aged long decay 
Renew, as one were borne that very day. 
Both Silo this, and Jordan, did excell, 
And th' English Bath, and eke the German 

Spau ; 
Ne can Cephise, nor Hebrus, match this 

well: 
Into the same the knight back over- 

throwen fell. 



Now gan the golden Phoebus for to 

steepe 
His fierie face in billowes of the west. 
And his faint steedes watred in Ocean 

deepe, 
Whiles from their jouniall labours they 

did rest ; 
Wlien that infernall Monster, having kest 
His wearie foe into that living well. 



Gan high advaunce his broad discoloured 

brest 
Above his wonted pitch, with countenance 

fell, 
And clapt his yron wings as victor he did 

dwell. 

xxxn. 
Which when his pensive Lady saw from 

farre, 
Great woe and sorrow did her soule assay. 
As weening that the sad end of the warre ; 
And gan to highest God entirely pray 
That feared chaimce from her to turne 

away : 
With folded hands, and knees full lowly 

bent. 
All night shee watcht, ne once adowne 

would lay 
Her dainty limbs in her sad dreriment, 
But praying still did wake, and waking 

did lament. 

xxxni. 

The morrow next gan earely to appeare, 
That Titan rose to runne his daily race ; 
But earely, ere the morrow next gan reare 
Out of the sea faire Titans deawy lace, 
Up rose the gentle virgin from hev place, 
And looked all about, if she might spy 
Her loved knight to move his manly pace : 
For she had great doubt of his safety. 
Since late she saw him fall before his 
enimy. 

XXXIV. 

At last she saw where he upstarted 

brave 
Out of the well, wherein he drenched 

lay: 
As Eagle, fresh out of the ocean wave. 
Where he hath lefte his plumes all hory 

gray, 
And deckt himselfe with fethers youthly 

gay. 
Like Eyas hauke up mounts unto the 

skies. 
His newly-budded pineons to assay. 
And marveiles at himselfe stil as he flies : 
So new this new-borne knight to battell 

new .did rise. 

XXXV. 

Whom when the damned feend so fresh 
did spy, 
No wonder if he wondred at the sight, 
And doubted whether his late enimy 
It were, or other new supplied knight. 
He now, to prove his late-renewed might, 
High brandishing his bright deaw-burn- 

ing blade. 
Upon his crested scalp so sore did smite, 



92 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book I. 



That to the scull a yawning wound it 

made: 
The deadly dint his dulled sences all dis- 

maid. 



I wote not whether the revenging Steele 
Were hardned with that holy water dew 
Wherein he fell, or sharper edge did feele, 
Or his baptized hands now greater grew, 
Or other secret vertue did ensew ; 
Els never could the force of fleshly arme, 
Ne molten mettall, in his blood embrew ; 
For till that stownd could never wight 

him harme 
By subtilty, nor slight, nor might, nor 

mighty charme. 



The cruell wound enraged him so sore, 
That loud he yelled for exceeding paine ; 
As hundred ramping Lions seemd to rore. 
Whom ravenous hunger did thereto con- 

straine : 
Then gan he tosse aloft his stretched 

traine, 
And therewith scourge the buxome aire 

so sore, 
That to his force to yielden it was faine ; 
Ne ought his sturdy strokes might stand 

afore. 
That high trees overthrew, and rocks in 

peeces tore. 



The same advauncing high above his 

head, 
With sharpe intended sting so rude him 

smott, 
That to the earth him drove, as stricken 

dead ; 
Ne living wight would have him life be- 

hott: 
The mortall sting his angry needle shott 
Quite through his shield, and in his 

shoulder seasd, 
Where fast it stucke, ne would thereout 

be gott : 
The griefe thereof him wondrous sore 

diseasd, 
Ne might his rancling paine with patience 

be appeasd. 

xxxrx. 
But yet, more mindfull of his honour 
deare 
Then of the grievous smart which him did 

wring, 
From loathed soile he can him lightly 
reare, 



And strove to loose the far infixed sting : 
Which when in vaine he tryde with strug- 

geling, 
Inflam'd with wrath, his raging blade he 

hefte. 
And strooke so strongly, that the knotty 

string 
Of his huge taile he quite a sonder clefte ; 
Five joints thereof he hewd, and but the 

stump him lefte. 



Hart cannot thinke what outrage and 
what cries, 

With fowle enfouldred smoake and flash- 
ing fire, 

The hell-bred beast threw forth unto the 
skies. 

That all was covered with darknesse dire : 

Then, fraught with rancour and engorged 
yre, 

He cast at once him to avenge for all ; 

And, gathering up himself e out of the 
mire 

With his uneven wings, did fiercely fall 

Upon his sunne-bright shield, and grypt it 
fast withall. 



Much was the man encombred with his 

hold, 
In feare to lose his weapon in his paw, 
Ne wist yett how his talaunts to unfold ; 
Nor harder was from Cerberus greedy jaw 
To plucke a bone, then from his cruell 

claw 
To reave by strength the griped gage 

away: 
Thrise he assayd it from his f oote to draw, 
And thrise in vaine to draw it did assay ; 
It booted nought to thinke to robbe him 

of his pray. 



Tho, when he saw no power might pre- 

vaile, 
His trusty sword he cald to his last aid, 
Wherewith he fiersly did his foe assaile, 
And double blowes about him stoutly laid, 
That glauncing fire out of the yron plaid. 
As sparkles from the Andvile use to fly. 
When heavy hammers on the wedge are 

swaid : 
Therewith at last he forst him to unty 
One of his grasping feete, him to defend 

thereby. 

XLHI. 

The other foote, fast fixed on his 
shield, 



CANTO XI.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



93 



"Wheuas no strength nor stroks mote him 

constraine 
To loose, ne yet me warlike pledge to 

yield, 
He smott thereat with all his might and 

maine, 
That nought so wondrous puissaunce 

might sustaine : 
Upon the joint the lucky Steele did light, 
And made such way that hewd it quite in 

twain e ; 
The paw yett missed not his miuisht 

might, 
But hong still on the shield, as it at first 

was pight. 

XLIV. 

For griefe thereof and divelish despight, 
From his inf email f ournace forth he threw 
Huge flames that dimmed all the hevens 

light, 
Enrold in duskish smoke and brimstone 

blew: 
As burning Aetna from his boyling stew 
Doth belch out flames, and rockes in 

peeces broke. 
And ragged ribs of mountaines molten 

new, 
Enwrapt in coleblacke clowds and filthy 

smoke. 
That al the land with stench and heven 

with horror choke. 



The heate whereof, and harmef uU pesti- 
lence, 
So sore him noyd, that forst him to re- 
tire 
A little backeward for his best defence, 
To save his body from the scorching fire, 
Which he from hellish entrailes did ex- 
pire. 
It chaunst, (eternall God that chaunce 

did guide) 
As he recoiled backeward, in the mire 
His nigh foreweried feeble feet did slide. 
And downe he fell, with dread of shame 
sore terrifide. 



There grew a goodly tree him faire be- 
side, 
Loaden with fruit and apples rosy redd. 
As they in pure vermilion had been dide, 
Whereof great vertues over-all were redd ; 
For happy life to all which thereon fedd, 
And life eke everlasting did befall: 
Great God it planted in that blessed stedd 
With his Almighty hand, and did it call 
The tree of life, the crime of our first 
fathers fall. 



In all the world like was not to be f ownd , 
Save in that soile, where all good things 

did grow, 
And freely sprong out of the fruitfuU 

grownd, 
As incorrupted Nature did them sow, 
Till that dredd Dragon all did overthrow. 
Another like faire tree eke grew thereby. 
Whereof whoso did eat, eftsoones did 

know 
Both good and ill. O mournfull memory ! 
That tree through one mans fault hath 

doen us all to dy. 

XLvni. 

From that first tree forth flowd, as from 

a well, 
A trickling streame of Balme, most sov- 

eraine 
And dainty deare, which on the ground 

still fell. 
And overflowed all the fertile plaine. 
As it had deawed bene with timely raine : 
Life and long health that gracious oint- 
ment gave. 
And deadly wounds could heale, and reare 

againe 
The sencelesse corse appointed for the 

grave : 
Into that same he fell, which did from 

death him save. 

XLIX. 

For nigh thereto the ever damned Beast 
Durst not approch, for he was deadly 

made. 
And al that life preserved did detest ; 
Yet he it oft adventur'd to invade. 
By this the drouping day-light gan to fade, 
And yield his rowme to sad succeeding 

night. 
Who with her sable mantle gan to shade 
The face of earth and wayes of living 

wight. 
And high her burning torch set up in 

heaven bright. 



When gentle tfna saw the second fall 
Of her deare knight, who, weary of long 

fight 
And faint through losse of blood, moov'd 

not at all, 
But lay, as in a dreame of deepe delight, 
Besmeard with pretious Balme, whose 

vertuous might 
Did heale his woundes, and scorching heat 

alay; 



94 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book I. 



Againe she stricken was with sore affright, 
And for his safetie gan devoutly pray, 
And watch the noyous night, and wait for 
joyous day. 



The joyous day gan early to appeare; 
And fayre Aurora from the deawy bed 
Of aged Tithone gan herselfe to reare 
With rosy cheekes, for shame as blushing 

red: 
Her golden locks for hast were loosely 

shed 
About her eares, when Una her did marke 
Clymbe to her charet, all with flowers 

spred, 
From heven high to chace the chearelesse 

darke ; 
With mery note her lowd salutes the 

mounting larke. 



Then freshly up arose the doughty 

knight, 
All healed of his hurts and woundes wide, 
And did himselfe to battaile ready dight ; 
Whose early foe awaiting him beside 
To have devourd, so soone as day he spyde. 
When now he saw himselfe so freshly 

reare, 
As if late j&ghthad nought him damnifyde, 
He woxe dismaid, and gan his fate to 

f eare : 
Nathlesse with wonted rage he him ad- 

vaunced neare. 



And in his first encounter, gaping wyde. 
He thought attonce him to have swallowd 

quight. 
And rusht upon him with outragious 

pryde ; 
Who him rencountring fierce, as hauke in 

flight, 



Perforce rebutted backe. The weapon 

bright, ^ 

Taking advantage of his open jaw. 
Ran through his mouth with so importune 

might. 
That deepe emperst his darksom hollow 

maw. 
And, back retyrd, his life blood forth 

with all did draw. 

LIV. 

So downe he fell, and forth his life did 

breath, 
That vanisht into smoke and cloudes 

swift ; 
So downe he fell, that th' earth him under- 
neath 
Did grone, as feeble so great load to lift ; 
So downe he fell, as an huge rocky clift. 
Whose false f oundacion waves have washt 

away. 
With dreadfuU poyse is from the mayne- 

land rift, 
And rolling downe great Neptune doth 

dismay : 
So downe he fell, and like an heaped 

mountaine lay. 

LV. 

The knight him selfe even trembled at 

his fall. 
So huge and horrible a masse it seemd ; 
And his deare Lady, that beheld it all. 
Durst not approch for dread which she 

misdeemd ; 
But yet at last, whenas the direfuU feend 
She saw not stirre, off-shaking vaine 

affright 
She nigher drew, and saw that joyous 

end: 
Then God she praysd, and thankt her 

faithfull knight. 
That had atcliievde so great a conquest 

by his might. 



CANTO XII. 

Fayre Una to the Eedcrosse Knight 

Betrouthed is with joy : 
Though false Duessa, it to barre, 

Her false sleightes doe imploy. 



Behold! I see the haven nigh at 

hand 
To which I meane my wearie course to 

bend ; 
Vere the maine shete, and beare up with 

the land, 



The which afore is fayrly to be kend, 
And seemeth safe from storms that may 

offend ; 
There this fayre virgin wearie of her 

way 
Must landed bee, now at her journeyes 

end; 



CANTO XII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



95 



There eke my feeble barke a while may 

stay, 
Till mery wynd and weather call her 

thence away. 



Scarsely had Phoebus in the glooming 

East 
Yett harnessed his fyrie-footed teeme, 
Ne reard above the earth his flaming 

creast, 
When the last deadly smoke aloft did 

steeme, 
That signe of last outbreathed life did 

seeme 
Unto the watchman on the castle-wall ; 
Who thereby dead that balefull Beast did 

deeme, 
And to his Lord and Lady lowd gan call, 
To tell how he had scene the Dragons 
- fatall fall. 



III. 

Uprose with hasty joy, and feeble speed. 
That aged Syre, the Lord of all that land, 
And looked forth, to weet if trew indeed 
Those tydiuges were, as he did under- 
stand : 
Which whenas trew by tryall he out 

fond, 
He badd to open wyde his brasen gate, 
Which long time had beene shut, and out 

of bond 
Proclaymed joy and peace through all his 

state ; 
For dead now was their foe, which them 
forrayed late. 



Then gan triumphant Trompets sownd 

on hye, 
That sent to heven the ecchoed report 
Of their new joy, and happie victory 
Gainst him, that had them long opprest 

with tort, 
And fast imprisoned in sieged fort. 
Then all the people, as in solemne feast, 
To him assembled with one full consort, 
Rejoycing at the fall of that great beast. 
From whose eternall bondage now they 

were releast. 



Forth came that auncient Lord, and 

aged Queene, 
Arayd in antique robes dowiie to the 

growud, 
And sad habiliments right well beseene : 
A noble crew about them waited rownd 



Of sage and sober peres, all gravely 

gownd ; 
Whom far before did march a goodly 

band 
Of tall young men, all hable armes to 

sownd ; 
But now they laurell braunches bore in 

hand, 
Glad signe of victory and peace in all 

their land. 



Unto that doughtie Conquerour they 

came. 
And him before themselves prostrating 

low, 
Their Lord and Patrone loud did him 

proclame, 
And at his feet their lawrell boughes did 

throw. 
Soone after them, all dauncing on a row, 
Tho comely virgins came, with girlands 

dight, 
As fresh as flowres in medow greene doe 

grow 
When morning deaw upon their leaves 

doth light ; 
And in their haudes sweet Timbrels all 

upheld on hight. 



And them before the fry of children 

yong 
Their wanton sportes and childish mirth 

did play, 
And to the Maydens sownding tymbrels 

song 
In well attuned notes a joyous lay, 
And made delightfull musick all the 

way, 
Untill they came where that faire virgin 

stood : 
As fayre Diana in fresh sommers day 
Beholdes her nymphes enraung'd in shady 

wood. 
Some wrestle, some do run, some bathe in 

christall flood. 

VIII. 

So she beheld those maydens meriment 
With chearefull vew; who, when to her 

they came, 
Themselves to ground with gracious 

humblesse bent. 
And lier ador'd by honorable name. 
Lifting to heven her everlasting fame: 
Then on her head they sett a girlond 

greene, 
And crowned her twixt earnest and twixt 

game: 



96 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book I. 



Who, in her self-fesemblance well be- 
seene, 

Did seeme, such as she was, a goodly- 
maiden Queene. 

IX. 

And after all the raskall many ran, 
Heaped together in rude rablement, 
To see the face of that victorious man. 
Whom all admired as from heaven sent, 
And gazd upon with gaping wonderment ; 
But when they came where that dead 

Dragon lay, 
Stretcht on the ground in monstrous large 

extent, 
The sight with ydle feare did them dis- 
may, 
Ne durst approch him nigh to touch, or 
once assay. 

X. 

Some feard, and fiedd ; some feard, and 

well it faynd ; 
One, that would wiser seeme then all the 

rest, 
Warnd him not touch, for yet perhaps 

remaynd 
Some lingring life within his hollow 

brest, 
Or in his wombe might lurke some hidden 

nest 
Of many Dragonettes, his fruitful! seede: 
Another saide, that in his eyes did rest 
Yet sparckling fyre, and badd thereof 

take heed ; 
Another said, he saw him move his eyes 

indeed. 

XI. 

One mother, whenas her foolehardy 

chyld 
Did come too neare, and with his talants 

play, 
Halfe dead through feare, her litle babe 

revyld. 
And to her gossibs gan in counsell say ; 
' How can I tell, but that his talants may 
Yet scratch my sonne, or rend his tender 

hand?' 
So diversly them selves in vaine they 

fray; 
Whiles some more bold to measure him 

nigh stand, 
To prove how many acres he did spred of 

land. 

XII. 

Thus flocked all the folke him rownd 
about ; 
The whiles that hoarie king, with all his 

traine. 
Being arrived where that champion stout 



After his foes defeasaunce did remaine, 
Him goodly greetes, and fayre does en- 

tertayne 
With princely gifts of yvory and gold. 
And thousand thankes him yeeldes for all 

his paine. 
Then when his daughter deare he does 

behold. 
Her dearely doth imbrace, and kisseth 

manifold. 

XIII. 

And after to his Pallace he them 

briuges, 
With shaumes, and trompets, and with 

Clarions sweet ; 
And all the way the joyous people singes. 
And with their garments strowes the 

paved street; 
Whence mounting up, they fynd purvey- 

aunce meet 
Of all, that royall Princes court became ; 
And all the floore was underneath their 

feet 
Bespredd with costly scarlott of great 

name, 
On which they lowly sitt, and fitting pur- 
pose frame. 

XIV. 

What needes me tell their feast and 

goodly guize, 
In which was nothing riotous nor vaine? 
What needes of dainty dishes to devize, 
Of comely services, or courtly trayne ? 
My narrow leaves cannot in them con- 

tayne 
The large discourse of roiall Princes 

state. 
Yet was their manner then but bare and 

playne ; 
For th' antique world excesse and pryde 

did hate: 
Such proud luxurious pompe is swollen 

up but late. 

XV. 

Then, when with meates and drinkes of 

every kinde 
Their fervent appetites they quenched 

had. 
That auncient Lord gan fit occasion 

finde. 
Of straunge adventures, and of perils 

sad 
Which in his travell him befallen had, 
For to demaund of his renowmed guest : 
Who then with utt' ranee grave, and 

count'nance sad, 
From poynt to poynt, as is before ex- 

prest, 
Discourst his voyage long, according his 

request. 



CANTO XII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



97 



Great pleasure, mixt with pittiful re- 
gard, 
That godly King and Queene did pas- 
sionate, 
Whyles they his pittiful! adventures 

heard ; 
That oft they did lament his lucklesse 

state. 
And often blame the too importune fate 
That heapd on him so many wrathful! 

wreakes ; 
For never gentle knight, as he of late, 
So tossed was in fortunes cruel! f reakes : 
And all the while salt teares bedeawd 
the hearers cheaks. 

XVII. 

Then sayd that royal! Pere in sober 

wise ; 
* Deare Sonne, great beene the evils which 

ye bore 
From first to last in your late enterprise. 
That I note whether praise or pitty more ; 
For never living man, I weene, so sore 
In sea of deadly daungers was distrest : 
But since now safe ye seised have the 

shore, 
And well arrived are, (high God be 

blest!) 
Let us devize of ease and everlasting 

rest.' 

XVIII. 

* Ah dearest Lord ! ' said then that 

doughty knight, 
' Of ease or rest I may not yet devize ; 
For by the faith which I to armes have 

plight, 
I bownden am streight after this emprize, 
As that your daughter can ye well advize, 
Backe to retourne to that great Faery 

Queene, 
And her to serve sixe yeares in warlike 

wize. 
Gainst that proud Paynim king that 

works her teene : 
Therefore I ought crave pardon, til! I 

there have beene.' 



* Unhappy falls that hard necessity,' 
(Quoth he) * the troubler of my happy 

peace, 
And vowed foe of my felicity ; 
Ne I against the same can justly preace : 
But since that band ye cannot now re- 
lease. 
Nor doen undo, (for vowes may not be 
vayne) 



Soone as the terme of those six yeares 
shall cease, 

Ye then shall hither backe retourne 
agayne, 

The marriage to accomplish vowd be- 
twixt you twayn. 



' Which, for my part, I covet to per- 

forme 
In sort as through the world I did pro- 

clame. 
That who-so kild that monster most 

deform e, 
And him in hardy battayle overcame, 
Should have mine onely daughter to his 

Dame, 
And of my kingdome heyre apparaunt 

bee: 
Therefore, since now to thee perteynes 

the same 
By dew desert of noble chevalree. 
Both daughter and eke kingdome !o! I 

yield to thee.' 



Then forth he called that his daughter 

fay re, 
The fairest Un', his onely daughter deare. 
His onely daughter and his only hayre ; 
Who forth proceeding with sad sober 

cheare. 
As bright as doth the morning starre 

appeare 
Out of the East, with flaming lockes 

bedight, 
To tell that dawning day is drawing 

neare. 
And to the world does bring long-wished 

light: 
So faire and fresh that Lady shewd her- 
self e in sight. 

XXII. 

So faire and fresh, as freshest flowre in 

May; 
For she had layd her mourneful! stole 

aside, 
And widow-like sad wimple throwne 

away. 
Wherewith her heavenly beautie she did 

hide. 
Whiles on her wearie journey she did 

ride ; 
And on her now a garment she did weare 
All lily white, withoutten spot or pride, 
That seemd like silke and silver woven 

neare ; 
But neither silke nor silver therein did 

appeare. 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book 



XXIII. 

The blazing brightnesse of her beauties 

beame, 
And glorious light of her sunshyny face, 
To tell were as to strive against the 

streame : 
My ragged rimes are all too rude and 

bace 
Her heavenly lineaments for to enchace. 
Ne wonder; for her own deare loved 

knight, 
All were she daily with himselfe in place, 
Did wonder much at her celestial sight : 
Oft had he seene her faire, but never so 

faire dight. 

XXIV. 

So fairely dight when she in presence 
came, 

She to her Syre made humble reverence. 

And bowed low, that her right well be- 
came, 

And added grace unto her excellence : 

Who with great wisedome and grave elo- 
quence 

Thus gan to say — But, eare he thus had 
'sayd, 

With flying speed e, and seeming great 
pretence. 

Came running in, much like a man dis- 
may d, 

A Messenger with letters, which his 
message sayd. 

XXV. 

All in the open hall amazed stood 
At suddeinnesse of that unwary sight. 
And wondred at his breathlesse hasty 

mood: 
But he for nought would stay his passage 

right, 
Till fast before the king he did alight ; 
Where falling flat great humblesse lie did 

make, 
And kist the ground whereon his foot was 

pight ; 
Then to his handes that writt he did 

betake, 
Which he diclosing read thus, as the paper 
'le: 



' To thee, most mighty king of Eden 

fay re, 
Her greeting sends in these sad lines 

addrest 
The wofuU daughter and forsaken hey re 
Of that great Emperour of all the West ; 
And bids thee be advized for the best. 
Ere thou thy daughter linck, in holy 

band. 



Of wedlocke, to that new unknowen 

guest : 
For he already plighted his right hand 
Unto another love, and to another land. 

XXVII. 

' To me, sad mayd, or rather widow sad, 
He was affyaunced long time before, 
And sacred pledges he both gave, and 

had, 
False erraunt knight, Infamous, and for- 
swore ! 
Witnesse the burning Altars, which he 

swore, 
And guilty heavens of his bold perjury; 
Which though he hath polluted oft of 

yore, 
Yet I to them for judgement just doe fly 
And them conjure t' avenge this shame- 
full injury. 

xxvin. 

' Therefore, since mine he is, or free or 

bond. 
Or false or trew, or living or else dead. 
Withhold, O soverayne Prince! your 

hasty bond 
From knitting league with him, I you 

aread ; 
Ne weene my right with strength adowne 

to tread, 
Through weaknesse of my widowhed or 

woe; 
For truth is strong her rightfull cause to 

plead, 
And shall finde friends, if need requireth 

soe. 
So bids thee well to fare, Thy neither 

friend nor foe, Fidessa.' 



When he these bitter byting wordes had 

red. 
The tydings straunge did him abashed 

make. 
That still he sate long time astonished, 
As in great muse, ne word to creature 



At last his solemn silence thus he brake, 
With doubtfull eyes fast fixed on his 

guest : 
'Redoubted knight, that for myne only 

sake 
Thy life and honor late adventurest, 
Let nought be hid from me that ought to 

be exprest. 



' What meane these bloody vowes and 
idle threats, 



CANTO XII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE, 



99 



Throwne out from womanish impatient 
mynd ? 

What heveus? what altars? what en- 
raged heates, 

Here heaped up with termes of love un- 
kynd, 

My conscience cleare with guilty bands 
would bynd ? 

High God be witnesse that I guiltlesse 
ame; 

But if yourselfe, Sir knight, ye faulty 
fynd, 

Or wrapped be in loves of former Dame, 

With cry me doe not it cover, but disclose 
the same.' 

XXXI. 

To whom the Redcrosse knight this 

answere sent : 
'My Lord, my king, be nought hereat 

dismayd. 
Till well ye wote by grave intendiment. 
What woman, and wherefore, doth me up- 

brayd 
With breach of love and loialty betrayd. 
It was in my mishaps, as hitherward 
I lately traveild, that un wares I stray d 
Out of my way, through perils straunge 

and hard. 
That day should faile me ere I had them 

all declard. 



* There did I find, or rather I was fownd 
Of this false woman that Fidessa hight, 
Fidessa hjght the falsest Dame on 

grownd, 
Most false Duessa, royall richly dight. 
That easy was t' inveigle weaker sight : 
Who by her wicked arts and wylie skill. 
Too false and strong for earthly skill or 

might, 
Unwares me wrought unto her wicked 

will, 
And to my foe betrayd when least I feared 

ill.' 

XXXIII. 

Then stepped forth the goodly royall 

Mayd, 
And on the ground herselfe prostrating 

low. 
With sober countenance thus to him sayd : 
'O! pardon me, my soveraine Lord, to 

sheow 
The secret treasons, which of late I know 
To have bene wrought by that false sor- 

ceresse : 
Shee, onely she, it is, that earst did throw 
This gentle knight into so great distresse, 
That death him did awaite in daily 

wretchednesse. 



* And now it seemes, that she suborned 

hath 
This crafty messenger with letters value, 
To workc new woe and improvided scath, 
By breaking of the band betwixt us 

twaine ; 
Wherein she used hath the practicke 

paiue 
Of this false footman, clokt with simple- 

nesse, 
Whome if ye please for to discover plaine, 
Ye shall him Archimago find, I ghesse, 
The falsest man alive : who tries, shall 

find no lesse.' 



The king was greatly moved at her 

speach ; 
And, all with suddein indignation fraight, 
Bad on that Messenger rude hands to 

reach. 
Eftsoones the Gard, which on his state did 

wait, 
Attacht that fay tor false, and bound him 

strait : 
Who seeming sorely chauffed at his band, 
As chained beare whom cruell dogs doe 

bait. 
With ydle force did faine them to with- 
stand, 
And often semblaunce made to scape out 

of their hand. 

XXXVI. 

But they him layd full low in dungeon 

deepe, 
And bound him hand and foote with yron 

chains ; 
And with continual watch did warely 

keepe. 
Who then would thinke that by his subtile 

trains 
He could escape fowle death or deadly 

pains ? 
Thus, when that Princes wrath was paci- 

fide, 
He gan renew the late forbidden bains. 
And to the knight his daughter deare he 

tyde 
With sacred rites and vowes for ever to 

abyde. 

XXXVII. 

His owne two hands the holy knotts did 
knitt, 
That none but death for ever can divide ; 
His owne two hands, for such a turne 

most fitt, 
The housling fire did kindle and provide. 



M.GfC. 



lOO 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book I. 



And holy water thereon sprinckled wide ; 
At which the bushy Teade a groome did 

light, 
And sacred lamp in secret chamber hide, 
AVhere it should not be quenched day nor 

night, 
For feare of evil fates, but burnen ever 

bright. 

XXXVIII. 

Then gan they sprinckle all the posts 

with wine. 
And made great feast to solemnize that 

day: 
They all perfumde with frankincense 

divine, 
And precious odours f etcht from far away, 
That all the house did sweat with great 

aray ; 
And all the while sweete Musicke did 

apply 
Her curious skill the warbling notes to 

play, 
To drive away the dull Melancholy ; 
The whiles one sung a song of love and 

jollity. 

XXXIX. 

During the which there was an heavenly 

noise 
Heard sownd through all the Pallace 

pleasantly. 
Like as it had bene many an Angels voice 
Singing before th' eternall majesty, 
In their trinall triplicities on hye ; 
Yett wist no creature whence that hevenly 

sweet 
Proceeded, yet each one felt secretly 
Him self e thereby refte of his sences meet. 
And ravished with rare impression in his 

sprite. 

XL. 

Great joy was made that day of young 
and old, 



And solemne feast proclaymd throughout 

the land. 
That their exceeding merth may not be 

told: 
Suffice it heare by signes to understand 
The usuall joyes at knitting of loves 

band. 
Thrise happy man the knight himselfe did 

hold. 
Possessed of his Ladies hart and hand ; 
And ever, when his eie did her behold, 
His heart did seeme to melt in pleasures 

manifold. 



Her joyous presence, and sweet com- 
pany. 

In full content he there did long enjoy ; 

Ne wicked envy, ue vile gealosy, 

His deare delights were hable to annoy : 

Yet, swimming in that sea of blissful! 
joy, 

He nought forgott how he whilome had 
sworne. 

In case he could that monstrous beast de- 
stroy. 

Unto his Faery Queene backe to retoume ; 

The which he shortly did, and Una left to 
mourne. 



Now, strike your sailes, yee jolly Mar- 
iners, 
For we be come unto a quiet rode, 
Where we must land some of our passen- 
gers, 
And light this weary vessell of her lode : 
Here she a while may make her safe abode, 
TiU she repaired have her tackles spent. 
And wants supplide; And then againe 

abroad 
On the long voiage whereto she is bent: 
Well may she speede, and fairely finish 
her intent ! 



THE SECOND BOOK 



THE FAERIE QUEENE 



CONTATNING THE LEGEND OF SIR GUTON, OR OF TEMPERAFNCB. 



I. 

Right well I wote, most mighty Sov- 

eraine, 
That all this famous antique history 
Of some th' aboundance of an ydle braine 
Will judged be, and painted forgery, 
Bather then matter of just memory ; 
Sith none that breatheth living aire does 

know 
Where is that happy land of Faery, 
Which I so much doe vaunt, yet no where 

show, 
But vouch antiquities, which no body can 

know. 

II. 

But let that man with better sence 

advize. 
That of the world least part to us is red; 
And daily how through hardy enterprize 
Many great Regions are discovered. 
Which to late age were never mentioned. 
Who ever heard of th' Indian Peru ? 
Or who in venturous vessell measured 
The Amazon huge river, now found trew ? 
Or fruitfullest Virginia who did ever 

vew? 

III. 
Yet all these were, when no man did 

them know. 
Yet have from wisest ages hidden beene ; 
And later times thinges more imknowne 

shall show. 
Why then should witlesse man so much 

misweene, 
That nothing is but that which he hath 

seene ? 
What if within the Moones fayre shining 

spheare, 



What if in every other starre unseene 
Of other worldes he happily should heare, 
He wonder would much more; yet such 
to some appeare. 



Of faery lond yet if he more inquyre, 
By certein signes, here sett in sondrie 

place, 
He may it fynd ; ne let him then admyre, 
But yield his sence to bee too blunt and 

bace, 
That no'te without an hound fine footing 

trace. 
And thou, O fayrest Princesse under sky! 
In this fayre mirrhour maist behold thy 

face. 
And thine owne realmes in lond of Faery, 
And in this antique ymage thy great 

auncestry. 



The which 0! pardon me thus to en- 
fold 
In covert vele, and wrap in shadowes 

light, 
That feeble eyes your glory may behold, 
Which ells could not endure those beames 

bright. 
But would bee dazled with exceeding 

light. 
O! pardon, and vouchsafe with patient 

eare 
The brave adventures of this faery 

knight, 
The good Sir Guy on, gratiously to heare ; 
In whom great rule of Temp'raunce goodly 

doth appeare. 



I02 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book II. 



CANTO I. 

Guyon, by Archimage abusd, 
The ile'dcrosse knight awaytes ; 

Fyndes Mordant and Amavia slaine 
With pleasures poisoned baj^tes. 



That conning Architect of cancred 
guyle, 
Whom Princes late displeasure left in 

bauds, 
For falsed letters, and suborned wyle, 
Sooue as the Redcrosse knight he under- 
stands 
To beeue departed out of Eden landes, 
To serve againe his soveraine Elfin Queene, 
His artes he moves, and out of caytives 

handes 
Himselfe he frees by secret meanes un- 

seeue ; 
His shackles emptie lefte, himselfe es- 
caped cleeue. 



And forth he fares, full of malicious 
mynd, 

To worken mischief e, and avenging woe, 

Where ever he that godly knight may 
fynd. 

His onely hart-sore, and his onely foe ; 

Sith Una now he algates must forgoe, 

Whom his victorious handes did earst 
restore 

To native crowne and kingdom late ygoe ; 

Where she enjoyes sure peace for ever- 
more. 

As wetherbeaten ship arryv'd on happie 
shore. 

ni. 

Him therefore now the object of his 

spight 
And deadly food he makes : him to offend. 
By forged treason or by open fight, 
He seekes, of all his drifte the aymed 

end : 
Thereto his subtile engins he does bend, 
His practick witt and his fayre fyled 

tonge. 
With thousand other sleightes; for well 

he kend 
His credit now in doubtfull ballaunce 

hong : 
For hardly could bee hurt who was already 

stong. 

IV. 

Still as he went he craftie stales did 
lay, 



With cunning traynes him to entrap un- 

wares, 
And privy spyals plast in all his way, 
To weete what course he takes, and how 

he fares, 
To ketch him at a vauntage in his snares. 
But now so wise and wary was the knight 
By tryall of his former harmes and cares, 
That he descryde and shonned still his 

slight : 
The fish that once was caught new bait 

wil hardly byte. 

V. 

Nath'lesse th' Enchaunter would not 

spare his pajTie, 
In hope to win occasion to his will ; 
Which when he long awaited had in 

vayue, 
He chaungd his mynd from one to other 

ill; 
For to all good he enimy was still. 
Upon the way him fortuned to meete, 
Fayre marching underneath a shady 

hill, 
A goodly knight, all armd in harnesse 

meete. 
That from his head no place appeared 

to his feete. 



His carriage was full comely and up- 
right ; 
His countenance demure and temperate ; 
But yett so sterne and terrible in sight, 
That cheard his friendes, and did his foes 

- amate : 
He was an Elfin borne of noble state 
And mickle worship in his native land ; 
Well could he tourney, and in lists debate, 
And knighthood tooke of good Sir Huons 

hand, 
When with king Oberon he came to Faery 
land. 

vn. 

Him als accompanyd upon the way 
A comely Palmer, clad in black attyre, 
Of rypest yeares, and heares all hoarie 

gray. 
That with a staffe his feeble steps did 
stire, 



CANTO I.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



103 



Least his long way his aged limbes should 

tire : 
And, if by lookes one may the miud 

aread, 
He seeind to be a sage aud sober syre ; 
And ever vrith slow" pace the knight did 

lead, 
Who taught his trampling steed with 

equall steps to tread. 



Such whenas Archimago them did view, 
He weened well to worke some uncouth 

wyle: 
Eftsoones untwisting his deceiptf uU clew, 
He gan to weave a web of wicked guyle. 
And, with faire coimtenauce and flat- 

tring style 
To them approching, thus the knight 



'Fayre sonne of Mars, that seeke with 

warlike spoyle. 
And great atchiev'ments, great your selfe 

to make. 
Vouchsafe to stay your steed for humble 

misers sake.' 



He stayd his steed for humble misers 

sake. 
And badd tell on the tenor of his playnt : 
Who feigning then in every limb to 

quake 
Through inward feare, and seeming pale 

and faynt. 
With piteous mone his percing speach gan 

paynt : 
'Deare Lady! how shall I declare thy 

cace. 
Whom late I left in languorous con- 

strayut ? 
Would God ! thy seKe now present were 

in place 
To tell this ruefull tale : thy sight could 

win thee grace. 

X. 

'Or rather would, 0! would it so had 

chaunst. 
That you, most noble Sir, had present 

beene 
When that lewd rybauld, with vyle lust 

advaunst. 
Laid first his filthie hands on virgin 

cleene. 
To spoyle her dainty corps, so faire and 

sheene 
As on the earth, great mother of us all. 
With living eye more fayre was never 



Of chastity aud honour virginall : 
Witnes, ye heavens, whom she in value 
to help did call.' 



' How may it be,' sayd then the knight 

halfe wroth, 
' That knight should knighthood ever so 

have shent ? ' 
'None but that saw,' (quoth he) 'would 

weene for troth, 
How shamefully that Mayd he did tor- 
ment: 
Her looser golden lockes he rudely rent. 
And drew h.er on the ground ; and his 

sharpe sword 
Against her snowy brest he fiercely bent, 
And threatned death with many a bloodie 

word: 
Tounge hates to tell the rest that eye to 

see abhord.' 

XII, 

Therewith amoved from his sober 
mood, 

* And lives he vet,' (said he) ' that wrought 

this act ? 
And doen the heavens afford him vitall 

food ? ' 
'He lives,' (quoth he) 'and boasteth of 

the fact, 
Ne yet hath any knight his courage 

crackt.' 
' W^here may that treachour then,' (sayd 

he) ' be found. 
Or by what meanes may I his footing 

tract ? ' 

* That shall I shew,' (sayd he) ' as sure as 

hound 
The stricken Deare doth chalenge by the 
bleeding wound.' 



He stayd not lenger talke, but with 

fierce yre 
And zealous haste away is quickly gone 
To seeke that knight, where him that 

crafty Squyre 
Supposd to be. They do arrive anone 
Where sate a gentle Lady all alone. 
With garments rent, and heare dis- 

cheveled, 
Wringing her handes, and making piteous 

mone : 
Her swollen eyes were much disfigured. 
And her faire face with teares was fowly 

blubbered. 



The knight, approching nigh, thus to 
her said: 



I04 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book II. 



'Fayre Lady, through fowle sorrow ill 

bedight, 
Great pitty is to see you thus dismayd, 
And marre the blossom of your beauty 

bright : 
For-thy appease your griefe and heavy 

plight, 
And tell the cause of your conceived 

payne ; 
For, if he live that hath you doen de- 

spight, 
He shall you doe dew recompence agayne, 
Or els his wrong with greater puissance 

maintaine.' 

XV. 

Which when she heard, as in despight- 

fuU wise 
She wilfully her sorrow did augment, 
And offred hope of comfort did despise : 
Her golden lockes most cruelly she rent. 
And scratcht her face with ghastly dreri- 

ment; 
Ne would she speake, ne see, ne yet be 

seene, 
But hid her visage, and her head downe 

bent, 
Either for grievous shame, or for great 

teene, 
As if her hart with sorrow had transfixed 

beene : 

XVI. 

Till her that Squyre bespake : ' Madame, 

my liefe, 
For Gods deare love be not so wilfull 

bent, 
But doe vouchsafe now to receive reliefe, 
The which good fortune doth to you 

present. 
For what bootes it to weepe and to way- 

ment 
When ill is chaunst, but doth the ill 

increase, 
And the weake minde with double woe 

torment ? ' 
When she her Squyre heard speake, she 

gan appease 
Her voluntarie paine, and feele some 

secret ease. 

XVII. 

Ef tsoone she said ; ' Ah ! gentle trustie 

Squyre, 
What comfort can I, wofull wretch, con- 

ceave ? 
Or why should ever I henceforth desyre 
To see faire heavens face, and life not 

leave, 
Sith that false Traytour did my honour 

reave ? ' 
'False traytour certes,' (saide the Faerie 

knight) 



' I read the man, that ever would deceave 
A gentle Lady, or her wrong through 

might : 
Death were too little paine for such a 

fowle despight. 



' But now, fayre Lady, comfort to you 
make, 
And read who hath ye wrought this 

shamefull plight, 
That short revenge the man may over- 
take, 
Where-so he be, and soone upon him light.' 
' Certes,' (saide she) ' I wote not how he 

bight, 
But under him a gray steede he did wield, 
Whose sides with dapled circles weren 

dight : 
Upright he rode, and in his silver shield 
He bore a bloodie Crosse that quartred 
all the field.' 

XIX. 

' No why my head,' (saide Guyon) ' much 

I muse, 
How that same knight should doe so 

fowle amis, 
Or ever gentle Damzell so abuse : 
For, may I boldly say, he surely is 
A right good knight, and treW of word 

ywis: 
I present was, and can it witnesse well, 
When armes he swore, and streight did 

enterpris 
Th' adventure of the Errant damozell ; 
In which he hath great glory wonne, as I 

heare tell. 



* Nathlesse he shortly shall againe be 

tryde, 
And f airely quit him of th' imputed blame ; 
Els, be ye sure, he dearely shall abyde, 
Or make you good amendment for the 

same: 
All wrongs have mendes, but no amendes 

of shame. 
Now therefore, Lady, rise out of your 

paine. 
And see the salving of your blotted name.' 
Full loth she seemd thereto, but yet did 

faine. 
For she was inly glad her purpose so to 

gaine. 

XXI. 

Her purpose was not such as she did 
faine, 
Ne yet her person such as it was seene ; 
But under simple shew, and semblaut 
plaine, 



CANTO I.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



•05 



Lurkt false Duessa secretly unseene, 
As a chaste Virgin that had wri 

beene : 

So had false Archimago her disguysd, 
To cloke her guile with sorrow and sad 

teene : 
And eke himselfe had craftily devisd 
To be her Squire, and do her service well 

aguisd. 

XXII. 

Her, late forlorne and naked, he had 
found 
Where she did wander in waste wilder- 



Lurking in rockes and caves far under 
ground, 

And with greene mosse cov'ring her 
nakednesse 

To hide her shame and loathly filthinesse, 

Sith her Prince Arthur of proud orna- 
ments 

And borrowd beauty spoyld. Her nathe- 



Th' enchaunter finding fit for his intents 
Did thus revest, and deckt with dew 
habiliments. 

XXIII. 

For all he did was to deceive good 

knights. 
And draw them from pursuit of praise 

and fame 
To slug in slouth and sensuall delights. 
And end their dales with irrenowmed 

shame. 
And now exceeding grief e him overcame, 
To see the Redcrosse thus advaunced 

hye; 
Therefore this craftie engine he did 

frame. 
Against his praise to stirre up enmitye 
Of such, as vertues like mote unto him 

allye. 

XXIV. 

So now he Guyon guydes an uncouth 
way 

Through woods and mountaines, till they 
came at last 

Into a pleasant dale that lowly lay 

Betwixt two hils, whose high heads 
overplast 

The valley did with coole shade over- 
cast: 

Through midst thereof a little river 
rold 

By which there sate a knight with helme 
unlaste, 

Himselfe refreshing with the liquid cold, 

After his travell long and labours mani- 
fold. 



'Lo! yonder he,' cryde Archimage 

alowd, 
' That wrought the shamefull fact which I 

did shew; 
And now he doth himselfe in secret 

shrowd. 
To fly the vengeaunce for his outrage 

dew: 
But vaine ; for ye shall dearely do him 

rew. 
So God ye speed and send you good suc- 

cesse, 
Which we far off will here abide to vew.' 
So they him left inflam'd with wrathful- 

nesse. 
That streight against that knight his 

speare he did addresse. 



Who, seeing him from far so fierce to 
pricke, 

His warlike armes about him gan em- 
brace. 

And in the rest his ready speare did 
sticke : 

Tho, when as still he saw him towards 
pace. 

He gan rencounter him in equall race. 

They bene ymett, both ready to aft'rap, 

When suddeinly that warriour gan abace 

His threatned speare, as if some new mis- 
hap, 

Had him betide, or hidden danger did 
entrap ; 

XXVII. 

And cryde, 'Mercie, Sir knight! and 

mercie, Lord, 
For mine offence and heedelesse hardi- 

ment. 
That had almost committed crime abhord, 
And with reprochfull shame mine honour 

shent, 
Whiles cursed Steele against that badge I 

bent. 
The sacred badge of my Redeemers 

death, 
Which on your shield is set for orna- 
ment! ' 
But his fierce foe his steed could stay 

uneath. 
Who, prickt with courage kene, did cruell 

battell breath. 

XXVIII. 

But, when he heard him speake, streight 
way he knew 
His errour; and, himselfe inclyning, 
sayd; 



io6 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book II. 



*Ah! deare Sir Guyon, well becommeth 

you, 
But me bohoveth rather to upbrayd, 
Whose hastie hand so far from reason 

stray d, 
That almost it did hayuous violence 
On that fayre ymage of that heavenly 

Mayd, 
That decks and armes your shield with 

faire defence : 
Your court'sie takes on you auothers dew 

offence.' 

XXIX. 

Sobeene they both at one, and doen up- 

reare 
Their bevers bright each other for to 

greet ; 
Goodly comportaunce each to other beare, 
And entertaiue themselves with court' sies 

. meet. 
Then said the Redcrosse knight ; ' Now 

mote I weet. 
Sir Guyon, why with so fierce saliaunce, 
And fell intent, ye did at earst me meet ; 
For sith I know your goodly governaunce, 
Great cause, I weene, you guided, or some 

uncouth chaunce.' 

XXX. 

'Certes,' (said he) 'well mote I shame 
to tell 
The fond encheason that me hither led. 
A false infamous faitour late befell 
Me for to meet, that seemed ill bested, 
And playnd of grievous outrage, which he 

red 
A knight had wrought against a Ladie 

gent; 
Which to avenge he to this place me led, 
Where you he made the marke of his in- 
tent. 
And now is fled : foule shame him follow 
wher he went ! ' 

XXXI. 

So can he turne his earnest unto game, 
Through goodly handling and wise tem- 

peraunce. 
By this his aged Guide in presence came ; 
Who, soone as on that knight his eye did 

glaunce, 
Eftsoones of him had perfect cogni- 

zaunce, 
Sith him in Faery court he late avizd ; 
And sayd; 'Fayre sonne, God give you 

happy chaunce. 
And that deare Crosse uppon your shield 

devizd, 
Wherewith above all knights ye goodly 

seeme aguizd! 



' Joy may you have, and everlasting 

fame. 
Of late most hard atchiev'ment by you 

donne, 
For which enrolled is your glorious name 
In heavenly Regesters above the Sunne, 
Where you a Saint with Saints your seat 

have woune : 
But wretched we, where ye have left your 

marke, 
Must now anew begin like race to ronne. 
God guide thee, Guyon, well to end thy 

warke, 
And to the wished haven bring thy weary 

barke ! ' 

XXXIII. 

' Palmer,' him answered the Redcrosse 

knight, 
' His be the praise that this atchiev'ment 

wrought, 
Who made my hand the organ of his 

might : 
More then goodwill to me attribute 

nought ; 
For all I did, I did but as I ought. 
But you, faire Sir, whose pageant next 

ensewes. 
Well mote yee thee, as well can wish your 

thought. 
That home ye may report thrise happy 

newes ; 
For well ye worthy bene for worth and 

gentle thewes.' 

XXXIV. 

So courteous conge both did give and 

take, 
With right hands plighted, pledges of 

good will. 
Then Guyon forward gan his voyage 

make 
With his blacke Palmer, that him guided 

still : 
Still he him guided over dale and hill. 
And with his steedy staffe did point his 

way; 
His race with reason, and with words his 

will. 
From fowle intemperaunce he ofte did 

stay. 
And suffred not in wrath his hasty steps 

to stray. 

XXXV. 

In this faire wize they traveild long 
yfere, 
Through many hard assayes which did 
betide ; 



CANTO I.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



107 



Of which he honour still away did heare, 
Aud spred his glory through all country es 

wide. 
At last, as chaunst them by a forest side 
To passe, for succour from the scorching 

ray, 
They heard a ruefull voice, that dearuly 

cride 
With percing shriekes and many a dolef ull 

lay; 
Which to attend awhile their forward 

steps they stay. 



'But if that carelesse heA^ens,' (quoth 

she) ' despise 
The doome of just revenge, and take de- 
light 
To see sad pageaunts of mens miseries, 
Asbownd by them to live in lives despight ; 
Yet can they not warne death from 

wretched wight. 
Come, then ; come soone ; come sweetest 

death, to me. 
And take away this long lent loathed 

light : 
Sharpe be thy wounds, but sweete the 

medicines be, 
That long captived soules from weary 

thraldome free. 



' But thou, sweete Babe, whom frowning 

froward fate 
Hath made sad wituesse of thy fathers 

fall, 
Sith heven thee deignes to hold in living 

state, 
Long maist thou live, and better thrive 

withall 
Then to thy lucklesse parents did befall. 
Live thou ; and to thy mother dead attest 
That cleare she dide from blemish crimi- 

nall : 
Thy litle hands embrewd in bleeding 

brest 
Loe! I for pledges leave. So give me 

leave to rest.' 

XXXVIII. 

With that a deadly shrieke she forth did 

throw 
That through the wood re-echoed againe ; 
And after gave a grone so deepe and low 
That seemd her tender heart was rent in 

twaine. 
Or thrild with point of thorough-piercing 

paine : 
As gentle Hynd, whose sides with cruell 

Steele 



Through launched, forth her bleedmg life 

does raine, 
Whiles the sad pang approching shee does 

feele, 
Braies out her latest breath, and up her 

eies doth seele. 

XXXEX. 

Which when that warriour heard, dis- 
mounting straict 
From his tall steed, he rusht into the 

thick. 
And soone arrived where that sad pour- 

traict 
Oi death and dolour lay, halfe dead, halfe 

quick ; 
In whose white alabaster brest did stick 
A cruell knife that made a griesly wownd, 
From which forth gusht a stream of gore 

blood thick, 
That all her goodly garments staijid 

arownd. 
And into a deepe sanguine dide the grassy 

grownd. 

XL. 

Pitifull spectacle of deadly smart, 
Beside a bubling fountaine low she lay. 
Which shee increased with her bleeding 

hart. 
And the cleane waves with purple gore 

did ray: 
Als in her lap a lovely babe did play 
His cruell sport, in stead of sorrow dew ; 
For in her streaming blood he did embay 
His litle hands, and tender joints embrew : 
Pitifull spectacle, as ever eie did vew ! 



Besides them both, upon the soiled gras 
The dead corse of an armed knight was 

spred , 
Whose armour all with blood besprincled 

was; 
His ruddy lips did smyle, and rosy red 
Did paint his chearefull cheekes, yett be- 
ing ded ; 
Seemd to have beene a goodly personage. 
Now in his freshest flowre of lusty-hed, 
Fitt to inflame faire Lady with loves rage, 
But that tiers fate did crop the blossome 
of his age. 

XLII. 

Whom when the good Sir Guyon did 

behold. 
His hart gan wexe as starke as marble 

stone. 
And his fresh blood did frieze with feare- 

full cold, 



io8 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book II. 



That all his sences seemd beref te attone : 
At last his mighty ghost gan deepe to 

grone, 
As Lion, grudging in his great disdaine, 
Mournes inwardly, and makes to him 

selfe moue ; 
Til ruth and fraile affection did constraine 
His stout courage to stoupe, and shew his 

inward paine. 



Out of her gored wound the cruell steel 
He lightly snatcht, and did the floodgate 

stop 
With his faire garment ; then gan softly 

feel 
Her feeble pulse, to prove if any drop 
Of living blood yet in her veynes did hop : 
Which when he felt to move, he hoped faire 
To call backe life to her forsaken shop. 
So well he did her deadly wounds repaire, 
That at the last shee gan to breath out 

living aire. 

XLIV. 

Which he perceiving greatly gan rejoice, 
And goodly counsel!, that for wounded 

hart 
Is raeetest med'cine, tempred with sweete 

voice : 
* Ay me ! deare Lady, which the ymage art 
Of ruef ull pitty and impatient smart. 
What diref ull chaunce, armd with aveng- 
ing fate, 
Or cursed hand, hath plaid this cruell part. 
Thus fowle to hasten your untimely date ? 
Speake, O dear Lady, speake! help never 
comes too late.' 

XLV. 

Therewith her dim eie-lids she up gan 

reare. 
On which the drery death did sitt as sad 
As lump of lead, and made darke clouds 

appeare : 
But when as him, all in bright armour 

clad. 
Before her standing she espied had, 
As one out of a deadly dreame affright. 
She weakely started, yet she nothing 

drad : 
Streight downe againe herselfe, in great 

despight, 
She groveling threw to ground, as hating 

life and light. 



The gentle knight her soone with care- 
full paine 



Uplifted light, and softly did uphold : 
Thrise he her reard, and thrise she sunck 

againe. 
Till he his armes about her sides gan fold, 
And to her said ; ' Yet, if the stony cold 
Have not all seized on your frozen hart, 
Let one word fall that may your grief 

unfold. 
And tell the secrete of your mortall smart : 
He oft finds present helpe who does his 

grief e impart.' 



Then, casting up a deadly looke, full 

low 
Shee sight from bottome of her wounded 

brest ; 
And after, many bitter throbs did throw. 
With lips full pale and foltring tong op- 

prest, 
These words she breathed forth from 

riven chest : 
' Leave, ah ! leave off, whatever wight 

thou bee, 
To lett a weary wretch from her dew rest, 
And trouble dying soules tranquilitee ; 
Take not away, now got, which none 

would give to me.' 



* Ah ! far be it,' (said he) ' Deare dame, 
fro mee, 
To hinder soule from her desired rest, 
Or hold sad life in long captivitee ; 
For all I seeke is but to have redrest 
The bitter pangs that doth your heart in- 
fest. 
Tell then, O Lady ! tell what fatall priefe 
Hath with so huge misfortune you opprest ; 
That I may cast to compas your reliefe, 
Or die with you in sorrow, and partake 
your grief e.' 



With feeble hands then stretched forth 

on hye. 
As heven accusing guilty of her death. 
And with dry drops congealed in her eye, 
In these sad wordes she spent her utmost 

breath : 
'Heare then, O man! the sorrowes that 

uneath 
My tong can tell, so far all sence they 

pas. 
Loe ! this dead corpse, that lies here under- 
neath. 
The gentlest knight, that ever on greene 

gras 
Gay steed with spurs did pricke, the good 

Sir Mortdant was : 



CANTO I.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



109 



' Was, (ay the while, that he is not so 
now!) 

My Lord, my love, my deare Lord, my 
deare love ! 

So long as hevens just with equall hrow 

Vouchsafed to hehold us from ahove. 

One day, when him high corage did em- 
move, 

As wont ye kuightes to seeke adventures 
wilde, 

He pricked forth his puissant force to 
prove. 

Me then he left enwomhed of this childe. 

This luckles childe, whom thus ye see with 
hlood defiid. 



LI. 

' Him fortuned (hard fortune ye may 
gliesse) 
T.0 come, where vile Acrasia does wonue ; 
Acrasia, a false enchaunteresse, 
That many errant kuightes hath fowle 

fordonne ; 
Within a wandring Island, that doth 

ronue 
And stray in perilous gulfe, her dwelling- 
is. 
Fay re Sir, if ever there ye travell, shonne 
The cursed land where many wend amis, 
And know it by the name : it hight the 
Bowre of hits. 

LII. 

* Her blis is all in pleasure, and delight, 
Wlierewith she makes her lovers dronken 

mad; 
And then with words, and weedes, of 

wondrous might. 
On them she workes her will to uses bad : 
My liefest Lord she thus beguiled had ; 
For he was flesh : (all flesh doth f rayltie 

breed) 
Whom when I heard to beene so ill bestad, 
Weake wretch, I wrapt myselfe in Palmers 

weed. 
And cast to seek him forth through danger 

and great dreed. 

LIIT. 

' Now had fayre Cynthia by even tournes 
Full measured three quarters of her yeare, 
And thrise three tymes had fild her 

crooked homes, 
Whenas my wombe her burdein would 

forbeare, 
And bad me call Lueina to me neare. 
Lucina came ; a manchild forth I brought 
The woods, the nymphes, my bowres, my 

midwives, weare : 



Hard help at need! So deare thee, babe, 

I bought; 
Yet nought too dear I deemd, while so my 

deare I sought. 



' Him so I sought ; and so at last I fownd, 
Where him that witch had thralled to her 

will. 
In chaiues of lust and lewde desyres 

ybownd. 
And so transformed from his former skill. 
That me he knew not, nether his owne ill ; 
Till, through wise handling and faire 

governauuce, 
I him recured to a better will, 
Purged from drugs of fowle intemper- 

aunce : 
Then meanes I gan devise for his deliver- 

aunce. 

LV. 

' Wliich when the vile Enchaunteresse 

perceiv'd. 
How that my Lord from her I would re- 

prive. 
With cup thus charmd him parting she 

deceivd; 
" Sad verse, give death to him that death 

does give, 
" And losse of love to her that loves to 

live, 
" So soone as Bacchus with the Nymphe 

does lincke! " 
So parted we, and on our journey drive ; 
Till, coming to this well, he stoupt to 

drincke : 
The charme fulfild, dead suddeinly he 

dowue did sincke. 

LVI. 

' Which when I, wretch ' — Not one word 

more she sayd, 
But breaking off the end for want of 

breath. 
And slyding soft, as downe to sleepe her 

layd,' 
And ended all her woe in quiet death. 
That seeing, good Sir Guyon coud uneath 
From teares abstayne ; for griefe his hart 

did grate, 
And from" so heavie sight his head did 

M'reath , 
Accusing fortune, and too cruell fate, 
Which plonged had faire Lady in so 

wretched state. 

LVII. 

Then turning to his Palmer said ; ' Old 
syre, 



no 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book II. 



Behold the yraage of niortalitie, 
And feeble nature cloth'd with fleshly- 
tyre. 
When raging passion with fierce tyranny 
Kobs reason of her dew regalitie, 
And makes it servaunt to her basest 

part, 
The strong it weakens with infirmitie, 
And with bold furie armes the weakest 

hart : 
The strong through pleasure soonest f alles, 
the weake through smart.' 

LVIII. 

* But temperaunce ' (said he) ' with 
golden squire 

Betwixt them both can measure out a 
meane ; 

Nether to melt in pleasures whott desyre, 

Nor frye in hartlesse griefe and dolefull 
tene: 

Thrise happy man, who fares them both 
at ween e ! 

But sith this wretched woman overcome 

Of anguish, rather then of crime, hath 
bene, 

Reserve her cause to her eternall doome ; 

And, in the meane, vouchsafe her honor- 
able toombe.' 

LIX. 

' Palmer,' quoth he, ' death is an equall 

doome 
To good and bad, the common In of 

rest; 
But after death the try all is to come, 
When best shall bee to them that lived 

best: 



But both alike, when death hath both 

supprest, 
Religious reverence doth burial! teene ; 
Which whoso wants, wants so much of 

his rest : 
For all so great shame after death I weene, 
As selfe to dyen bad, unburied bad to 

beene.' 

LX. 

So both agree their bodies to engrave : 
The great earthes wombe they open to the 

sky, 
And with sad Cypresse seemely it em- 
brave ; 
Then, covering with a clod their closed 

eye. 
They lay therein their corses tenderly. 
And bid them sleepe in everlasting peace. 
But, ere they did their utmost obsequy, 
Sir Guyon, more affection to increace, 
Bynempt a sacred vow, which none should 
ay releace. 

LXI. 

The dead knights sword out of his 

sheath he drew, 
With which he cutt a lock of all their 

heare. 
Which medling with their blood and earth 

he threw 
Into the grave, and gan devoutly sweare ; 
* Such and such evil God on Guyon reare. 
And worse and worse, young Orphane, be 

thy payne, 
If I, or thou, dew vengeaunce doe forbeare. 
Till guiltie blood her guerdon doe ob- 

tayne ! ' 
So shedding many teares they closd the 

earth agayne. 



CANTO II. 

Babes bloody handes may not be clensd : 

The face of golden Meane : 
Her sisters, two Extremities, 

Strive her to banish cleane. 



Thus when Sir Guyon with his faithful 

guyde 
Had with dew rites and dolorous lament 
The end of their sad Tragedie uptyde. 
The litle babe up in his armes he lient ; 
Who with sweet pleasaunce, and bold 

blandishment, 
Gan smyle on them, that rather ought to 

weepe. 
As carelesse of his woe, or innocent 
Of that was doen ; that ruth emperced 

deepe 



In that knightes hart, and wordes with 
bitter teares did steepe : 



* Ah ! lucklesse babe, borne under cruell 
starre, 
Ajid in dead parents balefull ashes bred. 
Full little weenest thou what sorrowes are 
Left thee for porcion of thy livelyhed ; 
Poore Orphane! in the wild world scat- 
tered. 
As budding braunch rent from the native 
tree. 



CANTO II.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



Ill 



And throwen forth, till it be withered. 
Such is the state of men: Thus enter 

we 
Into this life with woe, and end with 

miseree ! ' 

III. 

Then, soft himself e inclyning on his 

knee 
Downe to that well, did in the water 

weene 
(So love does loath disdainefull nicitee) 
His guiltie handes from bloody gore to 

cleeue. 
He washt them oft and oft, yet nought 

they beeue 
For all his washing cleaner. Still he 

strove ; 
Yet still the litle hands were bloody 

scene : 
The which him into great amaz'ment 

drove, 
And into diverse doubt his wavering won- 
der clove. 

IV. 

He wist not whether blott of fowle 

offence 
Might not be purgd with water nor with 

bath ; 
Or that high God, in lieu of innocence. 
Imprinted had that token of his 

wrath, 
To shew how sore bloodguiltinesse he 

hat'th ; 
Or that the charme and veneme which 

they dronck. 
Their blood with secret filth infected 

hath, 
Being diffused through the senceless 

tronck, 
That through the great contagion direful 

deadly stonck. 

v. 
Whom thus at gaze the Palmer gan to 
bord 

With goodly reason, and thus fay re be- 
spake ; 

' Ye bene right hard amated, gratious 
Lord, 

And of your ignorance great merveill 
make. 

Whiles cause not well conceived ye mis- 
take: 

But know, that secret vertues are in- 
fusd 

In every fountaine, and in everie lake. 

Which who hath skill them rightly to 
have chusd. 

To proofe of passing wonders hath full 
often usd : 



'Of those, some were so from their 
sourse indewd 
By great Dame Nature, from whose fruit- 
full pap 
Their welheads spring, and are with 

moisture deawd ; 
Whieh feedes each living plant with 

liquid sap, 
And filles with flowres fayre Floraes 

painted lap : 
But other some, by guifte of later grace, 
Or by good prayers, or by other hap. 
Had vertue pourd into their waters bace. 
And thenceforth were renowmd, and 
sought from place to place. 



' Such is this well, wrought by occasion 
straunge, 

Which to her Nymph befell. Upon a 
day. 

As she the woodes with bow and shaftes 
did raunge. 

The hartlesse Hynd and Robucke to dis- 
may, 

Dan Faunus chaunst to meet her by the 
way, 

And, kindling fire at her faire-burning 
eye. 

Inflamed was to follow beauties pray. 

And chaced her that fast from him did 

fly; 

As hynd from her, so she fled from her 
enimy. 

VIII. 

* At last, when fay ling breath began to 

faint. 
And saw no meanes to scape, of shame 

affrayd. 
She set her downe to weepe for sore con- 
straint ; 
And to Diana calling lowd for ayde. 
Her deare besought to let her die a raayd. 
The goddesse heard ; and suddeine, where 

she sate 
Welling out streames of teares, and quite 

dismayd 
With stony feare of that rude rustick 

mate, 
Transform d her to a stone from stedfast 

virsfius state. 



'Lo! now she is that stone; from 

whose two heads. 
As from two weeping eyes, fresh streames 

do flow, 
Yet colde through feare and old conceived 

dreads ; 



112 



THE FAERIE QUEEN E. 



[book II. 



And yet the stone her semblance seemes 

to show, 
Shapt like a maide, that such ye may her 

know: 
And yet her vertues in her water byde, 
For it is chaste and pure as purest snow, 
Ne lets her waves with any filth be dyde ; 
But ever, like herself e, unstayned^ hath 

beene tryde. 

X. 

' From thence it comes, that this babes 

bloody hand 
May not be cleusd with water of this 

well: 
Ne certes, Sir, strive you it to withstand, 
But let them still be bloody, as befell. 
That they his mothers innocence may 

tell, 
As she bequeathd in her last testament ; 
That, as a sacred Symbole, it may dwell 
In her sonues flesh, to mind revengement, 
And be for all chaste Dames an endlesse 

moniment.' 

XI. 

He hearkned to his reason, and the 

childe 
Uptaking, to the Palmer gave to beare ; 
But his sad fathers armes with blood 

defilde, 
An heavie load, himselfe did lightly 

reare ; 
And turning to that place, in which whyle- 

are 
He left his loftie steed with golden sell 
And goodly gorgeous barbes, him found 

not theare : 
By other accident, that earst befell. 
He is convaide ; but how, or where, here 

fits not tell. 



"Which when Sir Guyon saw, all were 
he wroth. 
Yet algates mote he soft himselfe ap- 
pease, 
And fairely fare on foot, how ever loth : 
His double burden did him sore disease. 
So long they travelled with litle ease, 
Till that at last they to a Castle came. 
Built on a rocke adjoyning to the seas : 
It was an auncient worke of antique 

fame, 
And wondrous strong by nature, and by 
skilfull frame. 



Therein three sisters dwelt of sundry 
sort. 
The children of one syre by mothers 
three ; 



Who dying whylome did divide this fort 
To them by equall shares in equail fee : 
But stryfull mind and diverse qualitee 
Drew them in partes, and each made 

others foe : 
Still did they strive and daily disagree ; 
The eldest did against the youngest goe, 
And both against the middest meant to 

worken woe. 



Where when the knight arriv'd, he was 

right well 
Receiv'd, as knight of so much worth 

became, 
Of second sister, who did far excell 
The other two : Medina was her name, 
A sober sad and comely courteous Dame; 
Who rich arayd, and yet in modest guize. 
In goodly garments that her well became, 
Fayre marching forth in honorable wize, 
Him at the threshold mett, and well did 

enterprize. 

XV. 

She led him up into a goodly bowre, 
And comely courted with meet modestie ; 
Ne in her speacli, ne in her haviour, 
Was lightnesse scene or looser vanitie, 
But gratious womanhood, and gravitie. 
Above the reason of her youthly yeares. 
Her golden lockes she roundly did uptye 
In breaded tramels, that no looser heares 
Did out of order stray about her daintie 
eares. ' 

XVI. 

Whilest she her selfe thus busily did 

frame 
Seemely to entertaine her new-come 

guest, 
Newes hereof to her other sisters came. 
Who all this while were at their wanton 

rest, 
Accourting each her frend with lavish 

fest: 
They were two knights of perelesse puis- 

saunce. 
And famous far abroad for warlike gest, 
Which to these Ladies love did coun- 

tenaunce, 
And to his raistresse each himselfe strove 

to advaunce. 



XVII. 

He that made love unto the eldest 

Dame, 
Was hight Sir Huddibras, an hardy man ; 
Yet not so good of deedes as great of 

name, 
Which he by many rash adventures wan, 



CANTO II.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



113 



Since errant armes to sew he first began : 
More huge in strength than wise in 

workes he was, 
And reason with foole-hardize over ran ; 
Sterne melancholy did his courage pas, 
And was, for terrour more, all armd in 

shyning bras. 



But he that lov'd the youngest was 

Sansloy ; 
He, that faire Una late fowle outraged, 
The most unruly and the boldest boy 
That ever warlike weapons menaged, 
And all to lawlesse lust encouraged 
Through strong opinion of his matchlesse 

might ; 
Ne ought he car'd whom he endamaged 
By tortious wrong, or whom bereav'd of 

right : 
He, now this Ladies Champion, chose for 

love to fight. 

XIX. 

These two gay knights, vowd to so 
diverse loves. 

Each other does envy with deadly hate. 

And daily warre against his foeman 
moves. 

In hope to win more favour with his 
mate. 

And til' others pleasing service to abate, 

To magnifie his owne. But when they 
heard 

How in that place straunge knight ar- 
rived late, 

Both knightes and ladies forth right 
angry far'd. 

And fercely unto battel! sterne them- 
selves prepar'd. 



But ere they could proceede unto the 
place 
Where he abode, themselves at discord 

fell. 
And cruell combat joynd in middle space : 
With horrible assault, and fury fell, 
They heapt huge strokes the scorned life 

to quell. 
That all on uprore from her settled seat. 
The house was raysd, and all that in did 

dwell. 
Seemd that lowde thunder with amaze- 
ment great 
Did rend the ratling skyes with flames of 
fouldring heat. 



The noyse thereof cald forth that 
straunger knight. 



To weet what dreadfull thing was there 

in bond ; 
Where whenas two brave knightes in 

bloody fight 
With deadly rancour he enraunged fond, 
His sunbroad shield about his wrest he 

bond, 
And shyning blade unsheathd, with which 

he ran 
Unto that stead, their strife to under- 

stond ; 
And at his first arrivall them began 
With goodly meaues to pacific, well as he 

can. 

XXII. 

But they, him spying, both with greedy 
forse 
Attonce upon him ran, and him beset 
With strokes of mortall Steele without re- 
morse, 
And on his shield like yron sledges bet : 
As when a Beare and Tygre, being met 
In cruell fight on Lybicke Ocean wide, 
Espye a traveller with feet surbet. 
Whom they in equall pray hope to divide. 
They stint their strife and him assayle on 
everie side. 

xxin. 

But he, not like a weary traveilere, 
Their sharp assault right boldly did rebut. 
And suffred not their blowes to byte him 

nere. 
But with redoubled buffes them backe did 

put: 
Whose grieved mindes, which choler did 

englut. 
Against themselves turning their wrath- 
full spight, 
Gan with new rage their shieldes to hew 

and cut ; 
But still, when Guyon came to part their 

fight, 
With heavie load on him they freshly gan 

to smight. 

XXIV. 

As a tall ship tossed in troublous seas. 
Whom raging windes, threatning to make 

the pray 
Of the rough rockes, doe diversly disease, 
Meetes two contrarie billowes by the 

way, 
That her on either side doe sore assay, 
And boast to swallow her in greedy 

grave ; 
Shee, scorning both their spights, does 

make wide way. 
And with her brest breaking the fomy 

wave, 
Does ride on both their backs, and faire 

her self doth save. 



114 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book II. 



So boldly he him beares, and ruslieth 

forth 
Betweene them both by conduct of his 

blade. 
Wondrous great prowesse and heroick 

worth 
He shewd that day, and rare ensample 

made, 
Whentwosomisjhtywarriourshedismade. 
Attouce he wards and strikes; he takes 

and paies; 
Now forst to yield, now forcing to invade ; 
Before, behind, and round about him laies ; 
So double was his paines, so double be his 

praise. 

XXVI. 

Straunge sort of fight, three valiaunt 

knights to see 
Three combates joine in one, and to dar- 

raine 
A triple warre with triple enmitee, 
All for their Ladies frovrard love to gaine, 
Which gotten was but hate. So love does 

raine 
In stoutest minds, and maketh monstrous 

warre ; 
He maketh warre, he maketh peace againe. 
And yett his peace is but continual jarre: 
O miserable men that to him subject arre ! 

XXVII. 

Whilst thus they mingled were in furi- 
ous amies, 
The faire Medina, with her tresses torne 
And naked brest, in pitty of their harmes, 
Emongst them ran; and, falling them be- 

forne. 
Besought them by the womb which them 

had born, 
And by the loves which were to theni most 

deare. 
And by the knighthood which they sure 

had sworn, 
Their deadly cruell discord to forbeare. 
And to her just conditions of faire peace 
to heare. 

XXVIII. 

But her two other sisters, standing by. 
Her lowd gainsaid, and both their cham- 
pions bad 
Pursew the end of their strong enmity, 
As ever of their loves they would be glad : 
Yet she with pitthy words, and counsell 

sad, 
Still strove their stubborne rages to re- 
voke ; 
That at the last, suppressing fury mad. 
They gan abstaine from dint of direfull 
stroke, 



And hearken to the sober speaches which 
she spoke. 

XXIX. 

* Ah, puissaunt Lords! what cursed evil 

Spright, 
Or fell Erinnys, in your noble harts 
Her hellish brond hath kindled with de- 

spight. 
And stird you up to worke your wilfull 

smarts ? 
Is this the joy of armes? be these the 

parts 
Of glorious knighthood, after blood to 

thrust, 
And not regard dew right and just desarts ? 
Vaine is the vaunt, and victory unjust. 
That more to mighty hands then rightfull 

cause doth trust. 



* And were there rightfull cause of differ- 
ence, 

Yet were not better fayre it to accord 

Then with bloodguiltinesse to heape of- 
fence, 

And mortal vengeaunce joyne to crime 
abhord ? 

O ! fly from wrath ; fly, O my liefest Lord ! 

Sad be the sights, and bitter fruites of 
warre. 

And thousand furies wait on wrathfull 
sword ; 

Ne ought the praise of prowesse more doth 
marre 

Then fowle revenging rage, and base con- 
tentious Jarre. 



'But lovely concord, and most sacred 

peace, 
Doth nourish vertue, and fast friendship 

breeds, 
Weake she makes strong, and strong thing 

does increace. 
Till it the pitch of highest praise exceeds : 
Brave be her warres, and honorable deeds, 
By which shetriumphesoveryre and pride, 
And winnes an Olive girlond for her meeds. 
Be, therefore, O my deare Lords ! pacifide. 
And thijj misseeming discord meekely lay 

aside.' 

XXXII. 

Her gracious words their rancour did 

appall. 
And suncke so deepe into their boyling 

brests. 
That downe they lett their cruell weapons 

fall. 
And lowly did abase their lofty crests 



CANTO II.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



1^5 



To her faire presence and discrete behests. 

Then she began a treaty to procure, 

And stablish terms betwixt both their re- 
quests, 

That as a law for ever should endure ; 

Which to observe in word of knights they 
did assure. 

XXXIII. 

Which to confirme, and fast to bind their 

league, 
After their weary sweat and bloody toile. 
She them besought, during their quiet 

treague. 
Into her lodging to repaire awhile. 
To rest themselves, and grace to reconcile. 
They soone consent : so forth with her they 

fare ; 
Where they are well receivd, and made to 

spoile 
Themselves of soiled armes, and to prepare 
Their minds to pleasure, and their mouths 

to dainty fare. 



And those two fro ward sisters, their faire 
loves, 
Came with them eke, all were they won- 
drous loth. 
And fained cheare, as for the time behoves, 
But could not colour yet so well the troth, 
But that their natures bad appeard in 

both; 
For both did at their second sister grutch 
And inly grieve, as doth an hidden moth 
The inner garment frett, not th' utter 

touch : 
One thought her cheare too litle, th' other 
thought too mutch. 

XXXV. 

Elissa (so the eldest hight) did deeme 
Such entertainment base, ne ought would 

eat, 
Ne ought would speake, but evermore did 

seeme 
As discontent for want of merth or meat : 
No solace could her Paramour intreat 
Her once to show, ne court, nor dalliaunce ; 
But with ben tlo wring browes, as she would 

threat, 
She scould, and frownd with f reward 

countenaunce ; 
Unworthy of faire Ladies comely gover- 

naunce. 

XXXVI. 

But young Perissa was of other mynd. 
Full of disport, still laughing, loosely light, 
And quite contrary to her sisters kynd ; 
No measure in her mood, no rule of right, 



But poured out in pleasure and delight: 
In wine and meats she fiowd above the 

bauck, 
And in excesse exceeded ber owne might; 
In sumptuous tire she joyd her selfe to 

pranek, 
But of her love too lavish: (litle have she 

thanck !) 

XXXVII. 

Fast by her side did sitt the bold Sansloy, 
Fitt mate for such a mincing mineon, 
Who in her loosenesse tooke exceeding 

joy; 
Might not be found a francker franion, 
Of her leawd parts to make companion : 
But Huddibras, more like a Malecontent, 
Did see and grieve at his bold fashion ; 
Hardly could he endure his hardiment, 
Yett still he satt, and inly did him selfe 

torment. 



Betwixt them both the faire Medina sate 
With sober grace and goodly carriage : 
With equall measure she did moderate 
The strong extremities of their outrage. 
That forward paire she ever would as- 

swage, 
When they would strive dew reason to 

exceed ; 
But that same froward twaine would ac- 

corage. 
And of her plenty adde unto their need : 
So kept she them in order, and her selfe 

in heed. 

XXXIX. 

Thus fairely shee attempered her feast, 
And pleasd them all with meete satiety. 
At last, when lust of meat and drinke was 

ceast, 
She Guyon deare besought of curtesie 
To tell from whence he came through jeop- 
ardy, 
And whither now on new adventure 

bownd : 
Who with bold grace, and comely gravity, 
Drawing to him the eies of all arownd, 
From lofty siege began these words aloud 
to sownd. 

XL. 

'This thy demaund, Lady! doth re- 
vive 
Fresh memory in me of that great Queene, 
Great and most glorious virgin Queene 

alive, 
That with her soveraine power, and scepter 

shene, 
All Faery lond does peaceably sustene. 
In widest Ocean she her throne does reare, 
That over all the earth it may be scene ; 



ii6 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book II. 



As moruing Suune ber bearaes dispredden 

cleare, 
And in her face faire peace and mercy 

doth appeare. 



In her the richesse of all heavenly grace 
In chiefe degree are heaped up on bye : 
And all, that els this worlds enclosure 

bace 
Hath great or glorious in mortall eye, 
Adornes the person of her Majesty e ; 
That men, beholding so great excellence 
And rare perfection in mortalitye. 
Doe her adore with sacred reverence, 
As th' Idole of her makers great magnifi- 
cence. 

XLII. 

* To her I homage and my service owe, 
In number of the noblest knightes on 

ground ; 
Mongst whom on me she deigned to be- 

stowe 
Order of Maydenhead, the most renownd 
That may this day in all the world be 

found. 
An yearely solemne feast she wontes to 

hold, 
The day that first doth lead the yeare 

around. 
To which all knights of worth and cour- 
age bold 
Resort, to heare of straunge adventures 

to be told. 

XLIII. 

' There this old Palmer shewd himselfe 

that day, 
And to that mighty Princesse did com- 

plaine 
Of grievous mischiefes which a wicked 

Fay 
Had wrought, and many whelmd in deadly 

paine ; 
Whereof he crav'd redresse. My Sover- 

aine. 
Whose glory is in gracious deeds, and 

joyes 
Throughout the world her mercy to main- 

taine, 



Eftsoones devisd redresse for such an- 

noyes : 
Me, all unfitt for so great purpose, she 

employes. 

XLIV. 

* Now hath faire Phebe with her silver 

face 
Thrise scene the shadowes of the neather 

world, 
Sith last I left that honorable place. 
In which her roiall presence is enrold ; 
Ne ever shall I rest in house nor hold, 
Till I that false Acrasia have wonne ; 
Of whose fowle deedes, too hideous to bee 

told, 
I witnesse am, and this their wretched 

Sonne, 
Whose wofull parents she hath wickedly 

fordonne.' 

XLV. 

' Tell on, fayre Sir,' said she, * that 

dolefull tale, 
From which sad ruth does seeme you to 

restraine. 
That we may pitty such unhappie bale, 
And learne from pleasures poyson to ab- 

staine : 
111 by ensample good doth often gayne.' 
Then forward he his purpose gan pursew. 
And told the story of the mortall payne, 
Which Mordant and Amavia did rew. 
As with lamenting eyes him selfe did 

lately vew. 

XL VI. 

Night was far spent ; and now in Ocean 

deep 
Orion, flying fast from hissing snake, 
His flaming head did hasten for to steep, 
When of his pitteous tale he end did 

make: 
Whilst with delight of that he wisely 

spake 
Those guestes, beguyled, did beguyle their 

eyes 
Of kindly sleepe that did them overtake. 
At last, when they had markt the 

chaunged skyes. 
They wist their houre was spent; then 

each to rest him hyes. 



CANTO in. 

Vaine Braggadocchio, getting Guy- 
ons horse, is made the scorne 

Of knighthood trew ; and is of fayre 
Belphoebe fowle forlorne. 



SooNE as the morrow fayre with purple 
beames 



Disperst the shadowes of the misty night, 
And Titan, playing on the eastern 
streames, 



CANTO III.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



117 



Gau cleare the deawy ayre with spring- 
ing light, 
Sir Guyon, niindfull of his vow yplight, 
Uprose from drowsie couch, and him 

addrest 
Unto the journey which he had behight: 
His puissant arnies about his noble brest, 
And many-folded shield he bound about 
his wrest. 

II. 

Then, taking Conge of that virgin pure. 
The bloody-handed babe unto her truth 
Did earnestly committ, and her conjure 
In vertuous lore to trainehis tender youth, 
And all that gentle noriture ensu'th ; 
And that, so soone as ryper yeares he 

r aught. 
He might, for memory of that dayes ruth, 
Be called Ruddymane ; and thereby taught 
T-' avenge his Parents death on 'them that 

had it wrought. 



So forth he far'd, as now befell, on foot, 
Sith his good steed is lately from him 

gone; 
Patience perforce : helplesse what may it 

boot 
To frett for anger, or for griefe to mone ? 
His Palmer now shall foot no more alone. 
So fortune wrought, as under greene 

woodes syde 
He lately heard that dying Lady grone. 
He left his steed without, and speare be- 

syde. 
And rushed in on foot to ayd her ere she 

dyde. 

IV. 

The whyles a losell wandring by the 

way, 
One that to bountie never cast his mynd, 
Ne thought of honour ever did assay 
His baser brest, but in his kestrell kynd 
A pleasing vaine of glory he did fynd. 
To which his flowing toung and troublous 

spright 
Gave him great ayd, and made him more 

inclynd : 
He, that brave steed there finding ready 

dight, 
Purloynd both steed and speare, and ran 

away full light. 



Now gan his hart all swell in jollity. 
And of him selfe great hope and help con- 

ceiv'd, 
That puffed up with smoke of vanity. 
And with selfe-loved personage deceiv'd. 



He gan to hope of men to be receiv'd 
For such as he him thought, or f aine would 

bee: 
But for in court gay portaunce he per- 

ceiv'd, 
And gallant shew to be in greatest gree, 
Eftsoones to court he cast t' advaunce his 

first degree. 

VI. 

And by the way he chaunced to espy 
One sitting ydle on a sunny banck. 
To him avauntiug in great bravery. 
As Peacocke that his painted plumes doth 

pranck. 
He smote his courser in the trembling 

flanck. 
And to him threatned his hart-thrilling 

speare : 
The seely man, seeing him ryde so ranck, 
And ayme at him, fell flatt to ground for 

feare. 
And crying, ' Mercy ! ' loud, his pitious 

handes gan reare. 



Thereat the Scarcrow wexed wondrous 
prowd. 

Through fortune of his first adventure 
fay re, 

And with big thundring voice revyld him 
lowd: 

'Vile Caytive, vassall of dread and de- 
spay re, 

Unworthie of the commune breathed ayre. 

Why livest thou, dead dog, a lenger day. 

And doest not unto death thyselfe pre- 
payre ? 

Dy, or thyselfe my captive yield for ay. 

Great favour I thee graunt for aunswere 
thus to stay.' 



'Hold, O deare Lord! hold your dead- 
doing hand,' 
Then loud he cryde ; ' I am your humble 

thrall.' 
* Ay wretch,' (quoth he) ' thy destinies 

withstand 
My wrathf ull will, and doe for mercy call. 
I give thee life : therefore prostrated fall, 
And kisse my stirrup; that thy homage 

bee.' 
The Miser threw him selfe, as an Offall, 
Streight at his foot in base humilitee. 
And cleeped him his liege, to hold of him 
in fee. 



So happy peace they made and faire 
accord. 



ii; 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book II. 



Ef tsoones this liegeman gan to wexe more 

bold, 
And when he felt the folly of his Lord, 
In his owne kind he gau him selfe unfold ; 
For he was wylie witted, and growne old 
In cunning sleightes and practick knavery. 
From that day forth he cast for to uphold 
His ydle humour with fine flattery, 
And blow the bellowes to his swelling 

vanity. 

X. 

Trompart, fitt man for Braggadochio, 
To serve at court in view of vaunting eye ; 
Vaine-glorious man, when fluttring wind 

does blow 
In his light winges, is lifted up to skye ; 
The scorne of knighthood and trew chev- 

alrye. 
To thinke, without desert of gentle deed 
And noble worth, to be advaunced hye : 
Such prayse is shame; but honour, ver- 

tues meed. 
Doth beare the fayrest flowre in honour- 
able seed. 

XI. 

So forth they pas, a well consorted 

payre, 
Till that at length with Archimage they 

meet: 
Who seeing one, that shone in armour 

fay re. 
On goodly courser thoudring with his feet, 
Eftsoones supposed him a person meet 
Of his revenge to make the instrument ; 
For since the Redcrosse knight he erst did 

weet 
To been with Guyon knitt in one consent, 
The ill, which earst to him, he now to 

Guyon ment. 

XII. 

And coming close to Trompart gan in- 
quere 
Of him, what mightie warriour that mote 

bee. 
That rode in golden sell with single spere. 
But wanted sword to wreake his enmitee ? 
' He is a great adventurer,' (said he) 
' That hath his sword through hard assay 

forgone. 
And now hath vowd, till he avenged bee 
Of that despight, never to wearen none : 
That speare is him enough to doen a thou- 
sand grone.' 

XIII. 

Th' enchaunter greatly joyed in the 
vaunt. 
And weened well ere long his will to win, 



And both his foen with equall foyle to 
daunt. 

Tho to him louting lowly did begin 

To plaiue of wronges, which had com- 
mitted bin 

By Guyon, and by that false Redcrosse 
knight ; 

Which two, through treason and deceipt- 
full gin. 

Had slayne Sir Mordant and his Lady 
bright : 

That mote him honour win to wreak so 
foule despight. 



Therewith all suddeinly he seemd en- 

ragd. 
And threatned death with dreadf ull coun- 

tenaunce. 
As if their lives had in his hand beene 

gagd; 
And with stiffe force shaking his mortall 

launce. 
To let him weet his doughtie valiaunce, 
Thus said: * Old man great sure shal be 

thy meed, 
If, where those knights for feare of dew 

vengeaunce 
Doe lurke, thou certeinly to mee areed. 
That I may wreake on them their hainous 

hatefull deed.' 



* Certes, my Lord,' (said he) * that shall 
I soone. 

And give you eke good helpe to their de- 
cay. 

But mote I wisely you advise to doon, 

Give no ods to your foes, but doe purvay 

Your selfe of sword before that bloody 
day; 

For they be two the prowest knights on 
grownd, 

And oft approv'd in many hard assay ; 

And eke of surest Steele that may be 
fownd, 

Do arme your self against that day, them 
to confownd.* 

XVI. 

' Dotard,' (said he) * let be thy deepe 

advise : 
Seemes that through many yeares thy wits 

thee faile. 
And that weake eld hath left thee nothing 

wise; 
Els never should thy judgement be so 

frayle 
To measure manhood by the sword or 

mayle. 



CANTO III.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



119 



Is not enough fowre quarters of a man, 
AVithouten "sword or shield, an hoste to 



quayle ? 
li 



Thou litle wotest what this right-hand 

can: 
Speake they which have beheld the bat- 

tailes which it wan.' 

XVII. 

The man was much abashed at his 

boast; 
Yet well he wist that whoso would contend 
With either of those knightes on even 

coast, 
Should neede of all his armes him to de- 
fend. 
Yet feared least his boldnesse should 

offend, 
When Braggadocchio saide ; ' Once I did 

sweare, 
When with one sword seven knightes I 

brought to end, 
Thenceforth in battaile never sword to 

beare. 
But it were that which noblest knight on 

earth doth weare.' 

XVIII. 

' Perdy, Sir knight,' saide then th' en- 

chaunter blive, 
'That shall I shortly purchase to your 

bond; 
For now the best and noblest knight alive 
Prince Arthur is, that wonnes in Faerie 

lond: 
He hath a sword that flames like burning 

brond. 
The same by my device I undertake 
Shall by to morrow by thy side be fond.' 
At which bold word that boaster gan to 

quake. 
And wondred in his minde what mote 

that Monster make. 



He stayd not for more bidding, but away 
Was suddein vanished out of his sight : 
The Northerne winde his wings did broad 

display 
At his commaund, and reared him up 

light 
From off the earth to take his aerie flight. 
They lookt about, but nowhere could es- 

pye 

Tract of his foot : then dead through great 

affright 
They both nigh were, and each bad other 

flye: 
Both fled attonce, ne ever backe retourned 

eye; 



Till that they come unto a forrest greene, 
In which they shrowd themselves from 

causeles feare ; 
Yet feare them followes still where so 

they beeue : 
Each trembling leafe and whistling wind 

they heare, 
As ghastly bug, does greatly them affeare ; 
Yet both doe strive their fearefulnesse to 

faine. 
At last they heard a home that shrilled 

cleare 
Throughout the wood that ecchoed againe. 
And made the forrest ring, as it would 

rive in twain e. 



Eft through the thicke they heard one 

rudely rush. 
With noyse whereof he from his loftie 

steed 
Downe fell to ground, and crept into a 

bush. 
To hide his coward head from dying dreed : 
But Trompart stoutly stayd to taken heed 
Of what might hap. Eftsoone there 

stepped foorth 
A goodly Ladie clad in hunters weed. 
That seemd to be a woman of great worth, 
And by her stately portance borne of 

heavenly birth. 

XXII. 

Her face so faire as flesh it seemed not, 
But heveuly pourtraict of bright Angels 

hew, 
Cleare as the skye, withouten blame or 

blot. 
Through goodly mixture of complexions 

dew; 
And in her cheekes the vermeill red did 

shew 
Like roses in a bed of lilies shed. 
The which ambrosiall odours from them 

threw, 
And gazers sence with double pleasure 

fed, 
Hable to heale the sicke, and to revive 

the ded. 



In her faire eyes two living lamps did 

flame, 
Kindled above at th' hevenly makers light, 
And darted fyrie beames out of the same. 
So passing persant, and so wondrous 

bright. 
That quite bereav'd the rash beholders 

sight: 



I20 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book II. 



In them the blinded god his lustf all fyre 
To kindle oft assayd, but had no might; 
For, with dredd Majestie and awfull yre, 
She broke his wanton darts, and quenched 
bace desyre. 



Her yvorie forhead, full of bountie 

brave, 
Like a broad table did it selfe dispred, 
For Love his loftie triumphes to engrave, 
And write the battailes of his great god- 

hed: 
All good and honour might therein be red, 
For there their dwelling was. And, when 

she spake, 
Sweete wordes like dropping honny she 

did shed ; 
And twixt the perles and rubins softly 

brake 
A silver sound, that heavenly musicke 

seemd to make. 



Upon her eyelids many Graces sate, 
Under the shadow of her even browes. 
Working belgardes and amorous retrate ; 
And everie one her with a grace endowes. 
And everie one with meekenesse to her 

bowes. 
So glorioiis mirrhour of celestiall grace. 
And soveraine monimentof mortall vowes, 
How shall f rayle pen descrive her heav- 
enly face, 
For feare, through want of skill, her 
beauty to disgrace ? 



So faire, and thousand thousand times 

more faire. 
She seemd, when she presented was to 

sight ; 
And was yclad, for heat of scorching aire, 
All in a silken Camus lilly whight, 
Purfled upon with many a folded plight, 
Which all above besprinckled was 

throughout 
With golden aygulets, that glistred bright 
Like twinckling starres ; and all the skirt 

about 
Was hemd with golden fringe. 



Below her ham her weed did somewhat 

trayne. 
And her streight legs most bravely were 

embayld 
In gilden buskins of costly Cordwayne, 
All bard with golden bendes, which were 

entayld 



With curious antickes, and full fayre 

aumayld : 
Before, they fastned were under her 

knee 
In a rich Jewell, and therein entrayld 
The ends of all the knots, that none might 

see 
How they within their fouldings close 

enwrapped bee : 

XXVIII. 

Like two faire marble pillours they were 

scene. 
Which doe the temple of the Gods sup- 
port. 
Whom all the people decke with girlands 

greene, 
And honour in their festivall resort ; 
Those same with stately grace and princely 

port 
She taught to tread, when she herself e 

would grace ; 
But with the woody Nymphes when she 

did play. 
Or when the flying Libbard she did chace, 
She could them nimbly move, and after 

fly apace. 



And in her hand a sharpe bore-speare she 
held, 
And at her backe a bow and quiver gay, 
Stuft with steele-headed dartes, where- 
with she queld 
The salvage beastes in her victorious 

play, 
Knit with a golden bauldricke, which fore- 
lay 
Athwart her snowy brest, and did divide 
Her daintie paps; which, like young fruit 

in May, 
Now little gan to swell, and being tide 
Through her thin weed their places only 
siguifide. 

XXX. 

Her yellow lockes, crisped like golden 
wyre, 
About her shoulders weren loosely shed, 
And, when the winde emongst them did 

in spy re, 
They waved like a penon wyde dispred, 
And low behinde her backe were scattered : 
And, whether art it were or heedlesse 

hap, 
As through the flouring forrest rash she 

fled. 
In her rude heares sweet flowres them- 
selves did lap. 
And flourishing fresh leaves and blos- 
somes did enwrap. 



CANTO III.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



121 



Such as Diana by the sandy shore 
Of swift Eurotas, or on Cynthus greene, 
Where all the Nymphes have her unwares 

forlore, 
Wandreth alone with bow and arrowes 

keene, 
To seeke her game: Or as that famous 

Queene 
Of Amazons, whom Pyrrhus did destroy, 
The day that first of Priame she was 

seene, 
Did shew her seKe in great triumphant 

joy. 

To succour the weake state of sad afflicted 
Troy. 

XXXII. 

Such when as hartlesse Trompart her 

did vew, 
He was dismayed in his coward minde. 
And doubted whether he himselfe should 

shew, 
Or fly away, or bide alone behinde ; 
Both feare and hope he in her face did 

finde: 
When she at last him spying thus be- 



' Hayle, Groome ! didst not thou see a 

bleeding Hynde, 
Whose right haunch earst my stedfast 

arrow strake ? 
If thou didst, tell me, that I may her 

overtake.' 

xxxm. 
WTierewith reriv'd, this answere forth 

he threw : 
' O Goddesse, (for such I thee take to bee) 
For nether doth thy face terrestriall 

shew, 
Nor voyce sound mortall ; I avow to thee, 
Such wounded beast as that I did not see, 
Sith earst into this forrest wild I came. 
But mote thy goodlyhed forgive it mee, 
To weete which of the gods I shall thee 

name. 
That unto thee dew worship I may rightly 

frame.' 

xxxiv. 
To whom she thus — but ere her words 

ensewd. 
Unto the bush her eye did suddein glaunce, 
In which vaine Braggadocchio was mewd, 
And saw it stirre : she lefte her percing 

launce, 
And towards gan a deadly shafte 

advaunce, 
In mind to marke the beast. At which 

sad stowre 
Trompart forth stept to stay the mortall 

chaunce, 



Out crying; 'O! what ever hevenly 

powre, 
Or earthly wight thou be, withhold this 

deadly howre. 

XXXV. 

' O ! stay thy hand ; for yonder is no 

game 
For thy fiers arrowes, them to exercize ; 
But loe! my Lord, my liege, whose war- 
like name 
Is far renowmd through many bold 

emprize ; 
And now in shade he shrowded yonder 

lies.' 
She staid : with that he crauld out of his 

nest. 
Forth creeping on his caitive hands and 

thies ; 
And, standing stoutly up, his lofty crest 
Did fiercely shake, and rowze as comming 

late from rest. 

XXXVI. 

As fearfull fowle, that long in secret 

cave 
For dread of soring hauke her selfe hath 

hid, 
Nor caring how, her silly life to save. 
She her gay painted plumes disorderid ; 
Seeing at last her selfe from daunger rid, 
Peepes forth, and soone renews her native 

pride : 
She gins her feathers fowle disfigured 
Prowdly to prune, and sett on every side ; 
She shakes off shame, ne thinks how erst 

she did her hide. 



So when her goodly visage he beheld. 
He gan himselfe to vaunt : but, when he 

vewd 
Those deadly tooles which in her hand she 

held, 
Soone into other fitts he was transmewd, 
Till she to him her gracious speach 

renewd : 
' All haile. Sir knight ! and well may thee 

befall, 
As all the like, which honor have pursewd 
Through deeds of armes and prowesse 

martiall. 
All vertue merits praise, but such the 

most of all.' 

xxxvrn. 

To whom he thus : ' O fairest under 
skie! 
Trew be thy words, and worthy of thy 
praise, 



122 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book II. 



That warlike feats doest highest glorifie. 
Therein I have spent all my youthly 

dales, 
And many battailes fought and many 

fraies 
Throughout the world, wher-so they might 

be found, 
Endevoring my dreaded name to raise 
Above the Mooue, that fame may it 

resound 
In her eternall tromp, with laurell girlond 

cround. 

XXXIX. 

* But what art thou, O Lady ! which 

doest raunge 
In this wilde forest, where no pleasure is, 
And doest not it for joyous court 

exchauuge, 
Emongst thine equall peres, where happy 

blis 
And all delight does raigne, much more 

then this ? 
There thou maist love, and dearly loved 

be, 
And swim in pleasure, which thou here 

doest mis : 
There maist thou best be scene, and best 

maist see : 
The wood is fit for beasts, the court is 

fitt for thee.' 



* Who-so in pompe of prowd estate ' 

(quoth she) 
'Does swim, and bathes him selfe in 

courtly blis, 
Does waste his dayes in darke obscuritee, 
And in oblivion ever buried is ; 
Where ease abownds yt's eath to doe amis : 
But who his limbs with labours^ and his 

mynd 
Behaves with cares, cannot so easy mis. 
Abroad in armes, at home in studious 

kynd. 
Who seekes with painfull toile shall honor 

soonest fynd : 



'In woods, in waves, in warres, she 

wonts to dwell, 
And wil be found with perill and with 

paine ; 
Ne can the man that moulds in ydle cell 
Unto her happy mansion attaine : 
Before her gate high God did Sweate 

ordaine, 
And wakefull watches ever to abide ; 
But easy is the way and passage plaine 
To pleasures pallace : it may scone be 

spide, 



And day and night her dores to all stand 
open wide. 

XLII. 

' In Princes court ' — the rest she would 

have sayd. 
But that the foolish man, fild with 

delight 
Of her sweete words that all his seuce 

dismayd, 
And with her wondrous beauty ravisht 

quight, 
Gan burne in filthy lust; and, leaping 

light. 
Thought in his bastard armes her to 

embrace. 
With that she, swarving backe, her 

Javelin bright 
Against him bent, and fiercely did menace : 
So turned her about, and fled away apace. 

XLIII. 

Which when the Pesaunt saw, amazd 

he stood, 
ALnd grieved at her flight; yet durst he 

nott 
Pursew her steps through wild unknowen 

wood: 
Besides he feard her wrath, and threatned 

shott, 
Whiles in the bush he lay, not yett 

f orgott : 
Ne car'd he greatly for her presence 

vayne, 
But turning said to Trompart ; ' What 

fowle blott 
Is this to knight, that Lady should 

agayne 
Depart to woods untoucht, and leave so 

proud disdayne.' 

XLIV. 

' Perdy,' (said Trompart) * lett her pas 

at will, 
Least by her presence daunger mote 

befall ; 
For who can tell (and sure I feare it ill) 
But that shee is some powre celestiall ? 
For whiles she spake her great words did 

appall 
My feeble corage, and my heart oppresse. 
That yet I quake and tremble over-all.' 
' And I,' (said Braggadocchio) ' thought 

no lesse, 
When first I heard her horn sound with 

such ghastlinesse. 



' For from my mothers wombe this 
grace I have 
Me given by eternall destiny, 



CANTO III.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



123 



That earthly thing may not my corage 

hrave 
Dismay with f eare, or cause one foot to flye, 
But either hellish f eeuds, or powres on hye : 
Which was the cause, when earst that 

home I heard, 
Weening it had heeue thunder in the skye, 
I hid my selfe from it, as one affeard ; 
But, when I other knew, my self I boldly 

reard. 

XLVI. 

' But now, for feare of worse that jnay 
betide. 



Let us soone hence depart,' They soone 

agree : 
So to his steed he gott, and gan to ride 
As one unfitt tlierefore, that all might 

see 
He had not trayned bene in chevalree. 
Which well that valiaunt courser did 

discerne ; 
For he despisd to tread in dew degree, 
But chaufd and fom'd with corage fiers 

and Sterne, 
And to be easd of that base burden still 

did erne. 



CANTO IV. 

Guyon does Furor bind in chaines. 

And stops occasion : 
Delivers Phaon, and therefore 

By strife Is rayld uppon. 



In brave poursuitt of honorable deed. 
There is I know not (what) great 

difference 
Betweeue the vulgar and the noble seed, 
Which unto things of valorous pretence 
Seemes to be borne by native influence ; 
As feates of armes, and love to entertaiue : 
But chiefly skill to ride seemes a science 
Proper to gentle blood : some others faine 
To menage steeds, as did this vaunter, 

but" in vaine. 

II. 

But he, the rightfull owner of that steede, 
Who well could menage and subdew his 

pride, 
The whiles on foot was forced for to yeed 
With that blacke Palmer, his most trusty 

guide. 
Who suffred not hiswandring feete to slide ; 
But Avhen strong passion, or weake flesh- 

linesse. 
Would from the right way seeke to draw 

him wide. 
He would, through temperaunce and sted- 

fastuesse. 
Teach him the weak to strengthen, and 

the strong suppresse. 



It fortuned, forth faring on his way. 
He saw from far, or seemed for to see, 
Some troublous uprore or contentious fray. 
Whereto he drew in hast it to agree. 
A mad man, or that feigned mad to bee, 
Drew by the heare along upon the grownd 
A handsom stripling with great cruel tee, 



Whom sore he bett, and gor'd with many 

awownd, 
That cheekes with teares, and sydes with 

blood, did all abownd. 



And him behynd a wicked Hag did 

stalke, 
In ragged robes and filthy disaray ; 
Her other leg was lame, that she no'te 

walke. 
But on a staffe her feeble steps did stay : 
Her lockes, that loathly were and hoarie 

gray, 
Grew all afore, and loosely hong unrold ; 
But all behinde was bald, and worne away. 
That none thereof could ever taken 

hold ; 
And eke her face ill-favourd, full of 

wrinckles old. 



And ever as she went her toung did 
walke 

In fowle reproch, and termes of vile 
despight, 

Provoking him, by her outrageous talke. 

To heape more vengeance on that wretched 
wight : 

Sometimes she raught him stones, wher- 
with to smite. 

Sometimes her staffe, though it her one 
leg were, 

Withouten which she could not goe up- 
right ; 

Ne any evill meanes she did forbeare, 

That might him move to wrath, and indig- 
nation reare. 



124 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book II. 



The noble Guyon, mov'd with great 

remorse, 
Approchiug, first the Hag did thrust away ; 
And after, adding more impetuous forse, 
His miglity hands did on the madman lay, 
And pUickt him backe; who, all on fire 

streight way, 
Against him turning all his fell intent, 
With beastly brutish rage gan him assay, 
And smott, and bitt, and kickt, and 

scratcht, and rent, 
And did he wist not what in his avenge- 

ment. 

VII. 

And sure he was a man of mickle might, 
Had he had governaunceit well to guyde ; 
But, when the frantick fitt inflamd his 

spright, 
His force was vaine, and strooke more 

often wyde, 
Then at the aymed marke which he had 

eyde: 
And oft himselfe he chaunst to hurt 

unwares, 
Whylest reason, blent through passion, 

nought descryde ; 
But, as a blindfold Bull, at randon fares, 
And where he hits nought knowes, and 

whom he hurts nought cares. 



His rude assault and rugged handeling 
Straunge seemed to the knight, that aye 

with foe 
In fay re defence and goodly menaging 
Of armes was wont to figlit ; yet uathemoe 
Was he abashed now, not fighting so ; 
But more enfierced through his currish 

play, 
Him sternly grypt, and hailing to and fro, 
To overthrow him strongly did assay. 
But overthrew him selfe unwares, and 

lower lay : 

IX. 

And being downe the villein sore did 

beate 
And bruze with clownish fistes his manly 

face; 
And eke the Hag, with many a bitter 

threat. 
Still cald upon to kill him in the place. 
With whose reproch, and odious menace, 
The knight emboyling in his haughtie 

hart 
Kuitt all his forces, and gan soone unbrace 
His grasping hold : so lightly did upstart, 
And drew his deadly weapon to maintaine 

his part. 



Which when the Palmer saw, he loudly 
cryde, 
' Not so, O Guyon ! never thinke that so 
That Monster can be maistred or de- 

stroyd : 
He is not, ah! he is not such a foe, 
As Steele can wound, or strength can over- 
throe. 
That same is Furor, cursed cruel wight. 
That unto knighthood workes much shame 

- and woe ; 
And that same Hag, his aged mother, hight 
Occasion ; the roote of all wrath and 
despight. 

XI. 

* With her, whoso will raging Furor 

tame. 
Must first begin, and well her amenage : 
First her restraine from her reprochfull 

blame 
And evill meanes, with which she doth 

enrage 
Her frantick sonne, and kindles his corage ; 
Then, when she is withdrawne or strong 

withstood. 
It's eath his ydle fury to aswage, 
And calme the tempest of his passion wood : 
The bankes are overflowne when stopped 

is the flood.' 

XII. 

Therewith Sir Guyon left his first em- 
prise. 
And, turning to that woman, fast her hent 
By the hoare lockes that hong before her 

eyes, 
And to the ground her threw : yet n'ould 

she stent 
Her bitter rayling and foule revilement. 
But still provokt her sonne to wreake her 

wrong ; 
But nathelesse he did her still torment, 
And, catching hold of her ungratious tonge 
Thereon an yron lock did fasten firme and 
strong. 

XIII. 

Then, whenas use of speach was from 

her reft. 
With her two crooked handes she signes 

did make, 
And beckned him, the last help she had 

left ; 
But he that last left helpe away did take, 
And both her handes fast bound unto a 

stake. 
That she note stirre. Then gan her sonne 

to flye 
Full fast away, and did her quite forsake ; 
But Guyon after him in hast did hye, 



CANTO IV.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



125 



And soone him overtooke in sad per- 
plexitye. 

XIV. 

In his strong armes he stifly him em- 
bras te, 
Who him gainstriving nought at all pre- 

vaild ; 
For all his power was utterly defaste, 
And furious fitts at earst quite weren 

quaild : 
Oft he re'nforst, and oft his forces fayld, 
Yet yield he would not, nor his rancor 

slack. 
Then him to ground he cast, and rudely 

hay Id, 
And both his hands fast bound behind his 

backe, 
And both his feet in fetters to an yron 

racke. 

XV. 

With hundred yron chaines he did him 

bind, 
And hundred knots, that did him sore 

constraine ; 
Yet his great yron teeth he still did grind 
And grimly gnash, threatniug revenge in 

vaine : 
His burning eyen, whom bloody strakes 

did stain e, 
Stared full wide, and threw forth sparkes 

of f yre ; 
And more for ranck despight then for 

great paine, 
Shakt his long locks colourd like copper- 

wyre. 
And bitt his tawny beard to shew his 

raging yre. 

XVI. 

Thus when as Guy on Furor had captivd, 
Turning about he saw that wretched 

Squyre, 
Whom that mad man of life nigh late 

deprivd. 
Lying on ground, all.soild with blood and 

myre : 
Whom whenas he perceived to respyre. 
He gan to comfort, and his woundes to 

dresse. 
Being at last recured, he gan inquyre 
What hard mishap him brought to such 

distresse. 
And made that caytives thrall, the thrall 

of wretcheduesse. 

xvir. 

With hart then throbbing, and with 
watry eyes, 
' Fayre Sir ' (quoth he) ' what man can 
shun the hap. 



That hidden lyes un wares him to surpryse? 
Misfortune waites advantage to enti-ap 
The man most wary in her whelming lap : 
So me weake wretch, of many weakest one, 
Unweeting and unware of such mishap, 
She brought to mischiefe through Occa- 
sion 
Where this same wicked villein did me 
light upon. 

XVIII. 

' It was a faithlesse Squire, that was the 

sourse 
Of all my sorrow and of these sad teares, 
With whom from tender dug of commune 

nourse 
Attonce I was upbrought ; and eft, when 

yeares 
More rype us reason lent to chose our 

Peares, 
Our selves in league of vowed love wee 

knitt ; 
In which we long time, without gealous 

feares 
Or faultie thoughts, contynewd as was 

fitt; 
And for my part, I vow, dissembled not 

a whitt. 

XIX. 

' It was my fortune, commune to that 

age, 
To love a Lady fayre of great degree. 
The which was borne of noble parentage. 
And set in highest seat of dignitee, 
Yet seemd no lesse to love then lov'd to 

bee: 
Long I her serv'd, and found her faithfull 

still, 
Ne ever thing could cause us disagree. 
Love, that two harts makes one, makes 

eke one will ; 
Each strove to please, and others pleasure 

to fulfill. 

XX. 

* My friend, hight Philemon, I did par- 
take 
Of all my love and all my privitie ; 
Who greatly joyous seemed for my sake, 
And gratious to that Lady as to mee ; 
Ne ever wight that mote so welcome bee 
As he to her, withouten blott or blame ; 
Ne ever thing that she could think or see, 
But unto hini she would impart the same. 
O wa-etched man, that would abuse so 
gentle Dame! 



' At last such grace I found , and meanes 
I wrought. 
That I that Lady to my spouse had wonne ; 



126 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book II. 



Accord of friendes, consent of Parents 
sought, 

Affyaunce made, my happinesse begonne, 

There wanted nought but few rites to be 
donne, 

Which mariage make : that day too farre 
did seeme. 

Most joyous man, on whom the shining 
Sunne 

Did shew his face, my selfe I did esteeme, 

And that my falser friend did no less joy- 
ous deeme. 

XXII. 

'But ear that wished day his beame 

disclosd. 
He, either envying my toward good, 
Or of him selfe to treason ill disposd, 
One day unto me came in friendly mood, 
And told for secret, how he understood 
That Lady, whom I had to me assynd, 
Had both distaind her honorable blood, 
And eke the faith which she to me did 

bynd; 
And therefore wisht me stay till I more 

truth should fynd. 



' The gnawing anguish, and sharpgelosy. 
Which his sad speach infixed in my brest, 
Ranckled so sore, and festred inwardly. 
That my engreeved mind could find no 

rest, 
Till that the truth thereof I did out wrest ; 
And him besought, by that same sacred 

band 
Betwixt us both, to counsell me the best : 
He then with solemne oath and plighted 

hand 
Assurd, ere long the truth to let me under- 
stand. 

XXIV. 

* Ere long with like againe he boorded 

mee, 
Saying, he now had boulted all the floure, 
And that it was a groome of base degree. 
Which of my love was partener Para- 

moure : 
Who used in a darkesome inner bowre 
Her oft to meete : which better to approve. 
He promised to bring me at that howre. 
When I should see that would me nearer 

move, 
And drive me to withdraw my blind 

abused love. 



'This gracelesse man, for furtherance 
of his guile. 
Did court the handmayd of my Lady 
deare, 



Who, glad t' embosome his affection vile. 
Did all she might more pleasing to appeare. 
One day, to worke her to his will more 

neare. 
He woo'd her thus : Pryene, (so she hight,) 
What great despight doth fortune to thee 

beare. 
Thus lowly to abase thy beautie bright. 
That it should not deface all others lesser 

light? 

XXVI. 

* But if she had her least helpe to thee 

lent, 
T' adorne thy forme according thy desart, 
Their blazing pride thou wouldest soone 

have blent. 
And staynd their prayses with thy least 

good part ; 
Ne should f aire Claribell with all her art, 
Tho' she thy Lady be, approch thee neare : 
For proofe thereof, this evening, as thou 

art, 
Aray thyselfe in her most gorgeous geare, 
That I may more delight in thy embrace- 

ment deare. 



* The Mayden, proud through praise and 
mad through love. 
Him hearkned to, and soone her selfe 

arayd. 
The whiles to me the treachour did re- 
move 
His craftie engin ; and, as he had sayd, 
Me leading, in a secret corner layd. 
The sad spectatour of my Tragedie : 
Where left, he went, and his owne false 

part playd. 
Disguised like that groome of base degree. 
Whom he had feignd th' abuser of my 
love to bee. 



' Eftsoones he came unto th' appointed 

place, 
And with him brought Pryene, rich 

arayd. 
In Claribellaes clothes. Her proper 

face 
I not descerned in that darkesome shade. 
But weend it was my love with whom he 

playd. 
Ah God! what horrour and tormenting 

griefe 
My hart, my handes, mine efes, and all 

assayd ! 
Me liefer were ten thousand deathes 

priefe 
Then wounde of gealous worme, and 

shame of such repriefe. 



CANTO IV.] 



THE FAERIE QUEEXE. 



127 



' I home retourniug, fraught -with fowle 

despight, 
And chawing yengeaunce all the ^^ay I 

went, 
Soone as my loathed love appeard m 

sight, 
"With wrathfull hand I slew her innocent, 
That after soone I dearely did lament ; 
For, when the cause of that outrageous 

deede 
Demaunded, I made plaine and evident, 
Her faultie Handmayd, which that bale 

did breede, 
Conf est how Philemon her wrought to 

chaunge her weede. 



'"Which when I heard, with horrible 

affright 
And hellish fury all enragd, I sought 
Upon myselfe that vengeable despight 
To punish : yet it better first I thought 
To wreake my wrath on him that first it 

wrought : 
To Philemon, false faytour Philemon, 
I cast to pay that I so dearely bought. 
Of deadly drugs I gave him drinke anon, 
And washt away his guilt with guilty 

potion. 

XXXI. 

' Thus heaping crime on crime, and 

griefe on griefe, 
To losse of love adjoyning losse of 

frend, 
I meant to purge both with a third mis- 

chiefe, 
And in my woes beginner it to end : 
That was Pryeue : she did first offend, 
She last should smart : with which cruell 

intent. 
When I at her my murdrous blade did 

bend. 
She fled away with ghastly dreriment, 
And I, poursewing my fell purpose, after 

went. 

XXXII. 

' Feare gave her wtnges, and rage en- 

forst my flight ; 
Through woods and plaines so long I did 

her chace, 
Till this mad man, whom your victorious 

might 
Hath now fast bound, me met in middle 

space. 
As I her. so he me poursewd apace. 
And shortly overtooke : I, breathing yre, 
Sore chauffed at my stay in such a cace, 
And with my heat kindled his cruell fyre ; 



Which kindled once, his mother did more 
rage inspyre. 



' Betwixt them both they have me doen 
to dye, 
Through wounds, and strokes, and stub- 
borne handeling. 
That death were better then such agony 
As griefe and fury unto me did bring ; 
Of which in me yet stickes the mortall 

sting. 
That during life will never be appeasd ! ' 
When he thus ended had his sorrowing, 
Said Guy on : ' Squyre, sore have ye beene 

diseasd. 
But all your hurts may soone through 
temperance be easd.' 

xxxrv. 
Then gan the Palmer thus ; ' Most 

wretched man. 
That to affections does the bridle lend ! 
In their beginning they are weake and 

wan, 
But soone through suff'rance growe to 

fearefull end: 
Whiles they are weake, betimes with 

them contend ; 
For, when they once to perfect strength 

do grow. 
Strong warres they make, and cruell 

"battry bend 
Gainst fort of Reason, it to overthrow: 
Wrath, gelosy, griefe, love, this Squyre 

have laide thus low. 

XXXV. 

' Wrath, gealosie, griefe, love, do thus 

expell : 
Wrath is a fire ; and gealosie a weede ; 
Griefe is a flood ; and love a monster fell ; 
The fire of sparkes, the weede of little 

seede. 
The flood of drops, the Monster filth did 

breede : 
But sparks, seed, drops, and filth, do thus 

delay ; 
The sparks soone quench, the springing 

seed outweed, 
The drops dry up, and filth wipe cleane 

away : 
So shall wrath, gealosy, griefe, love, die 

and decay.' 

XXXVI. 

'Unlucky Squire,' (saide Guyou) ' sith 
thou hast 
Fahie into mischiefe through intemper- 
aunce. 



128 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book II. 



Henceforth take heede of that thou now 

hast past, 
And guyde thy waies with warie gov- 

ernamice, 
Least worse betide thee by some later 

chaunce. 
But read how art thou nam'd, and of 

what kin?' 
' Phaou I hight,' (quoth he) ' and do ad- 

vaunce 
Mine auncestry from famous Coradin, 
Who first to rayse our house to honour 

did begin. 

XXXVII. 

Thus as he spake, lo! far away they 

spyde 
A varlet ronning towardes hastily, 
Whose flying feet so fast their way ap- 

plyde. 
That round about a cloud of dust did fly, 
Which, mingled all with sweate, did dim 

his eye. 
He soone approched, panting, breathlesse, 

whot. 
And all so soy Id that none could him 

descry : 
His countenaunce was bold, and bashed 

not 
For Guy on s lookes, but scornefull eye- 

glaunce at him shot. 

XXXVIII. 

Behind his backe he bore a brasen 

shield, 
On which was drawen faire, in colours 

fit, 
A flaming fire in midst of bloody field, 
And round about the wreath this word 

was writ. 
Burnt I doe burne. Right well beseemed 

it 
To be the shield of some redoubted knight ; 
And in his hand two dartes, exceeding 

flit 
And deadly sharp, he held, whose heads 

were dight 
In poyson and in blood of malice and 

despight. 

XXXLX. 

When he in presence came, to Guyon 
first 

He boldly spake ; ' Sir knight, if knight 
thou bee. 

Abandon this forestalled place at erst, 

For feare of further harme, I counsell 
thee ; 

Or bide the chaunce at thine owne jeo- 
pardee.' 

The knight at his great boldnesse won- 
dered ; 



And, though he scornd his ydle vanitee. 
Yet mildly him to purpose answered ; 
For not to grow of nought he it conjec- 
tured. 

XL. 

' Varlet, this place most dew to me I 

deeme. 
Yielded by him that held it forcibly : 
But whence should come that harme, 

which thou dost seeme 
To threat to him that mindes his chaunce 

t' abye ? ' 

* Perdy,' (sayd he) * here comes, and is 

hard by, 

A knight of wondrous powre and great 
assay. 

That never yet encountred enemy 

But did him deadly daunt, or fowle dis- 
may; 

Ne thou for better hope, if thou his pres- 
ence stay.' 

XLI. 

* How hight he then, ' (sayd Guyon) 
* and from whence ? ' 

* Pyrochles is his name, renowmed farre 
For his bold feates and hardy confidence. 
Full oft appro vd in many a cruell warre ; 
The brother of Cj^mochles, both which arre 
The sonnes of old Aerates and Despight ; 
Aerates, sonne of Phlegeton and Jarre ; 
But Phlegeton is sonne of Herebus and 

Night; 
But Herebus sonne of Aeternitle is hight. 



* So from immortall race he does pro- 
ceede. 

That mortall hands may not withstand 
his might, 

Drad for his derring doe and bloody deed ; 

For all in blood and spoile is his delight. 

His am I Atin, his in wrong and right. 

That matter make for him to worke upon. 

And stirre him up to strife and cruell 
fight. 

Fly therefore, fly this fearefull stead 
anon. 

Least thy foolhardize worke thy sad con- 
fusion.' 

XLIII. 

'His be that care, whom most it doth 

concern e,' 
(Sayd he) * but whither Mith such hasty 

flight 
Art thou now bownd? for well mote I 

discerne 
Great cause, that carries thee so swifte 

and light.' 
* My Lord,' (quoth he) 'me sent, and 

streight behight 



CANTO IV.] 



THE FAERIE QUEEN E. 



129 



To seeke Occasion, where so she bee : 
For he is all disposd to bloody fight, 
And breathes out wrath and hainous 

crueltee : 
Hard is his hap that first fals in his jeop- 

ardee.' 

XLIV. 

* Mad man,' (said then the Palmer) 

' that does seeke 
Occasion to wrath, and cause of strife: 
Shee comes unsought, and shonned f ol- 
io wes eke. 
Happy ! who can abstains, when Rancor 

rife 
Kindles Revenge, and threats his rusty 

knife. 
Woe never wants where every cause is 

caught ; 
And rash Occasion makes unquiet life ! ' 
' Then loe ! wher bound she sits, whom 

thou hast sought,' 
Said Guyon : ' let that message to thy Lord 

be brought.' 

XLV. 

That when the varlett heard and saw, 
streight way 
He wexed wondrous wroth, and said ; 
* Vile knight, 



That knights and knighthood doest with 

shame upbray, 
And shewst th' ensample of thy childishe 

might, 
With silly weake old woman that did 

fight! 
Great glory and gay spoile, sure hast thou 

gott. 
And stoutly prov'd thy puissaunce here 

in sight. 
That shall Pyrochles well requite, I wott, 
And with thy blood abolish so reproch- 

fuU blott.' 



With that one of his thrillant darts he 

threw, 
Headed with yre and vengeable despight. 
The quivering Steele his aymed end wel 

knew. 
And to his brest it selfe intended right : 
But he was wary, and, ere it empight 
In the meant marke, advaunst his shield 

atweene, 
On which it seizing no way enter might, 
But backe rebownding left the forckhead 

keene : 
Eftsoones he fled away, and might no 

where be seene. 



CANTO V. 

PjTochles does with Guyon fight. 
And Furors chayne untyes, 

Who him sore wounds : whiles Atin to 
Cymochles for ayd flyes. 



I. 

Who ever doth to temperaunce apply 
His stedfast life, and all his actions 

frame. 
Trust me, shal find no greater enimy 
Then stubborne perturbation to the 

same; 
To which right wel the wise doe give that 

name. 
For it the goodly peace of staled mindes 
Does overthrow, and troublous warre 

proclame : 
His owne woes author, who so bound it 

findes, 
As did Pyrochles, and it wilfully unbindes. 

II. 

After that varlets flight, it was not 

long 
Ere on the plain e fast pricking Guyon 

spide 
One in bright armes embatteiled full 

strong, 



That, as the Sunny beames do glaunce 
and glide 

Upon the trembling wave, so shined 
bright, 

And round about him threw forth spark- 
ling fire, 

That seerad him to enflame on every side : 

His steed was bloody red, and fomed 
yre. 

When with the maistring spur he did him 
roughly stire. 



Approching nigh, he never staid to 
greete, 

Ne chaff ar words, prow^d corage to pro- 
voke, 

But prickt so fiers, that underneath his 
feete 

The smouldring dust did rownd about him 
smoke, 

Both horse and man nigh able for to 
choke ; 



130 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book II. 



Aud fayrly couching his steeleheaded 

speare, 
Him first saluted with a sturdy stroke: 
It booted nought Sir Guyon, comming 

ueare, 
To thiucke such hideous puissaunce on 

foot to beare ; 

IV. 

But lightly shunned it ; and, passing by, 
With his bright blade did smite at him so 

fell, 
That the sharpe Steele, arriving forcibly 
On his broad shield, bitt not, but glaunc- 

ing fell 
On his horse necke before the quilted sell, 
And from the head the body sundred 

quight. 
So him dismounted low he did compell 
On foot with him to matchen equall fight : 
The truncked beast fast bleeding did him 

fowly dight. 

V. 

Sore bruzed with the fall he slow up- 
rose, 

And all enraged thus him loudly shent; 

' Disleall Knight, whose coward corage 
chose 

To wreake it selfe on beast all innocent, 

And shund the marke at which it should 
be ment; 

Therby thine armes seem strong, but 
manhood fraj^ : 

So hast thou oft with guile thine honor 
blent ; 

But litle may such guile thee now avayl. 

If wonted force and fortune doe me not 
much fayl.' 

VI. 

With that he drew his flaming sword, 

and strooke 
At him so fiercely, that the upper marge 
Of his sevenfolded shield away it tooke, 
And, glauncing on his helmet, made a 

large 
And open gash therein : were not his targe 
Tliat broke the violence of his intent. 
The weary sowle from thence it would 

discharge ; 
Nathelesse so sore a buff to him it lent, 
That made him reele, and to his brest his 

bever bent. 

VII. 

Exceeding wroth was Guyon at that 

blow, 
And much ashamd that stroke of living 

arme 
Should him dismay, and make him stoup 

so low, 



Though otherwise it did him litle harme : 
Tho, hurling high his yron braced arme, 
He smote so manly on his shoulder 

plate. 
That all his left side it did quite disarme ; 
Yet there the steel stayd not, but inly 

bate 
Deepe in his flesh, and opened wide a red 

floodgate. 

VIII. 

Deadly dismayd with horror of that 

dint 
Pyrochles was, and grieved eke en tyre ; 
Yet nathemore did it his fury stint. 
But added flame unto his former fire, 
That wel nigh molt his hart in raging yre : 
Ne thenceforth his approved skill, to 

ward. 
Or strike, or hurtle rownd in warlike gyre, 
Remembred he, ne car'd for his saufgard, 
But rudely rag'd, and like a cruell tygre 

far'd. 



He hewd, and lasht, and foynd, and 

thondred blowes. 
And every way did seeke into his life ; 
Ne plate, ne male, could ward so mighty 

throwes, 
But yeilded passage to his cruell knife. 
But Guyon, in the heat of all his strife, 
Was wary wise, and closely did awayt 
Avauntage, whilest his foe did rage most 

rife: 
Sometimes athwart, sometimes he strook 

him stray t. 
And falsed oft his blowes t' illude him 

with such bayt. 



Like as a Lyon, whose imperiall powre 
A prowd rebellious Unicorn defyes, 
T' avoide the rash assault and wrathful 

stowre 
Of his fiers foe, him to a tree applyes. 
And when him ronning in full course he 

spyes, 
He slips aside; the whiles that furious 

beast 
His precious home, sought of his en- 

imyes, 
Strikes in the stocke, ne thence can be 

releast, 
But to the mighty victor yields a bounte- 
ous feast. 

XI. 

With such faire sleight him Guyon 
often fay Id, 
Till at the last all breathlesse, weary, 
faint. 



CANTO v.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



131 



ODsett he as- 
seeming 



Him spying, witli fresh 

say Id, 
And kindling new his corage 

queiut, 
Strooke him so hugely, that through 

great constraint 
He made him stoup perforce uuto his 

knee, 
And doe unwilling worship to the Sauit, 
That on his shield depainted he did see : 
Such homage till that instant never 

learned hee. 

XII. 

Whom Guyon seeing stoup, poursewed 

fast 
The present offer of faire victory, 
And soone his dreadfull hlade about he 

cast. 
Wherewith he smote his haughty crest so 

That streight on grownd made him full 

low "to lye; 
Then on his brest his victor foote he 

thrust : 
With that he cryde ; ' Mercy ! doe me not 

dye, 
Ne deeme thy farce by fortunes doome 

unjust, 
That hath (maugre her spight) thus low 

me laid in dust.' 



Eftsoones his cruel hand Sir Guyon 

stayd, 
Tempriug the passion with advizement 

slow. 
And maistring might on enimy dismayd ; 
For th' equal! die of warre he well did 

know: 
Then to him said ; * Live, and alleagaunce 

owe 
To him that gives thee life and liberty ; 
And henceforth by this dales ensample 

trow. 
That hasty wroth, and heedlesse hazardry, 
Doe breede repentaunce late, and lasting 
« infamy.' 

XIV. 

So up he let him rise; who, with grim 

looke 
And count'naunce sterne, upstanding, gan 

to grind 
His grated teeth for great disdeigne, and 

shooke 
His sandy lockes, long hanging downe 

behind. 
Knotted in blood and dust, for grief of 

mind 
That he in ods of armes was conquered : 
Yet in himself e some comfort he did find, 



That him so noble knight had maystered ; 
Whose bounty more then might, yet both, 
he wondered. 



Which Guyon 

nought agriev'd, 



XV. 

marking said 



Be 



Sir knight, that thus ye now subdewed 

arre : 
Was never man, who most conquestes 

atchiev'd, 
But sometimes had the worse, and lost by 

warre. 
Yet shortly gaynd that losse exceeded 

farre. 
Losse is no shame, nor to bee lesse then 

foe; 
But to bee lesser then himselfe doth 

marre 
Both loosers lott, and victours prayse 

alsoe : 
Vaine others overthrowes who selfe doth 

overthrow. 



'Fly, O Pyrochles! fly the dreadfull 
warre 

That in thy selfe thy lesser partes do 
move; 

Outrageous anger, and woe-working jarre, 

Direfull impatience, and hart-murdriug 
love : 

Those, those thy foes, those warriours far 
remove, 

Which thee to endlesse bale captived lead. 

But sith in m.ight thou didst my mercy 
prove. 

Of courtesie to mee the cause aread 

That thee against me drew with so im- 
petuous dread. 

XVII. 

' Dreadlesse,' (said he) ' that shall I 
soone declare. 

It was complaiud that thou hadst done 
great tort 

Unto an aged woman, poore and bare, 

And thralled her in chaines with strong- 
effort, 

Voide of all succour and needfull comfort ; 

That ill beseemes thee, such as I thee see, 

To worke such shame. Therefore, I thee 
exhort 

To chaunge thy will, and set Occasion 
free. 

And to her captive sonne yield his first 
libertee.' 



XVIII. 



Thereat Sir Guyon smylde; 
that all,' 



And is 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book II. 



(Said he) ' that thee so sore displeased 

hath? 
Great mercy, sure, for to enlarge a thrall. 
Whose freedom shall thee turne to great- 
est scatli! 
Nath'lesse now quench thy whott emboyl- 

ing wrath : 
Loe ! there they bee ; to thee I yield them 

free.' 
Thereat he, wondrous glad, out of the 

path 
Did lightly leape, where he them bound 

did see. 
And gan to breake the bands of their 

captivitee. 

XIX. 

Soone as Occasion felt her selfe untyde, 
Before her sonne could well assoyled 

bee, 
She to her use returnd, and streight 

defyde 
Both Guyon and Pyrochles ; th' one (said 

shee) 
Bycause he wonne ; the other, because 

hee 
Was wonne. So matter did she make of 

nought, 
To stirre up strife, and garre them dis- 



But, 



she 



soone as Furor was enlargd, 
sought 

To kindle his quencht fyre, and thousand 
causes wrought. 



It was not long ere she inflam'd him so, 
That he would algates with Pyrochles 

fight, 
And his redeemer chalengd for his foe, 
Because he had not well mainteind his 

right. 
But yielded had to that same straunger 

knight. 
Now gan Pyrochles wex as wood as hee. 
And him affronted with impatient might: 
So both together fiers engrasped bee, 
Whyles Guyon standing by their un- 
couth strife does see. 



Him all that while Occasion did provoke 
Against Pyrochles, and new matter 

fram'd 
Upon the old, him stirring to bee wroke 
Of his late wronges, in which she oft him 

blam'd 
For suffering such abuse as knighthood 

sham'd, 
And him dishabled quyte. But he was 

wise, 



Ne would with vaine occasions be in- 
flam'd ; 

Yet others she more urgent did devise ; 

Yet nothing could him to impatience 
entise. 



XXII. 

contention 



still increased 
increased Furors 



Their fell 

more. 
And more thereby 

might, 
That he his foe has hurt and wounded 

sore. 
And him in blood and durt deformed 

quight. 
His mother eke, more to augment his 

spight. 
Now brought to him a flaming fyer 

brond, 
Which she in Stygian lake, ay burning 

bright, 
Had kindled: that she gave into his 

bond. 
That armd with fire more hardly he mote 

him withstond. 

XXIII. 

Tho gan that villein wex so fiers and 

strong. 
That nothing might sustaine his furious 

forse : 
He cast him downe to ground, and all 

along 
Drew him through durt and myre without 

remorse, 
And fowly battered his comely corse. 
That Guyon much disdeigned so loathly 

sight. 
At last he was compeld to cry perforse, 
' Help, O Sir Guyon ! helpe, most noble 

knight. 
To ridd a wretched man from handes of 

hellish wight ! ' 

XXIV. 

The knight was greatly moved at his 
playnt, • 

And gan him dight to succour his dis- 

tresse. 
Till that the Palmer, by his grave re- 

straynt, 
Him stayd from yielding pitifull redresse, 
And said; 'Deare sonne, thy causelesse 

ruth represse, 
Ne let thy stout hart melt in pitty vayne : 
He that his sorrow sought through wilful- 

nesse, 
And his foe fettred would release agayne, 
Deserves to taste his follies fruit, re- 
pented payne.' 



CANTO v.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



133 



Guyon obayd : So him away he drew 
From ueedlesse trouble of renewing 

fight 
Already fought, his voyage to poursew. 
But rash Pyrochles variett, Atin hight, 
When late he saw his Lord in iicavie 

plight 
Under Sir Guyons puissaunt stroke to 

fall, 
Him deeming dead, as then he seemd in 

sight, 
Fledd fast away to tell his funerall 
Unto his brother, whom Cymochles men 

did call. 

XXVI. 

He was a man of rare redoubted might, 
Famous throughout the world for war- 
like prayse. 
And glorious spoiles, purchast in perilous 

fight: 
Full many doughtie knightes he in his 

dayes 
Had doen to death, subdewde in equall 

frayes 
Whose carkases, for terrour of his name. 
Of fowles and beastes he made the piteous 

prayes, 
And hong their conquerd armes, for more 

defame, 
On gallow trees, in honour of his dearest 

Dame. 

XXVII. 

His dearest Dame is that Enchaunter- 

esse. 
The vyle Acrasia, that with vaine de- 

lightes, 
And ydle pleasures in her Bowre of 

Blisse, 
Does charme her lovers, and the feeble 

sprightes 
Can call out of the bodies of fraile 

wightes ; 
Whom then she does transforme to mon- 

strovis hewes, 
And horribly misshapes with ugly sightes, 
Captiv'd eternally in yron mewes 
And darksom dens, where Titan his face 

never shewes. 

XXVIII. 

There Atin fownd Cymochles so- 
journing. 
To serve his Lemans love: for he by 

kynd 
Was given all to lust and loose living, 
When ever his fiers handes he free mote 

fynd: 
And now he has pourd out his ydle myud 
In daintie delices, and lavish joyes, 



Having his warlike weapons cast behynd. 
And flowes in pleasures and vaine pleasing 

toyes. 
Mingled emongst loose Ladies and lascivi- 
ous boyes. 

XXIX. 

And over him art, stry viug to compayre 
With nature, did an Ai'ber greeue dispred. 
Framed of wanton Yvie, fl^ouriug fayre, 
Through which the fragrant Eglantine 

did spred 
His prickling armes, entrayld with roses 

red, 
Wliich daintie odours round about them 

threw : 
And all within with flowres was garnished. 
That, when myld Zephyrus emongst them 

blew, 
Did breath out bounteous smels, and 

painted colors shew. 

XXX. 

And fast beside there trickled softly 

downe 
A gentle streame, whose murmuring wave 

did play 
Emongst the pumy stones, and made a 

so\^Tie, 
To lull him soft asleepe that by it lay : 
The wearie Traveller, wandring that way, 
Therein did often quench his thristy heat. 
And then by it his wearie limbes display. 
Whiles creeping slomber made him to 

forget 
His former payne, and wypt away his 

toilsom sweat. 



And on the other syde a pleasaunt grove 
Was shott up high, full of the stately tree 
That dedicated is t' Olympick Jove, 
And to his sonne Alcides, whenas hee 
In Nemus gayned goodly victoree : 
Therein the mery birdes of every sorte 
Chaunted alowd their chearefull har- 

monee. 
And made emongst them selves a sweete 

consort, 
That quickned the dull spright with 

musicall comfort. 



There he him found all carelesly 

displaid. 
In secrete shadow from the sunny ray. 
On a sweet bed of lillies softly laid. 
Amidst a fliock of Damzelles fresh and 

gay. 
That rownd about him dissolute did play 
Their wanton follies and light merimeuts : 



134 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book II. 



Every of whicli did loosely disaray 
Her upper partes of meet habiliments, 
Aud shewd them naked, deckt with many 
ornaments. 



And every of them strove with most 

delights 
Him to aggrate, and greatest pleasures 

shew: 
Some framd faire lookes, glancing like 

evening lights ; 
Others sweet wordes, dropping like honny 

dew; 
Some bathed kisses, and did soft embrew 
The sugred licour through his melting 

lips: 
One boastes her beautie, and does yield 

to vew 
Her dainty limbes above her tender hips ; 
Another her out boastes, and all for try all 

strips. 

XXXIV. 

He, like an Adder lurking in the weedes, 
His wandring thought in deepe desire 

does steepe. 
And his frayle eye with spoyle of beauty 

f eedes : 
Sometimes he falsely faines himselfe to 



Whiles through their lids his wanton eies 

do peepe 
To steale a snatch of amorous conceipt, 
Whereby close fire into his heart does 

creepe : 
So he them deceives, deceivd in his deceipt. 
Made dronke with drugs of deare voluptu- 
ous receipt. 



Atin, arriving there, when him he spyde 
Thus in still waves of deepe delight to 

wade. 
Fiercely approching to him lowdly cryde, 
'Cymochles; oh! no, but Cymochles 

shade, 
In which that manly person late did fade. 
What is become of great Aerates sonne ? 
Or where hath he hong up his mortall 

blade, 



That hath so many haughty cojiquests 

wonne? 
Is all his force forlorne, and all his glory 

donne ? ' 

XXXVI. 

Then, pricking him with his sharp- 
pointed dart, 
He saide ; ' Up, up ! thou womanish weake 

knight. 
That here in Ladies lap entombed art, 
Uumindfull of thy praise and pro west 

might, 
And weetlesse eke of lately wrought 

despight. 
Whiles sad Pyrochles lies on sencelesse 

ground, 
And groneth out his utmost grudging 

spright 
Through many a stroke and many a 

streaming wound. 
Calling thy help in vaine that here in 

joyes art dround.' 



Suddeinly out of his delightfull dreams 
The man awoke, and would have questiond 

more ; 
But he would not endure that wofull 

theame 
For to dilate at large, but urged sore, 
With percing wordes and pittifull implore, 
Him hasty to arise. As one affright 
With hellish feends, or Furies made up- 

rore. 
He then uprose, inflamd with fell despight. 
And called for his armes, for he would 

algates fight : 



They bene ybrought; he quickly does 

him dight. 
And lightly mounted passeth on his way ; 
Ne Ladies loves, ne sweete entreaties, 

might 
Appease his heat, or hastie passage stay ; 
For he has vowd to beene avengd that day 
(That day it selfe him seemed all too long) 
On him, that did Pyrochles deare dismay : 
So proudly pricketh on his courser strong. 
And Atin ay him pricks with spurs of 

shame and wrong. 



CANTO VI.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



35 



CANTO VI. 

Guyon is of immodest Merth 
Led into loose desyre ; 

Fights withCymochles, whiles his bro- 
ther burns in furious fyre. 



I. 

A HARDER lesson to learne Continence 
In joyous pleasure then in grievous paine ; 
For sweetnesse doth allure the weaker 

seuce 
So strongly, that uneathes it can refraine 
From that which feeble nature covets 

f aine : 
But griefe and wrath, that be her enemies 
And foes of life, she better can abstaine : 
Yet vertue vauntes in both her victories. 
And Guyon in them all shewes goodly 

maysteries. 

II. 

Whom bold Cymochles travelling to 
finde. 
With cruell purpose bent to wreake on him 
The wrath which Atin kindled in his 

mind, 
Came to a river, by whose utmost brim 
W-ayting to passe, he saw whereas did swim 
Along the shore, as swift as glaunce of 

eye, 
A litle Gondelay, bedecked trim 
With boughes and arbours woven cun- 
ningly, 
That like a litle forrest seemed outwardly. 



And therein sate a Lady fresh and fay re, 
Making sweet solace to herself e alone : 
Sometimes she song as lowd as larke in 

ayre, 
Sometimes she laught, as merry as Pope 

Jone; 
Yet was there not with her else any one. 
That to her might move caiise of meriment : 
Matter of merth enough, though there 

were none, 
She could devise; and thousand waies 

invent 
To feede her foolish humour and vaine 

joUiment. 

IV. 

Which when far off Cymochles heard 
and saw, 
He lowdly cald to such as were abord 
The little barke unto the shore to draw. 
And him to ferry over that deepe ford. 
The merry mariner unto his word 



Soone hearkned, and her painted bote 

streightway 
Turnd to the shore, where that same 

warlike Lord 
She iu receiv'd ; but Atin by no way 
She would ;uimit, albe the knight her much 

did pray. 

v. 

Eftsoones her shallow ship away did 

slide, 
More swift then swallow sheres the liquid 

skye, 
Withouteu oare or Pilot it to guide. 
Or winged canvas with the wind to fly : 
Onely she turnd a pin, and by and by 
It cut away upon the yielding wave, 
Ne cared she her course for to apply ; 
For it was taught the way which she 

would have. 
And both from rocks and flats it selfe 

could wisely save. 

VI. 

And all the way the wanton Damsell 

found 
New merth her passenger to entertaine ; 
For she iu pleasaunt purpose did abgund, 
And greatly joyed merry tales to faine, 
Of which a store-house did with her 

remaine : 
Yet seemed, nothing well they her 

became ; 
For all her wordes she drownd with 

laughter vaine, 
And wanted grace in utt'ring of the same, 
That turned all her pleasaunce to a 

scoffing game. 

VII. 

And other whiles vaine toyes she would 

devize, 
As her fantasticke wit did most delight : 
Sometimes her head she fondly would 

aguize 
With gaudy girlonds, or fresh flowrets 

dight 
About her necke, or rings of rushes plight : 
Sometimes, to do him laugh, she would 

assay 
To laugh at shaking of the leaves light 



136 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book II. 



Or to behold the water worke and play 
About her little I'rigot, therein making 
way. 

VIII. 

Har light behaviour and loose dalliaunce 
Gave wondrous great contentment to the 

knight, 
That of his way he had no sovenaunce, 
Nor care of vow'd revenge and cruell light, 
But to weake wench did yield his martiall 

might : 
So easie was to quench his flamed rainde 
With one sweete drop of sensuall delight. 
So easie is t' appease the stormy winde 
Of malice in the calme of pleasamit 

woman-kind. 

IX. 

Diverse discourses in their way they 

spent ; 
Mongst which Cymochles of her questioned 
Both what she was, and what that usage 

ment, 
Which in her cott she daily practized ? 
' Vaine man,' (saide she) ' that wouldest be 

reckoned 
A straunger in thy home, and ignoraunt 
Of Phsedria, (for so my name is red) 
Of Phaedria, thine owne fellow servaunt ; 
For thou to serve Acrasia thy selfe doest 

vaunt. 



' In this wide Inland sea, that hight by 

name 
The Idle lake, my wandring ship I row, 
That knowes her port, and thither sayles 

by ay me, 
Ne care, ne feare I how the wind do blow. 
Or whether swift I wend, or whether slow : 
Both slow and swift alike do serve my 

tourne ; 
Ne swelling Neptune ne lowd thundring 

Jove 
Can chaunge my cheare, or make me ever 

mourne : 
My little boat can safely passe this perilous 

bourne.' 

XI. 

Whiles thus she talked, and whiles thus 

she toyd, 
They were far past the passage which he 

spake, 
And come unto an Island waste and voyd, 
That floted in the midst of that great lake ; 
There her small Gondelay her port did 

make. 
And that gay pay re, issewing on the shore, 
Disburdned her. Their way they forward 

take 
Into the land that lay them faire before, 



Whose pleasaunce she him shewd, and 
plentifull great store. 



It was a chosen plott of fertile land, 
Emongst wide waves sett, like a litle nest. 
As if it had by Natures cunning hand 
Bene choycely picked out from all the rest. 
And laid forth for ensample of the best : 
No daiutie tlowre or herbe that growes on 

grownd, 
No arborett with painted blossom es drest 
And smelling sweete, but there it might be 

fownd 
To bud out faire, and throwe her sweete 

smels al arownd. 

XIII. 

No tree whose braunches did not bravely 

spring ; 
No braunch whereon a fine bird did not 

sitt; 
No bird but did her shrill notes sweetely 

sing; 
No song but did containe a lovely ditt. 
Trees, braunches, birds, and songs, were 

framed fitt 
For to allure f raile mind to earelesse ease : 
Carelesse the man soone woxe, and his 

weake witt 
Was overcome of thing that did him please ; 
So pleased did his wrathfull purpose faire 

appease. 

XIV. 

Thus when shee had his eyes and sences 
fed 
With false delights, and fild with pleas- 
ures vayn, 
Into a shady dale she soft him led, 
And layd him downe upon a grassy playn ; 
And her sweete selfe without dread or dis- 

dayn 
She sett beside, laying his head disarmd 
In her loose lap, it softly to sustayn. 
Where soone he slumbred fearing not be 

harmd : 
The whiles with a love lay she thus him 
sweetly charmd. 

XV. 

' Behold, O man! that toilesome paines 
doest take, 

The flowrs, the fields, and all that pleas- 
aunt growes. 

How they them selves doe thine ensample 
make, 

Whiles nothing envious nature them forth 
throwes 

Out of her fruitfull lap; how no man 
knowes, 



CANTO VI.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



137 



They spring, they bud, they blossome fresh 
and faire, 

And decke the world with their rich pom- 
pous showes ; 

Yet no man for them taketh paines or care, 

Yet no man to them can his caref ull paines 
compare. 

XVI. 

' The lilly, Lady of the flo wring field, 
The flowre-deluce, her lovely Paramoure, 
Bid thee to them thy f ruitlesse labors yield, 
And soone leave off this toylsome weary 

stoure : 
Loe, loe ! how brave she decks her boun- 
teous boure, 
With silkin curtens and gold coverletts, 
Therein to shrowd her sumptuous Bela- 

moure ; 
Yet nether spinnes nor cards, ne cares nor 

fretts, 
But to her mother Nature all her care she 
letts. 

XVII. 

* Why then doest thou, O man ! that of 

them all 
Art Lord, and eke of nature Soveraine, 
Wilfully make thyself e a wretched thrall, 
And waste thy joyous howres in needelesse 

paine. 
Seeking for daunger and adventures vaine ? 
What bootes it al to have, and nothing 

use? 
WTio shall him rew that swimming in the 

maine 
Will die for thrist, and water doth refuse ? 
Refuse such fruitlesse toile, and present 

pleasures chuse.' 



By this she had him lulled fast asleepe, 
That of no worldly thing he care did 

take : 
Then she with liquors strong his eies did 

steepe, 
That nothing should him hastily awake. 
So she him lefte, and did her selfe betake 
Unto her boat again, with which she clefte 
The slouthfull wave of that great griesy 

lake : 
Soone shee that Island far behind her 

lefte. 
And now is come to that same place where 

first she wefte. 



By this time was the worthy Guyon 

brought 
Unto the other side of that wide strond 
Where she was rowing, and for passage 

sought. 



Him needed not long call ; shee soone to 

bond 
Her ferry brought, where him she byding 

fond 
With his sad guide: him selfe she tooke 

aboord, 
But the Blacke Palmer suffred still to 

stond, 
Ne would for price or prayers once affoord 
To ferry that old man over the perlous 

foord. 

XX. 

Guyon was loath to leave his guide be- 
hind. 
Yet being entred might not backe retyre ; 
For the flitt barke, obaying to her mind, 
Forth launched quickly as she did desire, 
Ne gave him leave to bid that aged sire 
Adieu ; but nimbly ran her wonted course 
Through the dull billowes thicke as 

troubled mire, 
Whom nether wind out of their seat could 

forse 
Nor timely tides did drive out of their slug- 
gish sourse. 

XXI. 

And by the way, as was her wonted 
guize, 
Her mery fitt shee freshly gan to reare, 
And did of joy and jollity devize. 
Her selfe to cherish, and her guest to cheare. 
The knight was courteous, and did not f or- 

beare 
Her honest merth and pleasaunce to par- 
take ; 
But when he saw her toy, and gibe, and 

geare. 
And passe the bonds of modest merimake. 
Her dalliaunce he despis'd, and follies did 
forsake. 

XXII. 

Yet she still followed her former style, 
And said and did all that mote him delight, 
Till they arrived in that pleasaunt lie. 
Where sleeping late she lefte her other 

knight. 
But whenas Guyon of that land had sight. 
He wist him selfe amisse, and angry said ; 
' Ah, Dame ! perdy ye have not doen me 

right. 
Thus to mislead mee, whiles I you obaid : 
Me litle needed from my right way to have 

straid.' 

XXIII. 

* Faire Sir,' (quoth she) ' be not displeasd 

at all. 
Who fares on sea may not commaund his 

way, 
Ne wind and weather at his pleasure call : 
The sea is wide, and easy for to stray ; 



138 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book II. 



The wind unstable, and doth never stay. 
But here a while ye may in safety rest, 
Till season serve new passage to assay : 
Better safe port then be in seas distrest.' 
Therewith she laught, and did her earnest 
end in jest. 

XXIV. 

But he, halfe discontent, mote nathelesse 
Himselfe appease, and issewd forth on 

shore ; 
The joyes whereof and happy fruitful- 

nesse, 
Such as he saw she gan him lay before, 
And all, though pleasaunt, yet she made 

much more : 
The fields did laugh, the flowres did freshly 

spring, 
The trees did bud, and early blossomes 

bore ; 
And all the quire of birds did sweetly sing, 
And told that gardins pleasures iu their 

caroling. 

XXV. 

And she, more sweete then any bird on 
bough. 
Would oftentimes emongst them beare a 

part, 
And strive to passe (as she could well 

enough) 
Their native musicke by her skilful art : 
So did she all that might his constant hart 
Withdraw from thought of warlike enter- 
prize, 
And drowne in dissolute delights apart. 
Where noise of armes, or vew of martiall 

guize. 
Might not revive desire of knightly exer- 
cize. 

XXVI. 

But he was wise, and wary of her will, 
And ever held his hand upon his hart ; 
Yet would not seeme so rude, and thewed 

ill, 
As to despise so curteous seeming part 
That gentle Lady did to him impart : 
But, fairly tempring, fond desire subdewd. 
And ever her desired to depart. 
She list not heare, but her disports pour- 

sewd. 
And ever bad him stay till time the tide 

renewd. 

XXVII. 

And now by this Cymochles howre was 

spent, 
That he awoke out of his ydle dreme ; 
And, shaking off his drowsy dreriment, 
Gan him avize, howe ill did him beseme 
In slouthfull sleepe his molten hart to 

Sterne, 



And quench the brond of his conceived yre : 
Tho up he started, stird with shame ex- 
treme, 
Ne staled for his Damsell to inquire. 
But marched to the Strond there passage 
to require. 

XXVIII. 

And iu the way he with Sir Guyon mett, 
Accompanyde with Phaedria the faire : 
Eftsoones he gan to rage, and inly frett, 
Crying; ' Let be that Lady debonaire. 
Thou recreaunt knight, and soone thyselfe 

prepaire 
To batteile, if thou meane her love to gayn. 
Loe, loe ! already how the fowles in aire 
Doe flocke, awaiting shortly to obtayn 
Thy carcas for their pray, the guerdon of 

thy pay n.' 

XXIX. 

And therewithall he fiersly at him flew. 
And with importune outrage him assayld ; 
Who, soone prepard to field, his sword 

forth drew, 
And him with equall valew countervayld : 
Their mightie strokes their haberjeons 

dismayld, 
And naked made each others manly 

spalles ; 
The mortall Steele despiteously entayld 
Deepe in their flesh, quite through the 

yron walles, 
That a large purple streame adowne their 

giambeux falles. 



Cymochles, that had never mett before 
So puissant foe, with envious despight 
His prowd presumed force increased more, 
Disdeigning too bee held so long in fight. 
Sir Guyon, grudging not so much his might 
As those unknightly raylinges which he 

spoke. 
With wrathfull fire his corage kindled 

bright, 
Thereof devising shortly to be wroke, 
And doubling all his powres redoubled 

every stroke. 



Both of them high attonce their handes 

enhaunst, 
And both attonce their huge blowes down 

did sway. 
Cymochles sword on Guyons shield 

yglaunst. 
And thereof nigh one quarter sheard 

away; 
But Guyons angry blade so fiers did play 
On th' others helmett, which as Titan 

shone, 



CANTO VI.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



139 



That quite it clove his plumed crest in 

tway, 
And bared all his head unto the bone ; 
Wherewith astonisht, still he stood as 

sencelesse stone. 

XXXII. 

Still as he stood, fay re Phsedria, that 

beheld 
That deadly daunger, soone atweene them 

ran ; 
And at their feet her selfe most humbly 

feld, 
Crying with pitteous voyce, and couut'- 

nauce wan, 
* Ah, well away ! most noble Lords, how 

can 
Your cruell eyes endure so pitteous .sight, 
To shed your lives on ground ? Wo worth 

the man, 
That first did teach the cursed Steele to 

bight 
In his owne flesh, and make way to the 

living spright ! 

xxxin. 

' If ever love of Lady did empierce 
Your yrou brestes, or pittie could find 

place. 
Withhold your bloody handes from bat- 

taill fierce ; 
And, sith for me ye fight, to me this grace 
Both yield, to stay your deadly stryfe a 

space.' 
They stayd a while, and forth she gan pro- 



' Most wretched woman and of wicked race, 
That am the authour of this hainous deed. 
And cause of death betweene two doughtie 
knights do breed ! 



' But, if for me ye fight, or me will serve. 
Not this rude kynd of battaill, nor these 

armes 
Are meet, the which doe men in bale to 

sterve, 
And doolefuU sorrow heape with deadly 

harmes : 
Such cruell game my scarmoges disarmes. 
Another warre, and other weapons, I 
Doe love, where love does give his sweet 

Alarmes 
Without bloodshed, and where the enimy 
Does yield unto his foe a pleasaunt victory. 



' Debatef all strife, and cruell enmity. 
The famous name of knighthood fowly 
shend ; 



But lovely peace, and gentle amity, 
And in Amours the passing howres to 

spend. 
The mightie martiall handes doe most 

commend : 
Of love they ever greater glory bore 
Then of their armes; Mars is Cupidoes 

frend. 
And is for Venus loves renowmed more 
Then all his wars and spoil es, the which 

he did of yore.' 



Therewith she sweetly smyld. They, 

though full bent 
To prove extremities of bloody fight, 
Yet at her speach their rages gan relent, 
And calme the sea of their tempestuous 

spight. 
Such powre have pleasing wordes : such is 

the might 
Of courteous clemency in gentle hart. 
]Sow after all was ceast, the Faery knight 
Besought that Damzell suffer him depart. 
And yield him ready passage to that other 

part. 

xxxvii. 

She no lesse glad then he desirous was 
Of his departure thence ; for of her joy 
And vaine delight she saw he liglit did 

pas, 
A foe of folly and immodest toy. 
Still solemne sad, or still disdainfull coy; 
Delighting all in armes and cruell warre, 
That her sweet peace and pleasures did 

annoy. 
Troubled with terrour and unquiet jarre. 
That she well pleased was thence to amove 

him farre. 



Tho him she brought abord, and her 
swift bote 

Forthwith directed to that further strand ; 

The which on the dull waves did lightly 
flote, 

And soone arrived on the shallow sand, 

Where gladsome Guyon sailed forth to 
land, 

And to that Dam sell thankes gave for re- 
ward. 

Upon that shore he spyed Atin stand, 

There by his maister left, when late he 
far'd 

In Phaedrias flitt barck over that perlous 
shard. 

xxxix. 

Well could he him remember, sith of late 
He with Pyrochles sharp debatement 
made : 



140 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book II. 



Streight gan he him revyle, and bitter 

rate, 
As Shepheardes curre, that in darke even- 

iuges shade 
Hath tracted forth some salvage beastes 

trade : 
' Vile Miscreaunt,' (said he) ' whither dost 

thou flye 
The shame and death, which will the scone 

invade ? 
What coward hand shall doe thee next to 

dye, 
That art thus fowly fledd from famous 

euimy ? ' 

XL. 

With that he stifly shooke his steelhead 

dart : 
But sober Guyon, hearing him so rayle, 
Though somewhat moved in his mightie 

hart. 
Yet with strong reason maistred passion 

fraile, 
And passed fay rely forth. He, turning 

taile, 
Back to the strond retyrd, and there still 

stayd, 
Awaiting passage which him late did faile ; 
The whiles Cymochles with that wanton 

mayd 
The hasty heat of his avowd revenge 

delayd. 

XLI. 

Whylest there the varlet stood, he saw 

from farre 
An armed knight that towardes him fast 

ran; 
He ran on foot, as if in lucklesse warre 
His forlorne steed from him the victour 

wan: 
He seemed breathlesse, hartlesse, faint, 

and wan ; 
And all his armour sprinckled was with 

blood. 
And soyld with durtie gore, that no man 

can 
Discerne the hew thereof. He never stood. 
But bent his hastie course towardes the 

ydle flood. 

XLII. 

The varlett saw, when to the flood he 

came, 
How without stop or stay he fiersly lept, 
And deepe him selfe beducked in the same. 
That in the lake his loftie crest was stept, 
Ne of his safetie seemed care he kept ; 
But with his raging armes he rudely flasht 
The waves about, and all his armour swept, 
That all the blood and filth away was 

washt ; 



Yet still he bet the water, and the bil- 
lowes dasht. 



Atin drew nigh to weet what it mote bee, 
For much he wondred at that uncouth 

sight : 
Whom should he but his owne deare Lord 

there see, 
His owne deare Lord Pyrochles in sad 

plight. 
Ready to drowne him selfe for fell de- 

spight : 
' Harrow now out, and well away ! ' he 

cryde, 
* What dismall day hath lent this cursed 

light. 
To see my Lord so deadly damnifyde ? 
Pyrochles, O Pyrochles ! what is thee be- 

tyde ? ' 

XLIV. 

* I burne, I burne, I burne ! ' then lowd 
he cryde, 
' O ! how I burne with implacable fyre ; 
Yet nought can quench mine inly flaming 

syde. 
Nor sea of licour cold, nor lake of myre : 
Nothing but death can doe me to respyre.' 
' Ah ! be it, ' (said he) * from Pyrochles 

farre 
After pursewing death once to requyre, 
Or think, that ought those puissant hands 

may marre : 
Death is for wretches borne under un- 
happy starre.' 



* Perdye, then is it fitt for me,' (said he) 
* That am, I weene, most wretched man 

alive ; 
Burning in flames, yet no flames can I 

see. 
And dying dayly, dayly yet revive. 
O Atin ! helpe to me last death to give.' 
The varlet at his plaint was grieved so 

sore. 
That his deepe wounded hart in two did 

rive; 
And, his owne health remembring now no 

more. 
Did follow that ensample which he blam'd 

afore. 

XLVI. 

Into the lake he lept his Lord to ayd, 
(So Love the dread of daunger doth de- 
spise) 
And of him catching hold him strongly 

stayd 
From drowning. But more happy he then 
wise. 



CANTO VI.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



141 



Of that seas nature did him not avise : 
The waves thereof so slow and sluggish 

were, 
Engrost with mud which did them fowle 

agrise, 
That every weighty thing they did up- 

beare, 
Ne ought mote ever sinck downe to the 

bottom there. 

XLVII. 

Whiles thus they strugled in that ydle 

wave, 
And strove in vaine, the one him selfe to 

drowne. 
The other both from drowning for to save, 
Lo! to that shore one in an auncient 

gowne, 
Whose hoary locks great gravitie did 

crowne. 
Holding in hand a goodly arming sword, 
By fortune came, ledd with the troublous 

sowne : 
Where drenched deepe he fownd in that 

dull ford 
The carefull servaunt stryving with his 

raging Lord. 

XL VIII. 

Him Atin spying knew right well of 

yore. 
And lowdly cald ; * Help, helpe ! O Archi- 

mage! 
To save my Lord in wretched plight for- 

lore; 
Helpe with thy hand, or with thy counsell 

sage: 
Weake handes, but counsell is most strong 

in age.' 
Him when the old man saw, he wondred 

sore 
To see Pyrochles there so rudely rage ;' 
Yet sithens helpe, he saw, he needed 

more 
Then pitty, he in hast approched to the 

shore, 

XLIX. 

And cald; 'Pyrochles! what is this I 
see? 



What hellish fury hath at earst thee 
hent? 

Furious ever I thee knew to bee, 

Yet never in this straunge astonish- 
ment.' 

' These flames, these flames ' (he cryde) 
'doe me torment.' 

' Wha flames,' (quoth he), when I thee 
present see 

In daunger rather to be drent then brent ? ' 

' Harrow! the flames which me consume,' 
(said hee) 

*Ne can be quencht, within my secret 
bowelles bee. 

L. 

* That cursed man, that cruel feend of 

hell, 
Furor, oh! Furor hath me thus bedight: 
His deadly woundes within my liver 

swell. 
And his whott fyre burnes in mine en- 

tralles bright. 
Kindled through his infernall brond of 

spight, 
Sith late with him I batteill vaine would 

boste ; 
That now, I weene, Joves dreaded thunder 

light 
Does scorch not halfe so sore, nor damned 

ghoste 
In flaming Phlegeton does not so felly 

roste.' 



Which when as Archimago heard, his 

griefe 
He knew right well, and him attonce dis- 
arm 'd ; 
Then searcht his secret woundes, and 

made a priefe 
Of every place that was with bruzing 

harmd. 
Or with the hidden fire too inly warmd. 
Which doen, he balmes and herbes thereto 

applyde. 
And evermore with mightie spels them 

charmd ; 
That in short space he has them qualifyde. 
And him restor'd to helththat would have 

algates dyde. 



142 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book ir. 



CANTO VII. 

Guyon findes Mainon in a delve 
Sunning- liis tlireasure hore ; 

Is by him tempted, and led downe 
To see his secrete store. 



As Pilot well expert in perilous wave, 
That to a stedfast starre his course hath 

bent, 
When foggyraistes or cloudy tempests have 
The faithful! light of that faire lampe 

yhlent, 
And cover'd heaven with hideous dreri- 

ment, 
Upon his card and compas firmes his eye. 
The maysters of his long experiment, 
And to them does the steddy helme apply, 
Bidding his winged vessell fairely for- 
ward fly: 

II. 
So Guyon having lost his trustie guyde, 
Late left beyond that Ydle lake, pro- 

ceedes 
Yet on his way, of none accompanyde ; 
And evermore himselfe with comfort 

feedes 
Of his own vertues and praise-worthie 

deedes. 
So, long he yode, yet no adventure found, 
Which fame of her shrill trompet worthy 

reedes ; 
For still he traveild through wide wast- 

fuU ground, 
That nought but desert wildernesse 

shewed all around. 



At last he came unto a gloomy glade, 
Cover'd with boughes and shrubs from 

heavens light. 
Whereas he sitting found in secret shade 
An uncouth, salvage, and uncivile wight. 
Of griesly hew and fowle ill favour'd 

sight ; 
His face with smoke was tand, and eies 

were bleard, 
His head and beard with sout were ill 

bedight, 
His cole-blacke hands did seeme to have 

- ben seard 
In smythes fire-spitting forge, and nayles 

like clawes appeard. 



His yron cote, all overgrowne with rust, 
Was underneath enveloped with gold ; 



Whose glistring glosse, darkned with 

filthy dust. 
Well yet appeared to have beene of old 
A worke of rich entayle and curious 

mould. 
Woven with antickes and wyld ymagery ; 
And in his lap a masse of coyne he told, 
And turned upside downe, to feede his 

eye 
And covetous desire with his huge 

threasury. 

V. 

And round about him lay on every side 

Great heapes of gold that never could be 
spent ; 

Of which some were rude owre, not puri- 
fide 

Of Mulcibers devouring element ; 

Some others were new driven, and dis- 
tent 

Into great Ingowes and to wedges square ; 

Some in round plates withouten moni- 
ment; 

But most were stampt, and in their metal 
bare 

The antique shapes of kings and kesars 
straunge and rare. 



Soone as he Guyon saw, in great affright 
And haste he rose for to remove aside 
Those pretious hils from straungers envi- 
ous sight. 
And downe them poured through an hole 

full wide 
Into the hollow earth, them there to 

hide. 
But Guyon, lightly to him leaping, stayd 
His hand that trembled as one terrifyde ; 
And though himselfe were at the sight 

dismayd, 
Yet him perforce restraynd, and to him 
doubtfull sayd: 



' What art thou, man, (if man at all thou 

art) 
That here in desert hast thine habitaunce, 
And these rich hils of welth doest hide 

apart 
From the worldes eye, and from her right 

usaunce ? ' 



CANTO VII.] 



THE F'AERIE QUEENE. 



143 



Thereat, with staring eyes fixed askaunce, 
111 great disdaiue he auswerd : ' Hardy 

Elfe, 
That darest view my direfull counte- 

naunce, 
I read thee rash and heedlesse of thy selfe, 
To trouble my still seate, and heapes of 

pretious pelfe. 



' God of the world and worldlings I me 
call, 
Great Mammon, greatest god below the 

skye, 
That of my plenty poure out unto all, 
And unto none my graces do envye : 
Riches, renowme, and principality, 
Honour, estate, and all this worldes good, 
For which men swinck and sweat inces- 
santly. 
Fro me do flow into an ample flood, 
And in the hollow earth have their eternall 
brood. 

IX. 

' Wherefore, if me thou deigne to serve 

and sew, 
At thy commaund lo ! all these mountaines 

bee: 
Or if to thy great mind, or greedy vew. 
All these may not suflise, there shall to thee 
Ten times so much be nombred francke 

and free.' 
'Mammon,' (said he) 'thy godheads 

vaunt is vaine, 
And idle offers of thy golden fee ; 
To them that covet such eye-glutting gaine 
Proffer thy giftes, and fitter servaunts 

entertaine. 

X. 

* Me ill besits, that in der-doing armes 
And honours suit my vowed dales do spend. 
Unto thy bounteous baytes and pleasing 

charmes. 
With wiiicli M^eake men thou witchest, to 

attend ; 
Regard of worldly mucke doth fowly 

blend, 
And low abase the high heroicke spright. 
That joyes for crownes and kingdomes to 

contend : 
Faire shields, gay steedes, bright armes 

be my delight ; 
Those be tlie riches fit for an advent'rous 

knight.' 

XI. 

* Vaine glorious Elfe,' (saide he) * doest 

not thou weet. 
That money can thy wantes at will supply ? 
Sheilds, steeds, and armes, and all things 

for thee meet. 



It can purvay in twiuckling of an eye ; 

And crowues and kingdomes to thee mul- 
tiply. 

Do not I kings create, and throw the 
crowne 

Sometimes to him that low in dust doth ly, 

And him that raignd into his rowme thrust 
dowue. 

And whom I lust do heape with glory and 
renowne? ' 

XII. 

' All otherwise ' (saide he) * I riches 

read, 
Anddeeme them roote of all disquietnesse ; 
First got with guile, and then preserv'd 

with dread. 
And after spent with pride and lavish- 

uesse, 
Leaving behind them griefe and heavi- 

nesse : 
Infinite mischiefes of them doe arize. 
Strife and debate, bloodshed and bitter- 

nesse, 
Outrageous w^rong, and hellish covetize. 
That noble heart as great dishonour doth 

despize. 

XIII. 

* Ne thine be kingdomes, ne the scepters 
thine ; 

But realmes and rulers thou doest both 
confound. 

And loyall truth to treason doest in- 
cline : 

Witnesse the guiltlesse blood pourd oft 
on ground, 

The crowned often slaine, the slayer 
Ground ; 

The sacred Diademe in peeces rent. 

And purple robe gored withmany a wound, 

Castles surprizd, great cities sackt and 
brent : 

Somak'st thou kings, and gaynest wrong- 
full government. 

XIV. 

' Long were to tell the troublous stormes 

that tosse 
The private state, and make the life un- 

sweet : 
Who swelling sayles in Caspian sea doth 

crosse, 
And in frayle wood on Adrian gulf doth 

fleet. 
Doth not, I weene, so many evils meet.' 
Then Mammon wexing wroth ; * And wliy 

then,' sayd, 
' Are mortall men so fond and undiscreet 
So evill thing to seeke unto their ayd, 
And having not complaine, and having it 

upbrayd ? ' 



144 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book II. 



* Indeede,' (quoth he) * through fowle 

intemperaunce, 
Frayle men are oft captiv'd to covetise ; 
But would they thiuke with how small 

allowaunce 
Untroubled Nature doth her selfe suffise, 
Such superfluities they would despise, 
Which with sad cares empeach our native 

joyes. 
At the well-head the purest streames arise ; 
But mucky filth his braunching armes 

annoyes, 
And with uncomely weedes the gentle 

wave accloyes. 



* The antique world, in his first flowring 

youth, 
Fownd no defect in his Creators grace ; 
But with glad thankes, and unreproved 

truth, 
The guifts of soveraine bounty did em- 
brace : 
Like Angels life was then mens happy 

cace; 
But later ages pride, like corn-fed steed, 
Abusd her plenty and fat swolne encreace 
To all licentious lust, and gan exceed 
The measure of her meane and naturall 
first need. 

XVII. 

* Then gan a cursed hand the quiet 

wombe 
Of his great Grandmother with Steele to 

wound, 
And the hid treasures in her sacred tombe 
With Sacriledge to dig. Therein he fownd 
Fountaines of gold and silver to abownd, 
Of which the matter of his huge desire 
And pompous pride eftsoones he did com- 

pownd ; 
Then avarice gan through his veines in- 
spire 
His greedy flames, and kindled life- 
devouring fire.' 



'Sonne,' (said he then) 'lett be thy 
bitter scorne, 
And leave the rudeuesse of that antique 

age 
To them that liv'd therin in state f orlome : 
Thou, that doest live in later times, must 

wage 
Thy workes for wealth, and life for gold 

engage. 
If then thee list my off red grace to use. 
Take what thou please of all this sur- 
plusage ; 



If thee list not, leave have thou to refuse : 
But thing refused doe not afterward 
accuse.' 

XIX. 

' Me list not ' (said the Elfin knight) 
' receave 
Thing off red, till I know it well be gott; 
Ne wote I but thou didst these goods be- 
reave 
From rightfull owner by unrighteous lott, 
Or that bloodguiltinesse or guile them 

blott.' 
' Perdy,' (quoth he) ' yet never eie did vew, 
Ne tong did tell , ne hand these handled not ; 
But safe I have them kept in secret mew 
From hevens sight, and powre of al which 
them poursew.' 



* What secret place ' (quoth he) * can 

safely hold 
So huge a masse, and hide from heavens 

eie? 
Or where hast thou thy wonne, that so 

much gold 
Thou canst preserve from wrong and 

robbery ? ' 
'Come thou,' (quoth he) 'and see.' So 

by and by 
Through that thick covert he him led, and 

fownd 
A darkesome way, which no man could 

descry, 
That deep descended through the hollow 

grownd. 
And was with dread and horror compassed 

arownd. 



At length they came into a larger space, 
That stretcht itself e into an ample playne ; 
Through which a beaten broad high way 

did trace. 
That streight did lead to Plutoes griesly 

rayne. 
By that wayes side there sate internall 

Payne, 
And fast beside him sat tumultuous Strife : 
The one in hand an yron whip did strayne, 
The other brandished a bloody knife ; 
And both did gnash their teeth, and both 

did threten life. 



On thother side in one consort there sate 
Cruell Revenge, and rancorous Despight, 
Disloyall Treason, and hart-burning Hate ; 
But gnawing Gealosy, out of their sight 
Sitting alone, his bitter lips did bight; 
And trembling Feare still to and fro did fly. 



CANTO VII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



145 



And found no place wber safe he shroud 

him might : 
Lamenting Sorrow did in darknes lye, 
And shame his ugly face did hide from 

living eye. 

XXIII. 

And over them sad horror with grim hew 
Did alwaies sore, beating his yron wings ; 
And after him Owles and Night-ravens 

fiew, 
The hatefull messengers of heavy things, 
Of death and dolor telling sad tidings ; 
Whiles sad Celeno, sitting on a clifte, 
A song of bale and bitter sorrow sings, 
That hart of flint asonder could have rifte ; 
Which having ended after him she flyeth 

swifte. 

XXIV. 

All these before the gates of Pluto lay, 
By whom they passing spake unto them 

nought ; 
But th' Elfin knight with wonder all the 

way 
Did feed his eyes, and fild his inner 

thought. 
At last him to a litle dore he brought. 
That to the gate of Hell, which gaped wide. 
Was next adjoyning, ne them parted 

ought : 
Betwixt them both was but a litle stride, 
That did the house of Richesse from hell- 
mouth divide. 



Before the dore sat selfe-consuming 
Care, 

Day and night keeping wary watch and 
ward, 

For feare least Force or Fraud should 
unaware 

Breake in, and spoile the treasure there 
in gard : 

Ne would he suffer Sleepe once thither- 
ward 

Approch, albe his drowsy den were next ; 

For next to death is Sleepe to be compard ; 

Therefore his house is unto his annext : 

Here Sleep, ther Richesse, and Hel-gate 
them both betwext. 

XXVI. 

So soon as Mammon there arrivd, the 

dore 
To him did open and affoorded way : 
Him followed eke Sir Guyon evermore, 
Ne darkenesse him, nedaunger might 

dismay. 
Soone as he entred was, the dore streight 

way 



Did shutt, and from behind it forth there 

lept 
An ugly feend, more fowle then dismall 

day, 
The which with monstrous stalke behind 

him stept. 
And ever as he went dew watch upon him 

kept. 

XXVII. 

Well hoped hee, ere long that hardy 

guest. 
If ever covetous hand, or lustfull eye, 
Or lips he layd on thing that likte him 

best. 
Or ever sleepe his eie-strings did untye, 
Should be his pray. And therefore still 

on hye 
He over him did hold his cruell clawes, 
Threatniug with greedy gripe to doe him 

dye, 
And rend in peeces with his ravenous 

pawes. 
If ever he transgrest the fatall Stygian 

lawes. 



That houses forme within was rude and 

strong, 
Lyke an huge cave hewne out of rocky 

clifte, 
From whose rough vaut the ragged 

breaches hong 
Embost with massy gold of glorious 

guifte, 
And with rich metall loaded every rifte. 
That heavy mine they did seeme to 

threatt ; 
And over them Arachne high did lifte 
Her cunning web, and spred her subtile 

nett. 
Enwrapped in fowle smoke and clouds 

more black then Jett. 



Both roofe, and floore, and walls, were 

all of gold, 
But overgrowne with dust and old 

decay, 
And hid in darkenes, that none could 

behold 
The hew thereof; for vew of cherefull 

day 
Did never in that house it selfe display, 
But a faint shadow of uncertein light: 
Such as a lamp, whose life does fade 

away, 
Or as the Moone, cloathed with clowdy 

night. 
Does show to him that walkes in feare 

and sad affright. 



146 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book II. 



XXX. 

In all that rowme was nothing to be 
seene 

But huge great yron chests, and coffers 
strong, 

All bard with double bends, that none 
could weene 

Them to efforce by violence or wrong : 

On every side they placed were along; 

But all the growud with sculs was scat- 
tered, 

And dead mens bones, which round about 
were flong; 

Whose lives, it seemed, whilome there 
were shed, 

And their vile carcases now left unburied. 

XXXI. 

They forward passe; ne Guyon yet 

spoke word. 
Till that they came unto an yron dore. 
Which to them opened of his ovme accord, 
And shewd of richesse such exceeding 

store. 
As eie of man did never see before, 
Ne ever could within one place be fownd. 
Though all the wealth which is, or was 

of yore. 
Could gathered be through all the world 

arownd. 
And that above were added to that under 

grownd. 

XXXII. 

The charge thereof unto a covetous 
Spright 

Commauuded was, who thereby did at- 
tend. 

And warily awaited day and night. 

From other covetous feends it to defend. 

Who it to rob and ransacke did intend. 

Then Mammon, turning to that warriour, 
said; 

' Loe ! here the worldes blis : loe ! here 
the end. 

To which al men doe ayme, rich to be 
made: 

Such grace now to be happy is before 
thee laid.' 



* Certes,' (sayd he) * I n'ill thine offred 

grace, 
Ne to be made so happy doe intend : 
Another blis before mine eyes I place. 
Another happines, another end. 
To them that list these base regardes I 

lend; 
But I in armes, and in atchievements 

brave. 
Do rather choose my flitting houres to 

spend, 



And to be Lord of those that riches have. 
Then them to have my selfe, and be their 
servile sclave.' 



Thereat the feend his gnashing teeth 

did grate. 
And griev'd so long to lacke his greedie 

pray ; 
For well he weened that so glorious bayte 
Would tempt his guest to take thereof 

assay ; 
Had he so doen, he had him snatcht 

away, 
More light then Culver in the Faulcons 

fist. 
Eternall God thee save from such decay ! 
But, whenas Mammon saw his purpose 

mist. 
Him to entrap unwares another way he 

wist. 

XXXV. 

Thence forward he him ledd, and 
shortly brought 

Unto another rowme, whose dore forth- 
right 

To him did open, as it had beene taught. 

Therein an hundred raunges weren pight. 

And hundred f ouruaces all burning bright : 

By eA^ery fournace many feendes did byde. 

Deformed creatures, horrible in sight ; 

And every feend his busie paines applyde 

To melt the golden metall, ready to be 
tryde. 

xxxvi. 
One with great bellowes gathered fill- 
ing ayre. 

And with forst wind the fewell did 
inflame ; 

Another did the dying bronds repayre 

With yron tongs, and sprinckled ofte the 
same 

With liqnid waves, fiers Vulcans rage to 
tame. 

Who, maystring them, renewd his former 
heat : 

Some scumd the drosse that from the 
metall came; 

Some stird the molten owre with ladles 
great ; 

And every one did swincke, and every 
one did sweat. 

XXXVII. 

But, when an earthly wight they pres- 
ent saw 
Glistring in armes and battailous aray. 
From their whot work they did them- 
selves withdraw 
To wonder at the sight ; for till that day 



CANTO VII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



147 



They never creature saw that cam that 
way: 

Their staring eyes sparckling witli fer- 
vent lyre 

And ugly shapes did nigh the man dis- 
may, 

That, were it not for shame, he would 
retyre ; 

Till that him thus bespake their soveraine 
Lord and syre ; 

XXXVIII. 

'Behold, thou Faeries sonne, with mor- 
tall eye. 

That living eye before did never see. 

The thing, that thou didst crave so ear- 
nestly, 

To weet whence all the wealth late shewd 
by mee 

Proceeded, lo! now is reveald to thee. 

Hei'e is the fountaine of the worldes good : 

Now, therefore, if thou wilt enriched bee, 

Avise thee well, and chaunge thy wilfull 
mood. 

Least thou perhaps hereafter wish, and 
be withstood.' 



* Suf&se it then, thou Money God,' 

(quoth hee) 
' That all thine ydle offers I refuse. 
All that I need I have : what needeth mee 
To covet more then I have cause to use ? 
With such vaine shewes thy worldlinges 

vyle abuse; 
But give me leave to follow mine emprise.' 
Mammon was much displeasd, yet no'te 

he chuse 
But beare the rigour of his bold mesprise ; 
And thence him forward ledd him further 

to entise. 

XL. 

He brought him, through a darksom 

narrow strayt. 
To a broad gate all built of beaten gold : 
The gate was open ; but therein did wayt 
A sturdie villein, stryding stiffe and bold, 
As if the highest God defy he would : 
In his right hand an yron club he held, 
But he himselfe was all of golden mould, 
Yet had both life and sence, and well 

could weld 
That cursed weapon, when his cruell foes 

he queld. 

XLI. 

Disdayne he called was, and did dis- 

dayne 
To be so cald, and who so did him call : 
Sterne was his looke, and full of stomacke 

vayne ; 



His portaunce terrible, and stature tall, 
Far passing th' hight of men terrestrial!, 
Like an huge Gyaat of the Titans race ; 
That made him scorne all creatures great 

and small. 
And with his pride all others powre de- 
face: 
More fitt emongst black fiendes theh men 
to have his place. 



Soone as those glitterand armes he did 

espye. 
That with their brightnesse made that 

darknes light, 
His harmefull club he gan to hurtle hye, 
And threaten batteill to the Faery knight ; 
Who likewise gan himselfe to batteilldight, 
Till Mammon did his hasty hand withhold , 
And counseld him abstaine from perilous 

fight ; 
For nothing might abash the villein bold, 
Ne mortall Steele emperce his miscreated 

mould. 

XLIII. 

So having him with reason pacifyde, 
And that fiers Carle commaunding to for- 

beare. 
He brought him in. The rowme was 

large and wyde, 
As it some Gyeld or solemne Temple 

weare. 
Many great golden pillours did upbeare 
The massy roofe, and riches huge sus- 

tayne ; 
And every pillour decked was full deare 
With crownes, and Diademes, and titles 

vaine. 
Which mortall Princes wore whiles they 

on earth did rayne. 

XLIV. 

A route of people there assembled were, 
Of every sort and nation iinder skye, 
Which with great uprore preaced to draw 

nere 
To th' upper part, where was advaunced 

hye 
A stately siege of soveraine majestye ; 
And thereon satt a woman, gorgeous gay 
And richly cladd in robes of royaltye, 
That never earthly Priiice in such aray 
His glory did enhaunce, and pompous 

pryde display. 



Her face right wondrous f aire did seeme 
to bee, 
That her broad beauties beam great 
brightnes threw 



148 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book II. 



Through the dim shade, that all men 

might it see: 
Yet was not that same her owne native 

hew, 
But wrought hy art and couuterfetted 

shew, 
Thereby more lovers unto her to call : 
Nath'lesse most hevenly faire in deed and 

vew 
She by creation was, till she did fall ; 
Thenceforth she sought for helps to cloke 

her crime withall. 

XLVI. 

There, as in glistring glory she did sitt, 
She held a great gold chaine ylincked 

well. 
Whose upper end to highest heven was 

knitt, 
And lower part did reach to lowest Hell ; 
And all that preace did rownd about her 

swell 
To catchen hold of that long chaine, 

thereby 
To climbe aloft, and others to excell : 
That was Ambition, rash desire to sty, 
And every linck thereof a step of dignity. 

XLVII. 

Some thought to raise themselves to 

high degree 
By riches and unrighteous reward ; 
Some by close shouldring ; some by flat- 

teree ; 
Others through friendes ; others for base 

regard, 
And all by wrong wales for themselves 

prepard : 
Those that were up themselves kept others 

low; 
Those that were low themselves held 

others hard, 
Ne suffred them to ryse or greater grow ; 
But every one did strive his fellow downe 

to throw. 

XL VIII. 

Which whenas Guyon saw, he gan in- 
quire. 
What meant that preace about that Ladies 

throne. 
And what she was that did so high aspyre ? 
Him Mammon answered ; ' That goodly 

one, 
Whom all that folke with such contention 
Doe flock about, my deare, my daughter 

is: 
Honour and dignitie from her alone 
Derived are, and all this worldes blis, 
For which ye men doe strive; few gett, 
but many mis : 



' And fayre Philotime she rightly hight, 
The fairest wight that wonneth under 

skie, 
But that this darksom neather world her 

light 
Doth dim with horror and deformity; 
Worthie of heveu and hye felicitie, 
From whence the gods have her for envy 

thrust : 
But, sith thou hast found favour in mine 

eye. 
Thy spouse I will her make, if that thou 

lust, 
That she may thee advance for works and 

merits just.' 

L. 

* Gramercy, Mammon,' (said the gentle 

knight) 
* For so great grace and off red high es- 

state ; 
But I, that am fraile flesh and earthly 

wight, 
Unworthy match for such immortall mate 
My selfe well wote, and mine unequall 

fate : 
And were I not, yet is my trouth yplight, 
And love avowd to other Lady late, 
That to remove the same I have no might : 
To chaunge love causelesse is reproch to 

warlike knight.' 



Mammon emmoved was with inward 

wrath ; 
Yet, forcing it to fayne, him forth thence 

ledd, 
Through griesly shadowes by a beaten 

path, 
Into a gardin goodly garnished 
With hearbs and fruits, whose kinds mote 

not be redd : 
Not such as earth out of her fruitfull 

woomb 
Throwes forth to men, sweet and well 

savored, 
But direfull deadly black, both leafe and 

bloom, 
Fitt to adorne the dead, and deck the 

drery toombe. 



There mournfull Cypresse grew in 
greatest store, 

And trees of bitter Gall, and Heben sad ; 

Dead sleeping Poppy, and black Helle- 
bore; 

Cold Coloquintida, and Tetra mad ; 

Mortall Samnitis, and Cicuta bad, 



CANTO VII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



149 



With which th' unjust Atheniens made to 

Wise Socrates; who, thereof quaffing 

glad, 
Pourd out his life and last Philosophy 
To the fay re Critias, his dearest Belamy ! 



The Gardin of Proserpina this hight ; 
Andjn the midst thereof a silver seat, 
Wira a thick Arber goodly over-dight, 
In which she often usd from open heat 
Her selfe to shroud, and pleasures to en- 
treat : 
Next thereunto did grow a goodly tree, 
With braunches broad dispredd and body 

great, 
Clothed with leaves, that none the wood 

mote see. 
And load en all with fruit as thick as it 
might bee. 

LIV. 

Their fruit were golden apples glistring 

bright. 
That goodly was their glory to behold ; 
On earth like never grew, ne living wight 
Like ever saw, but they from hence were 

sold; 
For those which Hercules, with conquest 

bold 
Got from great Atlas daughters, hence 

began, 
And planted there did bring forth fruit of 

gold; 
And those with which th' Euboean young 

man wan 
Swift Atalanta, when through craft he 

her out ran, 

LV. 

Here also sprong that goodly golden 

fruit. 
With which Acontius got his lover trew, 
Whom he had long time sought with fruit- 

lesse suit : 
Here eke that famous golden Apple grew, 
The which emongst the gods false Ate 

threw ; 
For which th' Idaean Ladies disagreed, 
Till partiall Paris dempt it Venus dew, 
And had of her fayre Helen for his meed, 
That many noble Greekes and Trojans 

made to bleed. 

LVI. 

The warlike Elfe much wondred at this 

tree, 
So fayre and great that shadowed all the 

ground, 
And his broad braunches, laden with rich 

fee, 



Did stretch themselves without the utmost 

bound 
Of this great gardin, compast with a 

mound ; 
AVhich over-hanging, they themselves did 

steepe 
In a blacke flood, which flow'd about it 

round. 
That is the river of Coeytus deepe. 
In which full many soules do endlesse 

wayle and weepe. 



Which to behold he clomb up to the 

bancke. 
And looking downe saw many damned 

wightes 
In those sad waves, which direfull deadly 

stancke, 
Plonged continually of cruell Sprightes, 
That with their piteous cryes, and yelling 

shrightes. 
They made the further shore resounden 

wide. 
Emongst the rest of those same ruefuU 

sightes, 
One cursed creature he by chaunce espide, 
That drenched lay full deepe under the 

Garden side. 

LVIII. 

Deepe was he drenched to the upmost 

chin, 
Yet gaped still as coveting to drinke 
Of the cold liquor which he waded in ; 
And stretching forth his hand did often 

thinke 
To reach the fruit which grew upon the 

brincke ; 
But both the fruit from hand, and flood 

from mouth. 
Did fly abacke, and made him vainely 

swincke ; 
The whiles he sterv'd with hunger, and 

with drouth, 
He daily dyde, yet never throughly dyen 

couth. 

LIX. 

The knight, him seeing labour so in 

vaine, 
Askt who he was, and what he ment 

thereby ? 
Who, groning deepe, thus answerd him 

again e ; 
' Most cursed of all creatures under skye, 
Lo! Tantalus, I here tormented lye: 
Of whom high Jove wont whylome feasted 

bee ; 
Lo ! here I now for want of food doe dye : 
But, if that thou be such as I thee see, 



ISO 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book II. 



Of grace I pray tliee, give to eat and 
drinke to mee! ' 



'Nay, nay, thou greedy Tantalus,' 

(quoth he) 
' Abide the fortune of thy present fate ; 
And unto all that live in high degree, 
Eusample be of mind intemperate, 
To teach them hovs^ to use their present 

state.' 
Then gan the cursed wretch alovrd to cry, 
Accusing highest Jove and gods ingrate ; 
And eke blaspheming heaven bitterly, 
As author of unjustice, there to let him 

dye. 

LXI. 

He lookt a litle further, and espyde 
Another wretch, whose carcas deepe was 

drent 
Within the river, which the same did 

hyde ; 
But both his handes, most filthy feculent, 
Above the water were on high extent, 
And f aynd to wash themselves incessantly, 
Yet nothing cleaner were for such in- 
tent, 
But rather fowler seemed to the eye ; 
So lost his labour vaine and ydle industry. 



The knight him calling asked who he 

was? 
Who, lifting up his head, him answerd 

thus ; 
' I Pilate am, the falsest Judge, alas ! 
And most unjust; that, by unrighteous 
And wicked doome, to Jewes despiteous 
Delivered up the Lord of life to dye, 
And did acquite a murdrer felonous ; 
The whiles my handes I washt in purity, 
The whiles my soule was soy Id with fowle 

iniquity.' 

LXIII. 

Infinite moe tormented in like paine 
He there beheld, too long here to be told : 
Ne Mammon would there let him long 

remayne, 
For terrour of the tortures manifold, 
In which the damned soules he did be- 
hold, 



But roughly him bespake : ' Thou feare- 

fuU foole, 
Why takest not of that same fruite of 

gold ? 
Ne sittest downe on that same silver 

stoole. 
To rest thy weary person in the shadow 

coole ? ' 

LXIV. 

All which he did to do him deadly fall 
In frayle intemperaunce through sinfull 

bayt; 
To which if he inclyned had at all, 
That dreadfull feend, which did behinde 

him wayt. 
Would him have rent in thousand peeces 

strayt : 
But he was wary wise in all his way. 
And well perceived his deceiptf nil sleight, 
Ne suffred lust his safety to betray. 
So goodly did beguile the Guyler of his 

pray. 

LXV. 

And now he has so long remained theare, 
That vitall powres gan wexe both weake 

and wan 
For want of food and sleepe, which two 

upbeare, 
Like mightie pillours, this frayle life of 

man. 
That none without the same enduren can : 
For now three dayes of men were full 

outwrought, 
Since he this hardy enterprize began : 
Forthy great Mammon fayrely he be- 
sought 
Into the world to guyde him backe, as he 
him brought. 



The God, though loth, yet was con- 

straynd t' ojay ; 
For lenger time then that no living wight 
Below the earth might suffred be to stay: 
So backe againe him brought to living 

light. 
But all so soone as his enfeebled spright 
Gan sucke this vitall ayre into his brest, 
As overcome with too exceeding might, 
The life did flit away out of her nest, 
And all his sences were with deadly fit 

opprest. 



CANTO VIII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



151 



CANTO VIII. 

Sir Guyon, layd in swovvne, is by 

Aerates poiiues despoyld ; 
Whom Artliure soone hath reskewed, 

And Payniui brethren foyld. 



And is there care in heaven? And is 
there love 

In heavenly spirits to these creatures bace, 

That may compassion of their evilles 
move ? 

There is : else much more wretched were 
the cace 

Of men then beasts. But O ! th' exceed- 
ing grace 

Of highest God that loves his creatures 
so, 

And all his workes with mercy doth em- 
brace, 

That blessed Angels he sends to and fro. 

To serve to wicked man, to serve his 
wicked foe. 

n. 

How oft do they their silver bowers 

leave, 
To come to succour us that succour want ! 
How oft do they with golden pineons 

cleave 
The flitting skyes, like flying Pursuivant, 
Against fowle feendes to ayd us militant! 
They for us fight, they watch and dewly 

ward, 
And their bright Squadrons round about 

us plant ; 
And all for love, and nothing for reward. 
O! why should hevenly God to men have 

such regard ? 

III. 

During the while that Guyon did abide 
In Mamons house, the Palmer, whom why- 

leare 
That wanton Mayd of passage had denide. 
By further search had passage found else- 
where ; 
And, being on his way, approched neare 
Where Guyon lay in traunce ; when sud- 

deiuly 
He heard a voyce that called lowd and 

clear e, 
* Come hither ! hither ! O, come hastily ! ' 
That all the fields resounded with the 
ruefull cry. 

IV. 

The Palmer lent his eare unto the noyce, 
To weet who called so importunely : 
Againe he heard a more efforced voyce, 



That bad him come in haste. He by and by 
His feeble feet directed to the cry ; 
Which to that shady delve him brought at 

last. 
Where Mammon earst did sunne his 

threasury ; 
There the good Guyon he found slumbring 

fast 
In senceles dreame; which sight at first 

him sore aghast. 

V. 

Beside his head there satt a faire young 

man, 
Of wondrous beauty and of freshest 

yeares, 
W^hose tender bud to blossome new began. 
And florish faire above his equall peares : 
His snowy front, curled with golden 

heares. 
Like Phoebus face adornd with sunny 

rayes, 
Divinely shone; and two sharps winged 

sheares, 
Decked with diverse plumes, like painted 

Jayes, 
Were fixed at his backe to cut his ayery 

wayes. 

VI. 

Like as Cupido on Idsean hill, 
When having laid his cruell bow away 
And mortall arrowes, wherewith he doth 

fill 
The world with murdrous spoiles and 

bloody pray, 
With his faire mother he him dights to 

play, 
And with his goodly sisters, Graces three : 
The Goddesse, pleased with his wanton 

play. 
Suffers her selfe through sleepe beguild to 

bee, 
The whiles the other Ladies mind theyr 

mery glee. 

VIT. 

Whom when the Palmer saw, abasht he 

was 
Through fear and wonder that he nought 

could say, 
Till him the childe bespoke ; * Long lackt, 

alas! 
Hath bene thy faithf ull aide in hard assay, 



152 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book II. 



Whiles deadly fitt thy pupill doth dismay. 
Behold this heavy sight, thou revereud 

Sire! 
But dread of death and dolor doe away ; 
For life ere long shall to her home retire, 
And he that breathlesse seems shal corage 

both respire. 



arrett 

Of his deare safety,,! to thee commend; 
Yet will I not forgoe, ne yet forgett 
The care thereof my selfe unto the end, 
But evermore him succour, and defend 
Against his foe and mine : watch thou, I 

pray; 
Foi»evill is at hand him to offend.' 
So having said, eftsoones he gan display 
His painted nimble wings, and vanisht 

quite away. 

rx. 

The Palmer seeing his lefte empty 

place, 
And his slow eies beguiled of their sight, 
"Woxe sore affraid, and standing still a 

space 
Gaz'd after him, as fowle escapt by flight. 
At last, him turning to his charge behight. 
With trembling hand his troubled pulse 

gan try ; 
Where finding life not yet dislodged 

quight. 
He much rejoyst, and courd it tenderly, 
As chicken newly hatcht, from dreaded 

destiny. 

X. 

At last he spide where towards him did 

pace 
Two Paynim knights al armd as bright as 

skie. 
And them beside an aged Sire did trace. 
And far before a light- foote Page did flie. 
That breathed strife and troublous enmi- 

tie. 
Those were the two sonnes of Aerates old. 
Who, meeting earst with Archimago slie 
Foreby that idle strond, of him were told 
That he which earst them combatted was 

Guyon bold 

XI. 

Which to avenge on him they dearly 

vowd, 
Where ever that on ground they mote him 

find: 
False Archimage provokte their corage 

prowd. 
And stryful Atin in their stubborne mind 
Coles of contention and whot vengeaunce 

tind. 



Now bene they come whereas the Palmer 

sate, 
Keeping that slombred corse to him as- 

sind: 
Well knew they both his person, sith of 

late 
With him in bloody armes they rashly did 

debate. 

XII. 

Whom when Pyrochles saw, infiam'd 

with rage 
That sire he fowl bespake : ' Thou dotard 

vile. 
That with thy brutenesse shendst thy 

comely age, 
Abandon soone, I read, the caytive spoile 
Of that same outcast carcas, that ere- 

while 
Made it selfe famous through false 

trechery, 
And crownd his coward crest with knightly 

stile ; 
Loe ! where he now inglorious doth lye, 
To proove he lived il that did thus fowly 

dye.' 

xni. 

To whom the Palmer fearlesse an- 
swered : 

' Certes, Sir Knight, ye bene too much to 
blame, 

Thus for to blott the honor of the dead, 

And with fowle cowardize his carcas 
shame. 

Whose living handes immortalizd his 
name. 

Vile is the vengeaunce on the ashes cold. 

And envy base to barke at sleeping fame. 

Was never wight that treason of him 
told: 

Your self his prowesse prov'd, and found 
him fiers and bold.' 

XIV. 

Then sayd Cymochles : * Palmer, thou 

doest dote, 
Ne canst of prowesse ne of knighthood 

deeme. 
Save as thou seest or hearst. But well I 

wote. 
That of his puissaunce tryall made ex- 

treeme : 
Yet gold al is not that doth golden seerae ; 
Ne all good knights that shake well 

speare and shield. 
The worth of all men by their end es- 

teeme. 
And then dew praise or dew reproch them 

yield ; 
Bad therefore I him deeme that thus lies 

dead on field.' 



CANTO VIII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



53 



'Good or bad,' gan his brother fiers 

reply, 
'What doe I recke, sith that he dide 

entire ? 
Or what doth his bad death now satisfy 
The greedy hunger of revenging yre, 
Sith wrathfull hand wrought not her 

owne desire ? 
Yet since no way is lefte to wreake my 

spight, 
I will him reave of armes, the victors 

hire. 
And of that shield, more worthy of good 

knight ; 
For why should a dead dog be deckt in 

armour bright ? ' 



- * Fayr Sir,' said then the Palmer suppli- 

aunt, 
' For knighthoods love doe not so fowls a 

deed, 
Ne blame your honor with so shameful! 

vaunt 
Of vile revenge. To spoile the dead of 

weed 
Is sacrilege, and doth all sinnes exceed : 
But leave these relicks of his living might 
To decke his herce, and trap his tomb- 

blacke steed.' 
* What herce or steed ' (said he) * should 

he have dight, 
But be entombed in the raven or the 

kight ? ' 

XVII. 

With that, rude hand upon his shield he 

laid. 
And th' other brother gan his helme un- 
lace. 
Both fiercely bent to have him disaraid ; 
Till that they spyde where towards them 

did pace 
An armed knight, of bold and bounteous 

grace. 
Whose squire bore after him an heben 

launce 
And coverd shield. Well kend him so far 

space 
Th' enchaunter by his armes and ame- 

naunce, 
When under him he saw his Lybian steed 

to praunce ; 

XVIII. 

And to those brethren sayd ; * Rise, rise 
bylive. 
And unto batteil doe your selves addresse ; 
For yonder comes the prowest knight 
alive, 



Prince Arthur, flowre of grace and 

nobilesse. 
That hath to Paynim knights wrought 

gret distresse, 
And thousand Sar ' zins f o wly donne to dye . ' 
That word so deepe did in their harts 

impresse, 
That both eftsoones upstarted furiously, 
And gan themselves prepare to batteill 

greedily. 

xrx. 

But fiers Pyrochles, lacking his owne 

sword, 
The want thereof now greatly gan to 

plaine, 
And Archimage besought, him that afford 
Which he had brought for Braggadochio 

vaine. 
* So would I,' (said th' enchaunter) ' glad 

and faine 
Beteeme to you this sword, you to defend. 
Or ought that els your honour might 

maintaine ; 
But that this weapons powre I well have 

kend 
To be contrary to the worke which ye 

intend : 

XX. 

'For that same knights owne sword 
this is, of yore 
Which Merlin made by his almightie art 
For that his noursling, when he knight- 
hood swore, 
Therewith to doen his foes etern all smart, 
The metall first he mixt with Medaewart, 
That no enchauntment from his dint might 

save; 
Then it in flames of Aetna wrought apart. 
And seven times dipped in the bitter wave 
Of hellish Styx, which hidden vertue to it 
gave. 

XXI. 

'The vertue is, that nether Steele nor 

stone 
The stroke thereof from entraunce may 

defend ; 
Ne ever may be used by his fone, 
Ne forst his rightful owner to offend ; 
Ne ever will it breake, ne ever bend : 
Wherefore Morddure it rightfully is bight. 
In vaine therefore, Pyrochles, should I 

lend 
The same to thee, against his lord to 

fight; 
For sure yt would deceive thy labor and 

thy might.' 

xxn. 

' Foolish old man,' said then the Pagan 
wroth, 



154 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book II. 



* That weeiiest words or charms may force 

withstond : 
Soone shalt thou see, and then beleeve for 

troth, 
That I can carve with this inchaunted 

brond 
His Lords owne flesh.' Therewith out of 

his hond 
That vertuous Steele he rudely suatcht 

away, 
And Guyons shield about his wrest he 

bond: 
So ready dight fierce battaile to assay. 
And match his brother proud iu battail- 
ous aray. 

XXIII. 

By this, that strauuger knight iu pres- 
ence came. 
And goodly salued them; who nought 

agaiue 
Him answered, as courtesie became; 
But with sterue lookes, and stomachous 

disdaine. 
Gave signes of grudge and discontentment 

vaine. 
Then, turning to the Palmer, he gan spy 
Where at his feet, with sorrowfulldemajiie 
And deadly hew, an armed corse did lye. 
In whose dead face he redd great mag- 
nanimity. 

xxrv. 
Sayd he then to the Palmer : ' Reverend 
Syre, 
What great misfortune hath betidd this 

knight ? 
Or did his life her fatall date exj^yre. 
Or did he fall by treason, or by fight ? 
How ever, sure I rew his pitteous plight.' 

* Not one, nor other,' sayd the Palmer 

grave, 
' Hath him bef alne ; but cloudes of deadly 

night 
A while his heavy eylids cover'd have. 
And all his sences drowned in deep sence- 

lesse wave : 

XXV. 

' Which those his cruell foes, that stand 
hereby. 

Making advauntage, to revenge their 
spight, 

Would him disarme and treaten shame- 
fully; 

Unworthie usage of redoubted knight. 

But you, faire Sir, whose honourable 
sight 

Doth promise hope of helpe and timely 
grace. 

Mote I beseech to succour his sad plight. 

And by your powre protect his feeble 
cace? 



First prayse of knighthood is fowle out- 
rage to deface.' 

XXVI. 

' Palmer,' (said he) * no knight so rude, I 

weene, 
As to doeu outrage to a sleeping ghost ; 
Ne was there ever noble corage scene. 
That in advauntage would his puissaunce 

host: 
Honour is least where oddes appeareth 

most. 
May bee, that better reason will aswage 
The rash revengers heat. Words, well 

dispost, 
Have secrete powre t' appease inflamed 

rage: 
If not, leave unto me thy knights last 

patronage.' 

XXVII. 

Tho, turning to those brethren, thus 

bespoke : 
' Ye warlike payre, whose valorous great 

might. 
It seemes, just wronges to vengeaunce doe 

provoke. 
To wreake your wrath on this dead seem- 
ing knight, 
Mote ought allay the storme of your 

despight. 
And settle patience in so furious heat? 
Not to debate the chalenge of your right, 
But for his carkas pardon I entreat. 
Whom fortune hath already laid in lowest 

seat.' 

xxvni. 
To whom Cymochles said ; ' For what 

art thou. 
That mak'st thy selfe his dayes-man, to 

prolong 
The vengeaunce prest ? Or who shall let 

me now 
On this vile body from to wreak my 

wrong. 
And made his carkas as the outcast dong? 
Why should not that dead carrion satisfye 
The guilt which, if he lived had thus long. 
His life for dew revenge should deare 

abye ? 
The trespass still doth live, albee the 

person dye.' 

XXIX. 

' Indeed,' then said the Prince, ' the evill 

donne 
Dyes not, Avhen breath the body first doth 

leave ; 
But from the grandsyre to the Nephewes 

Sonne, 
And all his seede the curse doth often 

cleave, 



CANTO VIII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



155 



Till Tengeaunce utterly the guilt bereave : 
So streightly God doth judge. But gentle 

Kuight, 
That doth against the dead his hand 

upheave, 
His honour Staines with rancour and 

despight, 
And great disparagment makes to his 

former might.' 



Pyrochles gan replj^ the second tyme, 
And to him said : ' Xow, lelou, sure! read, 
How that thou art partaker of his cryme : 
Therefore, by Termagaunt thou shalt be 

dead.' 
With that his hand, more sad then lomp 

of lead, 
Uplifting high, he weened with ]Morddure, 
His owne good sword Morddure, to cleave 

his head. 
The faithfull Steele such treason no'uld 

endure, 
But, swarving from the marke, his Lordes 

life did assure. 



Yet was the force so furious and so fell. 
That horse and man it made to reele 

asyde : 
Nath'lesse the Prince would not forsake 

his sell. 
For well of yore he learned had to ryde, 
But full of anger fiersly to him cryde ; 
* False traitour ! miscreaunt I thou broken 

hast 
The law of armes to strike foe undefide : 
But thou thy treasons fruit, I hope, shalt 

taste 
Right sowre, and feele the law the which 

thou hast defast.' 

XXXII. 

With that his balef ull speare he fiercely 

bent 
Against the Pagans brest, and therewith 

thought 
His cursed life out of her lodge have 

rent; 
But ere the point arrived where it ought, 
That seven fold shield, which he from 

Guyon brought. 
He cast between' to ward the bitter 

stownd : 
Through all those foldes the steelehead 

passage wrought, 
And through his shoulder perst; wher- 

with to ground 
He groveling fell, all gored in his gushing 

wound. 



Which when his brother saw, fraught 

with great grief e 
And wrath, he tohim leaped furiously, 
And fowly saide : ' By Mahoune, cursed 

thiefe, 
That direfull stroke thou dearely shalt 

aby:' 
Then, hurling up his harmefull blade 

on hy. 
Smote him so hugely on his haughtie 

crest. 
That from his saddle forced him to fly ; 
Els mote it needes downe to his manly 

brest 
Have cleft his head in twaine, and life 

thence dispossest. 

XXXIV. 

Now was the Prince in daungerous dis- 

tresse, 
Wanting his sword when he on foot should 

fight : 
His single speare could doe him small 

redresse 
Against two foes of so exceeding might, 
The least of which was match for any 

knight. 
And now" the other, whom he earst did 

dauut. 
Had reard him selfe againe to cruel fight 
Three times more furious and more 

puissaunt, 
Unmtndfull of his wound, of his fate 

ignoraunt. 

XXXV. 

So both attonce him charge on either 

syde 
With hideous strokes and importable 

powre, 
That forced him his ground to traverse 

wyde, 
And wisely watch to ward that deadly 

stowre ; 
For in his shield, as thicke as stormie 

showre, 
Their strokes did raine : yet did he never 

quaile, 
Xe backward shrinke, but as a stedfast 

towre. 
Whom foe with double battry doth assaile, 
Them on her bulwarke beares, and bids 

them nought availe. 

XXXVI. 

So stoutly he withstood their strong as- 
say ; 
Till that at last, when he advantage spyde, 
His poynant speare he thrust with puis- 
sant sway 



156 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book ii. 



At proud Cymochles, whiles his shield was 

wyde, 
That through his thigh the mortall Steele 

did gryde : 
He, swarving with the force, within his 

flesh 
Did breake the launce, and let the head 

abyde. 
Out of the wound the red blood flowed 

fresh, 
That underneath his feet soone made a 

purple plesh. 

xxxvn. 

Horribly then he gan to rage and rayle, 
Cursing his Gods, and him selfe damning 

deepe : 
Als when his brother saw the red blood 

rayle 
Adowne so fast, and all his armour steepe, 
For very felnesse lowd he gan to weepe, 
And said ; * Caytive, curse on thy cruell 

bond, 
That twise hath spedd ; yet shall it not 

thee keepe 
From the third brunt of this my fatall 

brond : 
Lo ! where the dreadf uU Death behynd thy 

backe doth stond.' 



With that he strooke, and thother 
strooke withall, 
That nothing seemd mote beare so mon- 
strous might : 
The one upon his covered shield did fall, 
And glauncing downe would not his owner 

byte; 
But thother did upon his troncheon smyte. 
Which hewing quite asunder, further way 
It made, and on his hacqueton did lyte. 
The which dividing with importune sway, 
It seizd in his right side, and there the dint 
did stay. 

xxxrx. 

Wyde was the wound, and a large luke- 
warme flood, 

Red as the Rose, thence gushed grievously ; 

That when the Paynym spyde the stream- 
ing blood, 

Gave him great hart and hope of vic- 
tory. 

On th' other side, in huge perplexity 

The Prince now stood, having his weapon 
broke ; 

Nought could he hurt, but still at warde 
did ly : 

Yet with his troncheon he so rudely stroke 

Cymochles twise, that twise him forst his 
foot revoke. 



Whom when the Palmer saw in suchdis- 

tresse, 
Sir Guyon's sword he lightly to him raught, 
And said ; ' Fayre Sonne, great God thy 

right hand blesse. 
To use that sword so well as he it ought ! ' 
Glad was the knight, and with fresh cour- 
age fraught, 
When as againe he armed felt his bond : 
Then like a Lyon, which hath long time 

saught 
His robbed whelpes, and at the last them 

fond 
Emongst the shepeheard swaynes, then 
wexeth wood and yond : 



So fierce he laid about him, and dealt 

bio we s 
On either side, that neither mayle could 

hold, 
Ne shield defend the thunder of his 

throwes : 
Now to Pyrochles many strokes he told ; 
Eft to Cymochles twise so many fold ; 
Then, backe againe turning his busie bond, 
Them both atonce compeld with courage 

bold 
To yield wide way to his hart-thrilling 

brond ; 
And though they both stood stiff e, yet could 

not both withstond. 



As salvage Bull, whom two fierce mas- 

tives bayt, 
When rancour doth with rage him once 

engore, 
Forgets with wary warde them to awayt. 
But with his dreadf ull homes them drives 

afore, 
Or flings aloft, or treades downe in the 

flore. 
Breathing out wrath, and bellowing dis- 

daine. 
That all the forest quakes to beare him 

rore: 
So rag'd Prince Arthur twixt his foemen 

twaine. 
That neither could his mightie puissaunce 

sustaine. 



But ever at Pyrochles when he smitt, 
(Who Guyons shield cast ever him before, 
Whereon the Faery Queenes pourtract was 

writt,) 
His hand relented and the stroke forbore, 
And his deare hart the picture gan adore ; 



CANTO VIII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEEXE. 



157 



Which oft the Paynim sav'd from deadly 

stowre : 
But him henceforth the same can save no 

more: 
For now arrived is his fatall howre, 
That no'te avoyded be by earthly skill or 

powre. 

XLIV. 

For when Cymochles saw the fowle re- 

proch, 
Which them appeached, prickt with guiltie 

shame 
And inward griefe, he fiercely gan ai>- 

proch, 
Eesolv'd to put away that loathly blame, 
Or dye with honour and desert of fame ; 
And on the haubergh stroke the Prince so 

sore, 
That quite disparted all the linked frame, 
And pierced to the skin, but bit no more ; 
Yet made him twise to reele, that never 

moov'd afore. 



Whereat renfierst with wrath and sharp 

regret, 
He stroke so hugely with his borrowd 

blade. 
That it empierst the Pagans burganet ; 
And, cleaving the hard Steele, did deepe 

invade 
Into his head, and cruell passage made 
Quite through his brayne. He, tombling 

downe on ground, 
Breathd out his ghost, which, to th' in- 

fernall shade 
Fast fljing, there etemall torment found 
For all the siunes wherewith his lewd life 

did aboimd. 

XL VI. 

Which when his german saw, the stony 

feare 
Ean to his hart, and all his sence dismayd, 
Ne thenceforth life ne corage did appeare : 
But as a man whom hellish feendes have 

frayd. 
Long trembling still he stoode : at last 

thus sayd : 
' Traytour. what hast thou doen ? How 

ever may 
Thy cursed hand so cruelly have swayd 
Against that knight ! Harrow and well 

away ! 
After so wicked deede why liv'st thou 

lenger day ? ' 

xLvn. 

With that all desperate, as loathing 
light. 
And with revenge desyring soone to dye, 



Assembling all his force and utmost might, 
With his owne swerd he fierce at him did 

flye, 

And strooke. and foynd, and lasht out- 
rageously, 
Withotiten reason or regard. Well knew 
The Prince, with pacience and sufEeraunce 

sly 
So hasty heat soone cooled to subdew: 
Tho, when this breathlesse woxe, that bat- 

teil gan renew. 



As when a windy tempest bloweth hye. 
That nothing may withstand his stormy 

stowre, 
The clowdes. as thinges affrayd, before 

him five : 
But all so soone as his outrageous powre 
Is layd, they fiercely then begin to 

showre;' 
And, as in scorne of his spent stormy 

spight, 
Xow aU attonce their malice forth do 

poure: 
So did Prince Arthur beare himselfe in 

fight, 
And suffred rash Pyrochles waste his ydle 

might. 



At last, when as the Sarazin perceiv'd 
How that straunge sword refusd to serve 

his neede. 
But when he stroke most strong the dint 

deceiv'd, 
He flongit from him ; and. devoyd of dreed, 
Upon him lightly leaping without heed 
Twixt his two mighty armes engrasped 

fast. 
Thinking to overtbrowe and downe bim 

tred: 
But him in strength and skill the Prince 

surpast. 
And through his nimble sleight did under 

him down cast. 



Nought booted it the Paynim then to 
strive : 

For as a Bittur in the Eagles clawe. 

That may not hope by flight to scape alive. 

Still waytes for death with dread and trem- 
bling aw : 

So he. now subject to the victours law. 

Did not once move, nor upward cast his 
eye. 

For vile disdaine and rancour, which did 
gnaw 

His hart in twaine with sad melaneholv : 



158 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book II. 



As one that loathed life, and yet despysd 
to dye. 

LI. 

But full of princely bounty and great 
mind, 
The conquerour nought cared him to 

slay; 
But casting wronges and all revenge be- 
hind. 
More glory thought to give life then decay, 
And sayd; ' Paynim, this is thy dismall 

day; 
Yet if thou wilt renounce thy miscreaunce. 
And my trew liegeman yield thy self e for 

ay, 
Life will I graunt thee for thy valiaunce, 
And all thy wronges will wipe out of my 
sovenaimce.' 

LII. 

' Foole ! ' (sayd the Pagan) ' I thy gift 

defye, 
But use thy fortune as it doth befall ; 
And say, that I not overcome doe dye, 
But in despight of life for death doe call.' 
Wroth was the Prince, andsoryyetwithall. 
That he so wilfully refused grace ; 
Yet sith his fate so cruelly did fall. 
His shining Helmet he gan soone unlace. 
And left his headlesse body bleeding all 

the place. 

LIII. 

By this Sir Guyon from his traunce 

awakt. 
Life having maystered her sencelesse 

foe. 
And looking up, whenas his shield he lakt 
And sword saw not, he wexed wondrous 

woe; 
But when the Palmer, whom he long ygoe 
Had lost, he by him spyde, right glad he 

grew, 
And saide ; ' Deare sir, whom wandring to 

and fro 
I long have lackt, I joy thy face to vew : 
Firme is thy faith, whom daunger never 

fro me drew. 



'But read, what wicked hand hath 
robbed mee 
Of my good sword and shield ? ' The 

Palmer, glad 
With so fresh hew uprysing him to see. 
Him answered : ' Fay re sonne, be no whit 

sad 
For want of weapons; they shall soone 

be had.' 
So gan he to discourse the whole debate. 
Which that strauuge knight for him sus- 
tained had, 
And those two Sarazins confounded late. 
Whose carcases on ground were horribly 
prostrate. 

LV. 

Which when he heard, and saw the 

tokens trew. 
His hart with great affection was em- 

bayd. 
And to the Prince, bowing with reverence 

dew 
As to the patrone of his life, thus sayd ; 
' My Lord, my liege, by whose most gra- 

tious ayd 
I live this day, and see my foes subdewd. 
What may suffice to be for meede repayd 
Of so great graces as ye have me shewd, 
But to be ever bound ' 



To whom the Infant thus ; * Fayre Sir, 

what need 
Good turnes be counted as a servile bond 
To bind their dooers to receive their 

meed? 
Are not all knightes by oath bound to 

withstond 
Oppressours powre by armes and puissant 

bond ? 
Sufifise that I have done my dew in place.' 
So goodly purpose they together fond 
Of kindnesse and of courteous aggrace ; 
The whiles false Archimage and Atin fled 

apace. 



CANTO IX. 

The house of Temperance, in which 

Doth sober Alma dwell, 
Besiegd of many foes, whom straung 

er knightes to flight com pell. 



Of all Gods workes which doe this 
worlde adorue. 
There is no one more faire and excellent 



Then is mans body, both for powre and 

forme. 
Whiles it is kept in sober government; 
But none then it more f owle and indecent. 



CANTO IX.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



159 



Distempred through misrule aud passions 

bace; 
It growes a Monster, and incontinent 
Doth loose his dignity and native grace : 
Behold, who list, both one and other in 

this place. 

II. 

After the Paynim brethren couquer'd 

were, 
The Briton Prince recov'ring his stolne 

sword, 
And Guy on his lost shield, they both 

yfere 
Forth passed on their way in fayre 

accord. 
Till him the Prince with gentle court did 

bord : 
' Sir knight, mote I of you this court'sy 

read. 
To weet why on your shield, so goodly 

scord, 
Beare ye the picture of that Ladies head ? 
Full lively is the semblaunt, though the 

substance dead.' 

III. 

' Fayre Sir,' (sayd he) ' if in that picture 

dead 
Such life ye read, and vertue in vaine 

shew; 
What mote ye weene, if the trew lively- 
head 
Of that most glorious visage ye did 

vew: 
But yf the beauty of her mind ye knew, 
That is, her bounty, and imperiall 

powre, 
Thousand times fairer than her mortall 

hew, 
O ! how great wonder would your thoughts 

devoure, 
And infinite desire into your spirite poure. 

IV. 

* Shee is the mighty Queene of Faery, 
Whose faire retraitt I in my shield doe 

beare ; 
Shee is the flowre of grace and chastity 
Throughout the world, renowmed far and 

neare. 
My liefe, my liege, my Soveraine, my 

deare. 
Whose glory shineth as the morning 

starre. 
And with her light the earth enlumines 

cleare : 
Far reach her mercies, and her praises 

farre. 
As well in state of peace, as puissaunce in 

warre.' 



'Thrise happy man,' (said then the 

Briton knight) 
' Whom gracious lott and thy great 

valiaunce 
Have made thee soldier of that Princesse 

bright. 
Which with her bounty and glad counte- 

naunce 
Doth blesse her servaunts, and them high 

advaunce. 
How may straunge knight hope ever to 

aspire. 
By f aithfull service and meete amenaunce, 
Unto such blisse? sufficient were that 

hire 
For losse of thousand lives, to die at her 

desire.' 

VI. 

Said Guyon, ' Noble Lord, what meed 

so great. 
Or grace of earthly Prince so soveraine, 
But by your wondrous worth and warlike 

feat 
Ye well may hope, and easely attaine? 
But were your will her sold to entertaine, 
And numbred be mongst knights of May- 

denhed, 
Great guerdon, well I wote, should you 

remaine, 
And in her favor high bee reckoned, 
As Arthegall and Sophy now beene 

honored.' 

VII. 

* Certes,' (then said the Prince) ' I God 

avow. 
That sith I armes and knighthood first 

did plight, 
My whole desire hath beene, and yet is 

now, 
To serve that Queene with al my powre 

and might. 
Seven times the Sunne, with his lamp- 
burning light, 
Hath walkte about the world, and I no 

lesse, 
Sith of that Goddesse I have sought the 

sight, 
Yet no where can her find: such happi- 

nesse 
Heven doth to me envy, and fortune 

favourlesse.' 



' Fortune, the foe of famous chevi- 

sauuee, 
' Seldom ' (said- Guyon) ' yields to vertue 

aide. 
But in her way throwes mischiefe and 

mischaunce. 



i6o 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book II. 



Whereby her course is stopt and passage 

staid : 
But you, faire Sir, be not herewith dis- 

maid, 
But constant keepe the way in which ye 

stand ; 
"Which, were it not that I am els delaid 
AVith hard adventure which I have in 

hand, 
I labour would to guide you through al 

Faery land.' 



* Gramercy Sir,' said he; 'but mote I 

weete 
What straunge adventure doe ye now 

pursew ? 
Perhaps my succour or advizement meete 
Mote stead you much your purpose to 

subdew.' 
Then gan Sir Guyon all the story shew 
Of false Acrasia, and her wicked wiles ; 
Which to avenge the Palmer him forth 

drew 
From Faery court. So talked they, the 

whiles 
They wasted had much way, and measurd 

many miles. 

X. 

And now faire Phoebus gan decline in 

haste 
His weary wagon to the Westerne vale, 
Whenas they spide a goodly castle, plaste 
Foreby a river in a pleasaunt dale; 
Which choosing for that evenings hos- 

pitale, 
They thither marcht: but when they 

came in sight, 
And from their sweaty Coursers did 

avale, 
They found the gates fast barred long 

ere night, 
And every loup fast lockt, as fearing 

foes despight. 



Which when they saw, they weened 

fowle reproch 
Was to them doen, their entraunce to 

forestall, 
Till that the Squire gan nigher to approch, 
And wind his home under the castle wall, 
That with the noise it shooke as it would 

fall. 
Eftsoones forth looked from the highest 

spire 
The watch, and lowd unto the knights 

did call. 
To weete what they so rudely did require? 
Who gently answered. They entraunce 

did desire. 



* Fly fly, good knights,' (said he) 'fly 

fast away. 
If that your lives ye love, as meete ye 

should ; 
Fly fast, and save your selves from neare 

decay ; 
Here may ye not have entraunce, though 

we would : 
We would, and would againe, if that we 

could ; 
But thousand enemies about us rave, 
And with long siege us in the castle 

hould. 
Seven yeares this wize they us besieged 

have, 
And many good knights slaine that have 

us sought to save.' 

xin. 

Thus as he spoke, loe ! with outragious 

cry 
A thousand villeins rownd about them 

swarmd 
Out of the rockes and caves adjoyning 

nye; 
Vile caitive wretches, ragged, rude, de- 

formd. 
All threatning death, all in straunge 

manner armd ; 
Some with unweldy clubs, some with 

long speares. 
Some rusty knifes, some staves in fier 

warmd : 
Sterne was their looke ; like wild amazed 

steares. 
Staring with hollow eies, and stiffe up- 
standing heares. 

XIV. 

Fiersly at first those knights they did 

assayle, 
And drove them to recoile; but when 

againe 
They gave fresh charge, their forces gan 

to fayle, 
Unhable their encounter to sustaine ; 
For with such puissaunce and impetuous 

maine 
Those Champions broke on them, that 

forst them fly. 
Like scattered Sheepe, whenas the Shep- 
herds swaine 
A Lyon and a Tigre doth espye, 
With greedy pace forth rushing from the 

forest nye. 

XV. 

A while they fled, but soone retournd 
againe 
With greater fury then before was f ownd ; 



CANTO IX.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



i6i 



And evermore their cruell Capitaine 
Sought with his raskall routs t'enclose 

them rownd, 
And, overronue, to tread them to the 

g rownd : 
But soone the knights with their bright 

burning blades 
Broke their rude troupes, and orders did 

confo-mid, 
Hewing and slashing at their idle shades; 
For though they bodies seem, yet sub- 

staunce from them fades. 



As when a swarm e of Gnats at eventide 

Out of the fonnes of Allan doe arise. 

Their murmuring small trompetts sown- 
den wide, 

"Whiles in the aire their clustring army 
flies, 

That as a cloud doth seeme to dim tlie 
skies ; 

Ne man nor beast may rest, or take re- 
past 

For their sharpe wounds and noyous in- 
juries. 

Till the fierce Northerne wind with blus- 
tring blast 

Doth blow them quite away, and in the 
Ocean cast. 



Thus when they had that troublous rout 

disperst. 
Unto the castle gate they come againe, 
And entraunce crav'd which was denied 

erst. 
Now when report of that their perlous 

paine, 
And combrous conflict which they did 

sustaine, 
Came to the Ladies eare which there did 

dwell, 
Shee forth issewed with a goodly traine 
Of Squires and Ladies equipaged well, 
And entertained them right fairely, as 

befell. 

xvin. 

Alma she called was ; a virgin bright, 
That had not yet felt Cupides wanton 

rage ; 
Yet was shee woo'd of many a gentle 

knight, 
And many a Lord of noble parentage, 
That sought with her to lincke in mar- 
riage : 
For shee was faire as faire mote ever bee. 
And in the flowre now of her freshest age ; 
Yet full of grace and goodly modestee, 
That even heven rejoyced lier sweete face 
to see. 



In robe of lilly white she was arayd, 
That from her shoulder to her heele downe 

raught ; 
The traine whereof loose far behind her 

strayd, 
Braunc'hed with gold and perle most 

richly wrought, 
And borne of two faire Damsels which 

were taught 
That service well. Her yellow golden 

heare 
Was trimly woven and in tresses wroiight, 
Ne other tire she on her head did weare. 
But crowned with a garland of sweete 

Rosiere. 

XX. 

Goodly shee entertaind those noble 

knights, 
And brought them up into her castle 

hall ] 
AVhere gentle court and gracious delight 
Shee to them made, with mildnesse vir- 

ginall, 
Shewing her selfe both wise and liberall. 
Then, when they rested had a season dew, 
They her besought of favour speciall 
Of that faire Castle to affoord them vew : 
Shee graunted ; and, them leading forth, 

the same did shew. 



First she them led up to the Castle 
wall, 

That was so high as foe might not it 
clime, 

And all so faire and fensible withall ; 

Not built of bricke, ne yet of stone and 
lime, 

But of thing like to that J^gyptian slime, 

Whereof king Nine whilome built Babell 
towre. 

But O great pitty ! that no lenger time 

So goodly workemanship should not en- 
dure : 

Soone it must turne to earth; no earthly 
thing is sure. 

XXII. 

The frame thereof seemd partly cir-cu- 

lare. 
And part triangulare ; O worke divine ! 
Those two the first and last proportions 

are; 
The one imperfect, mortall, foiminine. 
Til' other imniortall, perfect, masculine; 
And twixt them both a quadrate was the 

base, 
Proportiond equally by seven and nine : 
Nine was the circle sett in heavens place . 



l62 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book II. 



All which compacted made a goodly 
Diapase. 

XXIII. 

Therein two gates were placed seemly- 
well: 
The one before, by which all in did pas, 
Did th' other far in workmanship excel! ; 
For not of wood, nor of enduring bras. 
But of more worthy substance fram'd it 

was: 
Doubly disparted, it did locke and close, 
That when it locked none might thorough 

pas. 
And when it opened, no man might it 

close ; 
Still open to their friendes, and closed to 
their foes. 



Of hewen stone the porch was fayrely 
'wrought, 
Stone more of valew, and more smooth 

and fine. 
Then Jett or Marble far from Ireland 

brought ; 
Over the which was cast a wandring vine, 
Enchaced with a wanton yvie twine ; 
And over it a fayre Portcullis hong. 
Which to the gate directly did incline 
With comely compasse and compacture 

strong, 
Nether unseemly short, nor yet exceed- 
ing long. 

XXV. 

Within the Barbican a Porter sate, 
Day and night duely keeping watch and 

ward; 
Nor wight nor word mote passe out of the 

gate. 
But in good order, and with dew regard ; 
Utterers of secrets he from thence debard, 
Bablers of folly, and blazers of cry me: 
His larnmbell might lowd and wyde be 

hard 
When cause requyrd, but never out of 

time; 
Early and late it rong, at evening and at 

prime. 

XXVI. 

And rownd about the porch on every 

syde 
Twise sixteene warders satt, all armed 

bright 
In glistring Steele, and strongly fortifyde : 
Tall yeomen seemed they and of great 

might. 
And were enraunged ready still for fight. 
By them as Alma passed with her guestes. 
They did obeysaunce, as beseemed right, 
And then againe retourned to their restes : 



The Porter eke to her did lout with hum- 
ble gestes. 

XXVII. 

Thence she them brought into a stately 

Hall, 
Wherein were many tables fayre dispred. 
And ready dight with drapets festival], 
Against the viaundes should be ministred. 
At th' upper end there sate, yclad in red 
Downe to the ground, a comely personage, 
That in his hand a white rod menaged : 
He Steward was, hight Diet; rype of 

age, 
And in demeanure sober, and in counsell 

sage. 

XXVIII. 

And through the Hall there walked to 

and fro 
A jolly yeoman, Marshall of the same, 
Whose name was Appetite : he did bestow 
Both guestes and meate, when ever in they 

came, 
And knew them how to order without 

blame. 
As him the Steward badd. They both 

attone 
Did dewty to their Lady, as became ; 
Who, passing by, forth ledd her guestes 

an one 
Into the kitchin rowme, ne spard for nice- 

nesse none. 

XXIX. 

It was a vaut ybuilt for great dispence, 
With many raunges reard along the wall, 
And one great chimney, whose long ton- 

nell thence 
The smoke forth threw. And in the midst 

of all 
There placed was a caudron wide and tall 
Upon a mightie fornace, burning whott, 
More whott then Aetn', or flaming Mon- 

giball 
For day and night it brent, ne ceased not, 
So long as any thing it in the caudron 

gott. 

XXX. 

But to delay the heat, least by mis- 

chaunce 
It might breake out and set the whole on 

fyre. 
There added was by goodly ordinaunce 
An huge great payre of bellowes, which 

did styi-e 
Continually, and cooling breath inspyre. 
About the Caudron many Cookes aceoyld 
With hookes and ladles, as need did re- 

qnyre ; 
The whyles the viaundes in the vessell 

boyld 



CANTO IX.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



163 



Tliey did about their busiuesse sweat, and 
sorely toy Id. 



The maister Cooke was cald Concoction ; 
A carefull man, and full of comely guyse. 
The kitchin clerke, that hight Digestion, 
Did order all th' Achates in seemely wise. 
And set them forth, as well he could de- 
vise. 
The rest had severall offices assynd ; 
Some to remove the scum as it did rise ; 
Others to beare the same away did mynd ; 
And others it to use according to hiskynd. 

XXXII. 

But all the liquour, which was fowle 

and waste, 
Not good nor serviceable elles for ought. 
They in another great rownd vessell plaste. 
Till by a conduit pipe it thence were 

Isrought : 
And all the rest, that noyous was and 

nought, 
By secret wayes, that none might it espy, 
Was close convaid, and to the backgate 

brought, 
That cleped was Port Esquiline, whereby 
It was avoided quite, and throwne out 

privily. 



Which goodly order and great work- 
mans skill 
Whenas those knightes beheld, with rare 

delight 
And gazing wonder they their mindes did 

fill; 
For never had they seene so straunge a 

sight. 
Thence backe againe faire Alma led them 

right. 
And soone into a goodly Parlour brought, 
That was with royall arras richly digiit, 
In which was nothing pourtrahed nor 

wrought ; 
Not wrought nor pourtrahed, but easie to 

be thought. 

XXXI v. 

And in the midst thereof upon the floure 
A lovely bevy of faire Ladies sate, 
Courted of many a jolly Paramoure, 
The which them did in modest wise amate, 
And each one sought his Lady to aggrate : 
And eke emongst them litle Cupid playd 
His wanton sportes, being retourned late 
From his fierce warres, and having from 

him layd 
His cruell bow, wherewith he thousands 

hath dismayd. 



Diverse delights they fownd them selves 

to please ; 
Some song in sweet consort ; some laught 

for joy ; 
Some plaid with strawes ; some ydly satt 

at ease ; 
But other some could not abide to toy ; 
All pleasaunce was to them griefe and 

annoy : 
This f round, that faund, the third for 

shame did blush, 
Another seemed envious or coy. 
Another in her teeth did gnaw a rush ; 
But at these straungers presence every one 

did hush. 

XXX VI. 

Soone as the gracious Alma came in 

place. 
They all attonce out of their seates arose, 
And to her homage made with humble 

grace : 
Whom when the knights beheld, they gan 

dispose 
Themselves to court, and each a damzell 

chose. 
The Prince by chaunce did on a Lady light, 
That was right faire and fresh as morning 

rose, 
But somwhat sad and solemne eke in 

sight. 
As if some pensive thought constraind her 

gentle spright. 

XXXVII. 

In a long purple pall, whose skirt with 

gold 
Was fretted all about, she was arayd ; 
And in her hand a Poplar braunch did 

hold: 
To whom the Prince in courteous maner 

sayd; 
* Gentle Madame, why beene ye thus dis- 
mayd. 
And your faire beautie doe with sadnes 

spill? 
Lives any that you hath thus ill apayd ? 
Or doen you love ? or doen you lack your 

will? 
What ever bee the cause, it sure beseemes 

you ill.' 



'Fayre Sir,' said she, halfe in disdaine- 

ful wise, 
' How is it that this mood in me ye blame. 
And in your selfe doe not the same advise ? 
Him ill beseemes anothers fault to name. 
That may unwares bee blotted with the 

same : 



164 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book II. 



Pensive I yeeld I am, and sad in mind, 
Through great desire of glory and of fame ; 
Ne ought, I Aveene, are ye therein behynd, 
That have three years sought one, yet no 
where can her find.' 

XXXIX. 

The Prince was inly moved at her speach, 
Well weetiug trew what she had rashly 

told; 
Yet with faire semhlaunt sought to hyde 

the breach, 
Which chaunge of colour did perforce un- 
fold, 
Now seeming flaming whott, now stony 

cold: 
Tho, turning soft aside, he did inquyre 
What wight she was that Poplar braunch 

did hold ? 
It answered was, her name was Prays- 

desire, 
That by well doing sought to honour to 

aspyre. 

XL. 

The whyles the Faery knight did enter- 

tajaie 
Another Damsell of that gentle crew, 
That was right fayre and modest of de- 
may ne. 
But that too oft she chaung'd her native 

hew. 
Straunge was her tyre, and all her garment 

blew. 
Close rownd about her tuckt with many a 

plight : 
Upon her fist the bird, which shonneth 

vew. 
And keepes in coverts close from living 

wight, 
Did sitt, as yet ashamd how rude Pan did 

her dight. 

XLI. 

So long as Guyon with her commoned. 
Unto the grownd she cast her modest eye, 
And ever and anone with rosy red 
The bashfull blood her snowy cheekes did 

dye. 
That her became, as polisht yvory 
Which cunning Craftesman hand hath 

overlayd 
AVith fayre vermilion or pure Castory. 
Great wonder had the knight to see the 

mayd 
So straungely passioned, and to her gently 

said : 

XLII. 

' Fayre Damzell, seemeth by your 
troubled cheare, 
That either me too bold ye weene, this wise 
You to molest, or other ill to feare 



That in the secret of your hart close lyes, 
From whence it doth, as cloud from sea, 

aryse. 
If it be I, of pardon I you pray ; 
But if ought else that I mote not devyse, 
I will, if please you it discure, assay 
To ease you of that ill, so wisely as I 

may.' 

XLIII. 

She answerd nought, but more abasht 
for shame 

Held downe her head, the whiles her lovely 
face 

The flashing blood with blushing did in- 
flame. 

And the strong passion mai-d her modest 
grace. 

That Guyon mervayld at her uncouth 
cace; 

Till Alma him bespake : ' Why wonder yee, 

Faire Sir, at that which ye so much era- 
brace ? 

She is the f ountaine of your modestee : 

You shamefast are, but Shamefastnes it 
selfe is shee.' 



Thereat the Elfe did blush in privitee. 
And turnd his face away, but she the same 
Dissembled faire, and faynd to oversee. 
Thus they awhile with court and goodly 

game 
Themselves did solace each one with his 

Dame, 
Till that great Lady thence away them 

sought 
To vew her Castles other wondrous frame : 
Up to a stately Turret she them brought. 
Ascending by ten steps of Alabaster 

wrought. 

XLV. 

That Turrets frame most admirable was, 
Like highest heaven compassed around. 
And lifted high above this earthly masse. 
Which it survewd as hils doen lower 

ground ; 
But not on ground mote like to this be 

found : 
Not that, which antique Cadmus whylome 

built 
In Thebes, which Alexander did confound ; 
Nor that proud towre of Troy, though 

richly guilt. 
From which young Hectors blood by cruell 

Greekes was spilt. 

XL VI. 

The roofe hereof was arched over head, 
And deckt with flowers and herbars 
daintily : 



CANTO IX.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



165 



Two goodly Beacons, set in watches stead, 
Therein gave light, and flamd continu- 
ally ; 
For they of living fire most subtilly 
Were made, and set in silver sockets 

bright, 
Cover'd with lids deviz'd of substance sly, 
That readily they shut and open might. 
O ! who can tell the prayses of that makers 
might ? 

XLvn. 

Ne can I tell, ne can I stay to tell, 

This parts great workemanship and won- 
drous powre. 

That all this other worldes worke doth ex- 
cell, 

And likest is unto that heavenly towre 

That God hath built for his owne blessed 
bowre. 

Therein were divers rowmes, and divers 
stages ; 

But three the chiefest and of greatest 
powre. 

In which there dwelt three honorable 
sages, 

The wisest men, I weene, that lived in 
their ages. 

XLVIII. 

Not he, whom Greece, the Nourse of all 
good arts. 
By Phoebus doome the wisest thought 

alive. 
Might be compar'd to these by many parts : 
Nor that sage Pylian syre, which did sur- 
vive 
Three ages, such as mortall men contrive, 
By whose advise old Priams cittie fell. 
With these in praise of pollicies mote 

strive. 
These three in these three rowmes did 

soudry dwell, 
And counselled faire Alma how to governe 
well. 

XLIX. 

The first of them could things to come 

foresee ; 
The next could of thinges present best 

advize ; 
The third things past could keep in mem- 

oree: 
vSo that no time nor reason could arize. 
But that the same could one of these com- 
prize. 
For-thy the first did in the forepart sit. 
That nought mote hinder his quicke pre- 

judize: 
He had a sharpe foresight and working 

wit 
That never idle was, ne once would rest a 

whit. 



His chamber was dispainted all within 
With soudry colours, in the which were 

writ 
Infinite shapes of thinges dispersed thin ; 
Some such as in the world were never yit, 
Ne can devized be of mortall wit ; 
Some daily scene and knoweu by their 



Such as in idle fantasies do flit ; 

Infernall Hags, Centaurs, feendes, Hippo- 
dames, 

Apes, Lyons, Aegles, Owles, fooles, lovers, 
children, Dames. 



And all the chamber filled was with flyes 

Which buzzed all about, and made such 
sound 

That they encombred all mens eares and 
eyes ; 

Like many swarmes of Bees assembled 
round, 

After their hives with honny do abound. 

All those were idle thoughtes and fanta- 
sies, 

Devices, dreames, opinions unsound, 

Shew^es, visions, sooth-sayes, and prophe- 
sies; 

And all that fained is, as leasings, tales, 
and lies. 

LII. 

Emongst them all sate he which wonned 

there. 
That hight Phantastes by his nature trew ; 
A man of yeares yet fresh, as mote appere, 
Of swarth complexion, and of crabbed 

hew. 
That him full of melancholy did shew ; 
Bent hollow beetle browes, sharpe staring 

eyes, 
That mad or foolish seemd: one by his 

vew 
Mote deeme him borne with ill-disposed 

skyes, 
When oblique Saturn e sate in th' house of 

agonyes. 

LIII. 

Whom Alma having shewed to her 

guestes, 
Thence brought them to the second rowme, 

whose wals 
Were painted faire with memorable gestes 
Of famous Wisards ; and wath picturals 
Of Magistrates, of courts, of tribunals. 
Of commen-wealthes, of states, of pollicy. 
Of lawes, of judgementes, and of decretals, 
All artes, all science, all Philosophy, 
And all that in the world was ay thought 

wittily. 



i66 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book it. 



LIV. 

Of those that rowme was full ; and them 
among 
There sate a man of ripe and perfect age, 
Who did them meditate all his life long, 
That through contiuuall practise and usage 
He now was grown e right wise and won- 
drous sage : 
Great pleasure had those strauuger 

knightes to see 
His goodly reason and grave personage, 
That his disciples hoth desyrd to hee ; 
But Alma thence them led to th' hind- 
most rowme of three. 

LV. 

That chamber seemed ruinous and old, 
And therefore was removed far behind, 
Yet were the wals, that did the same 

uphold, 
Eight firme and strong, though somwhat 

they declind ; 
And therein sat an old old man, halfe 

blind, 
And all decrepit in his feeble corse. 
Yet lively vigour rested in his mind. 
And recompenst them with a better scorse : 
Weake body wel is chang'd for minds 

redoubled forse. 



This man of infinite remembraunce was. 
And things foregone through many ages 

held. 
Which he recorded still as they did pas, 
Ne suffred them to perish through long 

eld. 
As all things els the which this world doth 

weld ; 
But laid them up in his immortall serine, 
Where they for ever incorrupted dweld : 
The warres he well remembred of king 

Nine, 
Of old Assaracus, and Inachus divine. 



The yeares of Nestor nothing were to 

his, 
Ne yet Mathusalem, though longest liv'd ; 
For he remembred both their infancis : 
Ne wonder then, if that he were depriv'd 
Of native strength now that he them 

surviv'd. 



His chamber all was hangd about with 
rolls 

And old records from auncieut times 
derivd, 

Some made in books, some in long parch- 
ment scrolls. 

That were all worm-eaten and full of 
canker holes. 

LVIII. 

Amidst them all he in a chaire was sett, 
Tosshig and turning them withouten end ; 
But for he was unhable them to fett, 
A litle boy did on him still attend 
To reach, when ever he for ought did 

send ; 
And oft when thinges were lost, or laid 

amis. 
That boy them sought and unto him did 

lend : 
Therefore he Anamnestes cleped is ; 
And that old man Eumnestes, by their 

propertis. 

LIX. 

The knightes there entring did him 

reverence dew. 
And wondred at his endlesse exercise : 
Then as they gan his Library to vew, 
And antique Eegesters for to avise. 
There chaunced to the Princes hand to 

rize 
An auncient booke, hight Briton moni- 

ments, 
That of this lands first conquest did 

devize, 
And old division into Regiments, 
Till it reduced was to one mans governe- 

ments. 

LX. 

Sir Guyon chaunst eke on another 

booke. 
That hight Antiquitee of Faenj lond : 
In which whenas he greedily did looke, 
Th' ofspring of Elves and Faeryes there 

he fond. 
As it delivered was from bond to bond : 
Whereat they, burning both with fervent 

fire 
Their conn treys auncestry to understond, 
Crav'd leave of Alma and that aged sire 
To read those bookes ; who gladly graunted 

their desire. 



CANTO X.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



167 



CANTO X. 

A chronicle of Briton kings, 
From Brute to Uthers rayne ; 

And rolls of Eltiu Eunierou'rs, 
Till time of Gloriiiiie. 



Who now shall give unto me words and 

sound 
Equall unto this haughty enterprise ? 
Or who shall lend me wings, with which 

from ground 
My lowly verse may loftily arise, 
And lift it selfe unto the highest skyes? 
More ample spirit than hitherto was wount 
Here needes me, whiles the famous 

aunoestryes 
Of my most dreaded Soveraigne I recount, 
By which all earthly Princes she doth far 

surmount. 

II. 

Ne under Sunne that shines so wide and 
faire, 

Whence all that lives does borrow life 
and light, 

Lives ought that to her linage may 
compaire ; 

Which though from earth it be derived right, 

Yet doth it selfe stretch forth to heveus 
hight. 

And all the world with wonder overspred ; 

A labor huge, exceeding far my might. 

How shall fraile pen, with feare dis- 
paraged, 

Conceive such soveraine glory and great 
bountjhed ? 

III. 

Argument worthy of Mfiponian quill ; 
Or rather worthy of groat Phoebus rote, 
Whereon the mines of great Ossa hill, 
And triumphes of Phlegraean Jove, he 

wrote. 
That all the Gods admird his lofty note. 
But if some relish of that hevenlj' lay 
His learned daughters would to me report 
To decke my song withall, I would assay 
Thy name, O soveraine Queene ! to blazon 
far away. 

IV. 

Thy name, O soveraine Queene! thy 

realme, and race, 
From this renowmed Prince derived arre, 
Who mightily upheld that royall mace 
Which now thou bear'st, to thee descended 

farre 
From mighty kings and conqnerours in 

warre, 



Thy fathers and great Grandfathers of 

old. 
Whose noble deeds above the Northern 

starre 
Im mortal 1 fame for ever hath enrold ; 
As in that old mans booke they were in 

order told. 

V. 

The land which warlike Britons now 



And therein have their mighty empire 

raysd, 
In antique times was salvage wildernesse, 
Unpeopled, unmannurd, "unprovd, un- 

praysd ; 
Ne was it Island then, ne was it paysd 
Amid the ocean waves, ne was it souglit 
Of merchants farre for profits therein 

praysd ; 
But was all desolatie, and of some thought 
By sea to have bene from the Celticke 

maynland brought. 



Ne did it then deserve a name to have. 
Till that the venturous Mariner that way 
Learning his ship from those white rocks 

to save. 
Which all along the Southerne sea-coast 

lay 
Threatning unheedy wrecke and rash 

decay. 
For safety that same his sea-marke made. 
And namd it Albion : But later day, 
Finding in it fit ports for fishers trade, 
Gan more the same frequent, and further 

to invade. 

VII. 

But far in land a salvage nation dwelt 
Of hideous Giaunts, and halfe beastly 

men, » 

That never tasted grace, nor goodnes 

felt; 
But wild like beastes lurking in loathsome 

den, 
And flying fast as Roebucke through the 

fen, 
All naked without shame or care of cold. 
By hunting and by spoiling liveden : 
Of stature huge, and eke of corage bold. 
That sonnes of men amazd their stern- 

nesse to behold. 



i68 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book II. 



But whence they sprong, or how they 

were begott, 
Uneath is to assure ; uneath to wene 
That monstrous error, which doth some 

assott, 
That Dioclesians fifty daughters shene 
Into this land by chaunce have driven 

bene; 
Where, companing with feends and filthy 

Sprights 
Through vaine illusion of their lust 

unclene, 
They brought forth Geauuts, and such 

dreadful wights 
As far exceeded men in their immeasurd 

mights. 

IX. 

They held this land, and with their 

filthinesse 
Polluted this same gentle soyle long time ; 
That their owne mother loathd their beast- 

linesse, 
And gan abhorre her broods unkindly 

crime, 
All were they borne of her owne native 

slime : 
Until that Brutus, anciently deriv'd 
From roiall stocke of old Assaracs line, 
Driven by fatall error here arriv'd, 
And them of their unjust possession 

depriv'd. 

X. 

But ere he had established his throne. 
And spred his empire to the utmost shore. 
He fought great batteils with his salvage 

fone; 
In which he them defeated evermore, 
And many Giaunts left on groning flore : 
That well can witnes yet unto this day 
The westerne Hogh, besprincled with the 

gore 
Of mighty Goemot, whome in stout fray 
Corineus conquered, and cruelly did slay. 

XI. 

And eke that ample Pitt, yet far 

renownd^ 
For the large' leape which Debon did 

compell 
Coulin to make, being eight lugs of 

grown d, 
Into the which retourning backe he fell : 
But those three monstrous stones doe 

most excell, 
Which that huge sonne of hideous Albion, 
Whose father Hercules in Fraunce did 

quell, 
Great Godmer threw, in fierce contention, 



At bold Canutus ; but of him was slaine 
anon. 

XII. 

In meed of these great conquests by 

them gott, 
Corineus had that Province utmost west 
To him assigned for his worthy lott. 
Which of his name and memorable gest 
He called Cornwaile, yet so called best; 
And Debons shayre was that is Devon- 

shyre : 
But Canute had his portion from the rest, 
The which he cald Canutium, for his byre ; 
Now Cautium, which Kent we comenly 

inquyre. 

XIII. 

Thus Brute this Realme unto his rule 

subdewd, 
And raigned long in great felicity, 
Lov'd of his freends, and of his foes 

eschewd : 
He left three sonnes, his famous progeny. 
Borne of fayre Inogene of Italy ; 
Mongst whom he parted his imperiall 

state, 
And Locrine left chief e Lord of Britauy. 
At last ripe age bad him surrender late 
His life, and long good fortune, unto 

finall fate. 

XIV. 

Locrine was left the soveraine Lord of 

all: 
But Albanact had all the Northerne part. 
Which of himselfe Albania he did call ; 
And Camber did possesse the Westerne 

quart. 
Which Severne now from Logris doth 

depart : 
And each his portion peaceably enjoyd, 
Ne was there outward breach, nor grudge 

in hart, 
That once their quiet government annoyd ; 
But each his paynes to others profit still 

employd. 

XV. 

Untill a nation straunge, with visage 
swart, 
And corage fierce that all men did affray, 
Wliich through the world then swarmd in 

every part. 
And overflowd all countries far away, 
Like Noyes great flood, with their impor- 
tune sway. 
This land invaded with like violence. 
And did themselves through all the North 

display : 
Untill that Locrine for his Realmes de- 
fence. 
Did head against them make and strong 
munificence. 



CANTO X.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



169 



XVI. 

He them encoutitrecl, a confused rout, 
Forcby the River that whylome was 

hijjht 
The ancient Abus, where with couraj^e 

stout 
He them defeated in victorious fight. 
And chaste so fiercely after fearefull 

flight. 
That forst their chief etain, for his safeties 

sake, 
(Their Chiefetain Humber named was 

aright,) 
ITnto tlie mighty streame him to betake, 
Where he an end of batteill and of life 

did make. 

XVII. 

The king retourned proud of victory, 
And insolent wox through unwonted ease, 
Tlrat shortly he forgot the jeopardy, 
Which in his land he lately did appease. 
And fell to vaine voluptuous disease : 
He lov'd faire Ladie Estrild, leudly lov'd, 
Whose wanton pleasures him too much 

did please. 
That quite his hart from Guendolene 

remov'd. 
From Guendolene his wife, though alwaies 

faithful prov'd. 



The noble daughter of Corineus 
Would not endure to bee so vile disdaind. 
But, gathering force and corage valorous, 
Encountred him in batteill well ordaind. 
In which him vanquisht she to fly con- 

straind : 
But she so fast pursewd, that him she 

tooke 
And threw in bands, where ho till death 

remaind ; 
Als his faire Leman flying through a 

brooke 
She overhent, nought moved with her 

piteous looke; 



But both her selfe, and eke her daughter 

deare, 
Begotten by her kingly Paramoure, 
The faire Sabrina, almost dead with feare, 
She there attached, far from all suecoure ; 
The one she slew upon the present floure ; 
But the sad virgin, innocent of all, 
Adowne the rolling river she did poure, 
Which of her name now Severne men do 

call : 
Such was the end that to disloyall love 

did fall. 



Then for her sonne, which she to Locrin 

bore, 
Madan was young, unmeet the rule to 

sway, 
In her owne hand the crowne she kept in 

store. 
Till ryper years he raught and stronger 

stay ; 
During which time her powre she did 

display 
Through all this Realms, the glory of her 

sex. 
And first taught men a woman to obay : 
But, when her sonue to mans estate did 

wex. 
She it surrendred, ne her selfe would 

lenger vex. 

XXI. 

Tho Madan raignd, iinworthie of his 

race, 
For with all shame that sacred throne he 

tild. 
Next Memprise, as unworthy of that 

place ; 
In which being consorted with Manild, 
For thirst of single kingdom him he kild. 
But Ebranck salved both their infamies 
With noble deedes, and warreyd on Brun- 

child 
In Henault, where yet of his victories 
Brave monimeiits remaine, which yet that 

land envies. 

XXII. 

An happy man in his first dayes he was, 
And happy father of faire progeny : 
For all so many weekes as the yeare has, 
So many children he did multiply : 
Of which were twentie sonnes, which did 

apply 
Their mindes to prayse and chevalrous 

desyre : 
Those germans did subdew all Germany, 
Of whom it hight; but in the end their 

Syre 
With foule repulse from Fraunce was 

forced to retyre. 

XXIII. 

Which blott his sonne succeeding in his 

seat, 
The second Brute, the second both in 

name 
And eke in semblaunce of his puissaunce 

great, 
Right well recur'd, and did away that 

blame 
With recompence of everlasting fame : 
He with his victour sword first opened 



170 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book II. 



The bowels of wide Fiaunce, a forlorne 
Dame, 

And taught her first how to he con- 
quered ; 

Since which, with sondrie spoiles she 
hath been ransacked. 

XXIV. 

Let Scaldis tell, and let tell Hania, 
And let the marsh of Esthambruges tell, 
What colour were their waters that same 

day, 
And all the moore twixt Elversham and 

Dell, 
With blood of Henalois which therein 

fell. 
How oft that day did sad Brunchildis see 
The greene shield dyde in dolorous ver- 
meil? 
That not Scuith guiridh it mote seeme to 

bee. 
But rather y scuith gogh, signe of sad 
crueltee. 

XXV. 

His Sonne, king Leill, by fathers labour 

long, 
Enjoyd an heritage of lasting peace, 
And built Cairleill, and built Cairleon 

strong. 
Next Huddibras his realme did not 

encrease, 
But taught the land from wearie wars to 

cease : 
Whose footsteps Bladud following, in 

artes 
Exceld at Athens all the learned preace. 
From whence he brought them to these 

salvage parts. 
And with sweet science mollifide their 

stubborne harts. 



Ensample of his wondrous faculty, 
Behold the boyling bathes at Cairbadon, 
Which seeth with secret fire eternally, 
And in their entrailles, full of quick Brim- 

ston, 
Nourish the flames which they are warmd 

upon, 
That to their people wealth they forth do 

well, 
And health to every forreyne nation : 
Yet he at last, contending to excell 
The reach of men, through flight into 

fond mischief fell. 



Next him king Leyr in happie peace 
long raynd, 



But had no issue male him to succeed, 
But three faire daughters, which were 

well uptraind 
In all that seemed fitt for kingly seed : 
Mougst whom his realme he equally de- 
creed 
To have divided. Tho, when feeble age 
Nigh to his utmost date he saw proceed. 
He cald his daughters, and with speeches 

sage 
Inquyrd, which of them most did love 
her parentage? 

XXVIII. 

The eldest, Gonorill, gan to protest 
That she mvich more than her owne life 

him lov'd ; 
And Regan greater love to him profest 
Then all the world, when ever it were 

proov'd; 
But Cordeill said she lov'd him as be- 

hoov'd : 
Whose simple answere, wanting colours 

fayre 
To paint it forth, him to displeasaunce 

moov'd, 
That in his crown he counted her no 

hayre, 
But twixt the other twain his kingdom 

whole did shay re. 



So wedded th' one to Maglan king of 

Scottes, 
And thother to the king of Cambria, 
And twixt them shayrd his realme by 

equall lottes ; 
But without dowre the wise Cordelia 
Was sent to Aggannip of Celtica. 
Their aged Syre, thus eased of his crowne, 
A private life ledd in Albania 
With Gonorill, long had in great renowne, 
That nought him griev'd to beene from 

rule deposed downe. 



But true it is that, when the oyle is 

spent, 
The light goes out, and weeke is throwne 

away: 
So, when he had resignd his regiment, 
His daughter gan despise his drouping 

day, 
And wearie wax of his continuall stay. 
Tho to his daughter Regan he repayrd. 
Who him at first well used every way; 
But when of his departure she de- 

spayrd, 
Her bo untie she abated, and his cheare 

empayrd. 



CANTO X.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



171 



The wretched man gan then avise too 

late, 
That love is not where most it is profest ; 
Too truely tryde in his extremest state. 
At last, resolv'd likewise to prove the 

rest, 
He to Cordelia him selfe addrest, 
Who with eutyre affection him receav'd, 
As for her Syre and king her seemed 

best; 
And after all an army strong she leav'd, 
To war on those which him had of his 

realme bereav'd. 



So to his crowne she him restord againe ; 
Li which he dyde, made ripe for death by 

eld, 
And after wild it shonld to her remaine, 
AVho peaceably the same long time did 

weld. 
And all mens harts in dew obedience held ; 
Till that her sisters children, woxen 

strong. 
Through proud ambition against her 

rebeld, * 

And overcommen kept in prison long, 
Till weary of that wretched life her selfe 

she hong. 

XXXIII. 

Then gan the bloody brethren both to 

raine ; 
But fierce Cundah gan shortly to envy 
His brother Morgan, prickt with proud 

disdaine 
To have a pere in part of soverainty ; 
And kindling coles of cruell enmity, 
Raisd warre, and him in batteill overthrew. 
Whence as he to those woody hilles did 

fly, 

Which hight of him Glamorgan, there 

him slew : 
Then did he raigne alone, when he none 

equall knew. 

XXXIV. 

His Sonne Rivall' his dead rowme did 

supply ; 
In whose sad time blood did from heaven 

rayne. 
Next great Gurgustus, then faire Caecily, 
In constant peace their kingdoms did 

contayne. 
After whom Lago, and Kinmarke did 

rayne. 
And Gorbogud, till far in years he grew: 
Then his ambitious sonnes unto them 

twayne 



Arraught the rule, and from their father 

drew; 
Stout Ferrex and sterne Porrex him in 

prison threw. 



But O! the greedy thirst of royall 

crowne. 
That knowes no kinred, nor regardes no 

right, 
Stird Porrex up to put his brother downe ; 
Who, unto him assembling forreigne 

might, 
Made warre on him, and fell him selfe in 

fight: 
Whose death t'avenge, his mother merci- 

lesse, 
Most mercilesse of women, Wyden hight. 
Her other sonne fast sleeping did oppresse, 
And with most cruell hand" him murdred 

pittilesse. 

XXXVI. 

Here ended Brutus sacred progeny, 
Which had seven hundred yeares this 

scepter borne 
With high renowme and great felicity : 
The noble bi-aunch from th' antique 

stocke was torne 
Through discord, and the roiall throne 

forlorne. 
Thenceforth this Realme was into fac- 
tions rent, 
AVhilest each of Brutus boasted to be 

borne, ' 
That in the end was left no moniment 
Of Brutus, nor of Britons glorie auncient. 



Then up arose a man of matchlesse 

might. 
And wondrous wit to menage high af- 

f ay res, 
Who, stird with pitty of the stressed 

plight 
Of this sad realme, cut into sondry 

shayres 
By such as claymd themselves Brutes 

rightfull hay res. 
Gathered the Princes of the people loose 
To taken counsell of their common cares ; 
"WTio, with his wisedom won, him streight 

did choose 
Their king, and swore him fealty to win 

or loose. 

XXXVIII. 

Then made he head against his eui- 

mies. 
And Ymner slew of Logris miscreate ; 
Then Ruddoc and proud Stater, both 

allyes. 



172 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book II. 



This of Albany newly nominate, 

And that of Cambry king confirmed late, 

He overthrew through his owne vali- 

aunce ; 
Whose countries he redus'd to quiet 

state, 
And shortly brought to civile gover- 

naunce, 
Now one, which earst were many made 

through variaunce. 



Then made he sacred lawes, which some 

men say 
Were unto him reveald in vision ; 
By which he freed the Travellers highway, 
The Churches part, and Ploughmans 

portion, 
Restraining stealth and strong extortion. 
The gratious Numa of great Britany ; 
For till his dayes, the chiefe dominion 
By strength was wielded without pollicy : 
Therefore he first wore crowne of gold 

for dignity. 

XL. 

Donwallo dyde, (for what may live for 
ay?) 
And left two sonnes, of pearelesse 

prowesse both, 
That sacked Rome too dearely did assay. 
The recompence of their perjured oth ; • 
And ransackt Greece wel tryde, when 

they were wroth ; 
Besides subjected France and Germany, 
Which yet their praises speake, all be 

they loth, 
And inly tremble at the memory 
Of Brennus and Belinus, kinges of Brit- 
any. 

XLI. 

Next them did Gurgiunt, great Belinus 

Sonne, 
In rule succeede, and eke in fathers 

praise ; 
He Easterland subdewd, and Denmarke 

wonne. 
And of them both did foy and tribute 

raise. 
The which was dew in his dead fathers 

dales. 
He also gave to fugitives of Spayne, 
Whom he at sea found wandring from 

their waies, 
A seate in Ireland safely to remayne, 
Which they should hold of him, as sub- 
ject to Britayne. 

XLn. 

After him raigned Guitheline his 
hayre, 



The justest man and trewest in his dales, 
Who had to wife Dame Mertia the fayre, 
A woman worthy of immortall praise, 
Which for this Realme found many 

goodly layes, 
And wholesome Statutes to her husband 

brought. 
Her many deemd to have beene of the 

Fayes, 
As was Aegerie that Numa tought : 
Those yet of her be Mertian lawes both 

nam'd and thought. 



Her Sonne Sisillus after her did rayne ; 
And then Kimarus; and then Danius: 
Next whom Morindus did the crowne 

sustayne ; 
Who, had he not with wrath outrageous 
And cruell rancour dim'd his valorous 
And mightie deedes, should matched have 

the best : 
As well in that same field victorious 
Against the forreine Morands he exprest ; 
Yet lives his memorie, though carcas 

sleepe in rest. 



Five sonnes he left, begotten of one 

wife. 
All which successively by turnes did rayiie : 
First Gorboman, a man of vertuous life ; 
Next Archigald, who for his proud dis- 

dayne 
Deposed was from princedome soverayne, 
And pitteous Elidure put in his sted ; 
Who shortly it to him restord agayne, 
Till by his death he it recovered : 
But Peridure and Vigent him disthron- 

ized. 

XLV. 

In wretched prison long he did re- 

maine. 
Till they outraigned had their utmost 

date, 
And then therein reseized was againe, 
And ruled long with honorable state. 
Till he surrendered Realme and life to 

fate. 
Then all the sonnes of these five brethren 

raynd 
By dew successe, and all their Nephewes 

late; 
Even thrise eleven descents the crowne 

retaynd, 
Till aged Hely by dew heritage it gaynd. 



He had two sonnes, whose eldest, called 
Lud, 



CANTO X.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



173 



Left of his life most fanioiis meniorj^ 
And endlesse mouiments of his great 

good: 
The ruin'd wals he did reaedifye 
Of Troynovant, gainst force of enimy, 
And huilt that g;ite which of his name is 

hight, 
By which he lyes entombed solemnly. 
He left two sounes, too young to rule 

aright, 
Androgens and Tenautius, pictures of bis 

might. 

XLVII. 

Whilst they were young, Cassibalane, 

their ?]me, 
Was by the people chosen in their sted, 
Who on him tooke the roiall Diademo, 
And goodly well long time it governed; 
Till the prowde Romanes him disquieted, 
And warlike Ca?.sar, tempted with the 

name 
Of this sweet Island never conquered, 
And envying the Britons blazed fame, 
(O hideous hunger of dominion !) hither 

came. 

XLVIII. 

Yet twise they were repulsed backe 
againe. 
And twise renforst backe to their ships to 

fly; 

The whiles with blood they all the shore 

did staine, 
And the gray Ocean into purple dy: 
Ne had they footing found at last, perdie. 
Had not Androgens, false to native soyle. 
And envious of Uncles soveraiutie, 
Betrayd his countrey unto forreine 

spoyle. 
Nought els but treason from the first this 

land did foyle. 



So by him Caesar got the victory, 
Through great bloodshed and many a sad 

assay, 
In which himselfe was charged heavily 
Of hardy Nennius, whom he yet did slay, 
But lost his sword, yet to be seene this 

day. 
Thenceforth this land was tributarie 

made 
T'ambitious Rome, and did their rule 

obay. 
Till Arthur all that reckoning defrayd : 
Yet oft the Briton kings against them 

strongly swayd. 



Next him Tenantius raigud ; then 
Kimbeline, 



What time th' eternall Lord in fleshly 
slime 

Enwombed was, from wretched Adams 
line 

To purge away the guilt of sinfull crime. 

O joyous memorie of happy time. 

That heavenly grace so plenteously dis- 
play d ! 

(O too high ditty for my simple rime!) 

Soone after this the Romanes him war- 
rayd ; 

For that their tribute he refusd to let be 
payd. 

LI. 

Good Claudius, that next was Emper- 

our. 
An army bi'ought, and with him batteile 

fought. 
In which the king was by a Treachetour 
Disguised slaine, ere any thereof thought: 
Yetceased not the bloody fight for ought ; 
For Arvirage his brothers place supplyde 
Both in his amies and crowne, and by 

that draught 
Did drive the Romanes to the weaker 

syde. 
That they to peace agreed. So all was 

pacifyde. 

LII. 

Was never king more highly magnifide, 
Nor dredd of Romanes, then was Arvir- 
age ; 
For which the Emperour to him allide 
His daughter Genuiss' in marriage : 
Yet shortly he renounst the vassallage 
Of Rome againe, who hither hastly sent 
Vespasian," that with great spoile and 

rage 
Forwasted all, till Genuissa gent 
Persuaded him to ceasse, and her lord to 
relent. 

LIII. 

He dide ; and him succeeded Marius, 
Who joyd his dayes in great tranquillity. 
Then Coyll ; and after him good Lucius, 
That first received Christianity, 
The sacred pledge of Christes Evangely. 
Yet true it is, that long before that day 
Hither came Joseph of Arimathy, 
Who brought with him the holy grayle, 

they'say. 
And preacht the truth ; but since it greatly 

did decay. 

LIV. 

This good king shortly without issew 
dide. 
Whereof great trouble in the kingdome 

grew. 
That did her selfe in sondry parts divide, 



174 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book II. 



And with her powre her owne selfe over- 
threw, 

Whilest Romanes daily did the weake sub- 
dew: 

Which seeing, stout Bunduca up arose, 

And taking armes the Britons to her 
drew ; 

AYith whom she marched streight against 
her foes, 

And them unwares besides the Severne 
did enclose. 

LV. 

There she wath them a cruell batteill 

tryde. 
Not with so good successe as shee de- 

serv'd ; 
By reason that the Captaines on her syde, 
Corrupted by Paulinus, from her swerv'd : 
Yet, such as were through former flight 

preserv'd 
Gathering againe, her Host she did renew, 
And with fresh corage on the victor servd : 
But being all defeated, save a few, 
Rather than fly, or be captiv'd, her selfe 

she slew. 

LVI. 

O famous moniment of woraens prayse ! 
Matchable either to Semiramis 
Whom antique history so high doth rayse, 
Or to Hypsiphil' , or to Thomiris. 
Her Host two hundred thousand numbred 

is; 
Who, whiles good fortune favoured her 

might, 
Triumphed oft against her enemis ; 
And yet, though overcome in haplesse 

fight, 
Shee triumphed on death, in enemies 

despight. 

LVII. 

Her reliques Fulgent having gathered, 
Fought with Severus, and him overthrew. 
Yet in the chace was slaine of them that 

fled, 
So made them victors whome he did sub- 
dew. 
Then gan Carausius tirannize anew, 
And gainst the Romanes bent their proper 

powre ; 
But him Allectus treacherously slew. 
And tooke on him the robe of Emperoure : 
Nath'lesse the same enjoyed but short 
happy howre : 

LVIII. 

For Asclepiodate him overcame, 
And left inglorious on the vauquisht 

playne, 
Without or robe or rag to hide his shame : 
Then afterwards he in his stead did raigne, 
But shortly was by Coyll iii batteill slaine : 



Who after long debate, since Lucies tyme, 
Was of tlie Britons first crownd Soveraine. 
Then gan this Realme renew her passed 

prime : 
He of his name Coylchester built of stone 

and lime. 

LIX. 

Which when the Romanes heard, they 
hither sent 
Constantius, a man of mickle might. 
With whome king Coyll made an agree- 
ment, 
And to him gave for wife his daughter 

bright, 
Fayre Helena, the fairest living wight; 
Who in all godly thewes and goodly praise 
Did far excell, but was most famous bight 
For skil in Musicke of all in her dales. 
As well in curious instruments as cunning 
laies. 

LX. 

Of whom he did great Constantine be- 

gett. 
Who afterward was Emperour of Rome, 
To which whiles absent he his mind did 

sett, 
Octavius here lept into his roome. 
And it usurped by unrighteous doome: 
But he his title justifide by might. 
Slaying Traherue, and having overcome 
The Romane legion in dreadful! fight. 
So settled he his kingdome, and confirmd 

his right : 

LXI, 

But wanting yssew male, his daughter 
deare 

He gave in wedlocke to Maximian, 

And him with her made of his kingdome 
heyre. 

Who soone by meanes thereof the Em- 
pire wan, 

Till murdred by the freends of Gratian. 

Then gan the Hunnes and Picts invade 
this land, 

During the raigne of Maximinian ; 

Who dying left none heire them to with- 
stand. 

But that they overran all parts with easy 
hand. 

LXII. 

The weary Britons, whose war-hable 
youth 
Was by Maximian lately ledd away. 
With wretched miseryes and woefull ruth, 
Were to those Pagans made an open pray. 
And daily spectacle of sad decay : 
Whome Romane warres, which now fowr 

hundred yeares 
And more had wasted, could no whit dis- 
may; 



C/VNTO X.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



175 



Til, by consent of Commons and of Peares, 
They'erownd the second Coustautiue with 
joyous teares. 



Who having oft in batteill vanquished 
Those spoyU'full Picts, and swarming Eas- 
ter I'ings, 
Long time in peace his realme established, 
Yet'oft annoyd with sundry bordragings, 
Of neighbour Scots, and forrein Scatter- 

iings 
^Vith which the world did iu those dayes 

abound : 
Which to outbarre, with paiuefuU pyon- 

ings 
From sea to sea he heapt a mighty mound, 
AVhich from Alcluid to Pauwelt did that 
border bownd. 

LXIV. 

Three sones he dying left, all under age ; 
By meaues whereof their uncle Vortigere 
l^surpt the crowue duriug their pupillage ; 
"Which th' Infants tutors gathering ""to 

feare. 
Them closely into Armorick did beare : 
For dread of whom, and for those Picts 

annoyes, 
He sent to Germany straunge aid to reare ; 
From whence eftsooues arrived here three 

hoyes 
Of Saxons, whom he for his safety im- 

ployes. 

LXV. 

Two brethren were their Capitayns, 

which bight 
Heugist and Horsus, well approv'd in 

war re, 
And both of them men of renowmed 

might; 
Who making vantage of their civile Jarre, 
And of tbose forreyuers which came from 

far re, 
Grew great, and got large portions of land. 
That in the Realme ere long they stronger 

arre 
Then they which sought at first their help- 
ing hand, 
And Vortiger have forst the kingdomo to 

aband. 

I.XVT. 

P>ut by the helpe of Vortimere his Sonne, 
He is againe unto his rule restord ; 
And Hengist, seeming sad for that was 

donne, 
Received is to grace and new accord. 
Through his faire daughters face and Hat- 

tring word. 



Sooue after which three hundred Lords he 

slew 
Of British blood, all sitting at his bord ; 
Whose doleful! moniments who list to 

rew, 
Th' eternall marks of treason may at 

Stouheug vew. 

LXVII. 

By this the sonnes of Constantine, which 

tied, 
Ambrose and Uther, did ripe yeares at- 

tayne. 
And, here arriving, strongly challenged 
The crowne which Vortiger did long de- 

tayne : 
Who, llying from his guilt, by them was 

sl'ayue; 
And Hengist eke soon brought to shame- 
full death. 
Thenceforth Aurelius peaceably did rayue, 
Till that through poyson stopped was his 

breath; 
So now entombed lies at Stoueheng by the 

heath. 

LXVIII. 

After him Uther, which Pendragon 

bight. 
Succeeding — There abruptly it did end. 
Without full point, or other'Cesure right; 
As if the rest some wicked hand did rend, 
Or th' Author selfe could not at least at- 
tend 
To finisli it : that so untimely breach 
The Prince him selfe halfe seemed to 

olTeud ; 
Yet secret pleasure did offence empeacb, 
And wonder of antiquity long stopt his 
speach. 

LXIX. 

At last, quite ravisht with delight to 

heare 
The royall Of spring of his native land, 
Cryde out ; ' Deare countrey ! O ! how 

dearely deare 
Ought thy remembraunce and perpetuall 

band 
Be to thy foster Childe, that from thy 

hand 
Did comnum breath and nouriture re- 

ceave. 
How brutish is it not to understand 
HoAV much to her we owe. that all us gave ; 
That gave unto us all what ever goi>d we 

have. 

LXX. 

But Guyon all this while his booke did 
read, 
Ne yet has ended ; for it was a great 
And ample volume, that doth far excead 



176 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book II. 



My leasure so long leaves here to repeat : 
It told how first Prometheus did create 
A man, of many parts from beasts de- 

ryv'd, 
And then stole fire from heven to animate 
His worke, for which he was by Jove de- 
pry v'd 
Of life him self, and hart-strings of an 
leryv'd. 



That man so made he called Elfe, to weet 
Quick, the first author of all Elfin kynd; 
Who, wandring through the world with 

wearie feet, 
Did in the gardins of Adonis fynd 
A goodly creature, whom he deemd in 

mynd 
To be no earthly wight, but either Spright, 
Or Angell, th' authour of all woman kynd ; 
Therefore a Fay he her according bight. 
Of whom all Faeryes spring, and fetch 

their lignage right. 



Of these a mighty people shortly grew, 
And puissant kinges which all the world 

warrayd, 
And to them selves all Nations did subdew. 
The first and eldest, which that scepter 

swayd, 
Was Elfin ; him all India obayd. 
And all that now America men call : 
Next him was noble Elfinan, who laid 
Cleopolis foundation first of all : 
But Elfiline enclosd it with a golden wall. 



His Sonne was Elfinell, who overcame 
The wicked Gobbeliues in bloody field ; 
But Elfant was of most renowmed fame, 
Who all of Christall did Panthea build : 
Then El far, who two brethren gyauntes 

kild. 
The one of which had two heades, th' other 

three : 
Then Elfinor, who was in magick skild ; 
He built by art upon the glassy See 
A bridge of bras, whose sound hevens 

thunder seem'd to bee. 



He left three sonnes, the which in order 
raynd, 



And all their Ofspring, in their dew de- 
scents ; 
Even seven hundred Princes, which main- 

taynd 
With mightie deedes their sondry govern- 
ments ; 
That were too long their infinite contents 
Here to record, ne much materiall : 
Yet should they be most famous moni- 

ments, 
And brave ensample, both of martiall 
And civil rule, to kinges and states im- 
periall. 

LXXV. 

After all these Elficleos did rayne, 
The wise Elficleos, in great Majestic, 
Who mightily that scepter did sustayne. 
And with rich spoyles and famous victorie 
Did high advaunce the crowne of Faery : 
He left two sonnes, of which faire Elferon, 
The eldest brother, did untimely dy ; 
Whose emptie place the mightie Oberon 
Doubly supplide, in spousall and dominion. 

LXXVI. 

Great was his power and glorie over all 
W^hich, him before, that sacred seate did 

fill, 
That yet remaines his wide memorial!. 
He dying left the fairest Tanaquill, 
Him to succeede therein, by his last will : 
Fairer and nobler liveth none this howre, 
Ne like in grace, ne like in learned skill ; 
Therefore they Glorian call that glorious 

flowre : 
Long mayst thou, Glorian, live in glory 

and great powre ! 



Beguyld thus with delight of novelties, 
And naturall desire of couutryes state, 
So long they redd in those antiquities, 
That how the time was fled they quite 

forgate ; 
Till gentle Alma, seeing it so late, 
Perforce their studies broke, and them 

besought 
To thinke "how supper did them long 

awaite : 
So halfe unwilling from their bookes them 

brought, 
And fayrely feasted as so noble knightes 

she ought. 



CANTO XI.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



177 



CANTO XI. 

The enitnies of Temperaunce 

Besiege her dwelling place : 
Prince Arthure them repelles, and fowle 

Maleger doth deface. 



What wane so cruel, or what siege so 
sore, 
As that which strong affections doe apply 
Against the forte of reason evermore. 
To bring the sowle into captivity ? 
Their force is fiercer through infirmity 
Of the fraile flesh, relenting to their rage. 
And exercise most bitter tyranny 
Upon the partes brought into their bon- 
dage: 
No wretchednesse is like to sinf nil vellen- 



But in a body which doth freely yeeld 
His partes to reasons rule obedient, 
And letteth her that ought the scepter 

weeld. 
All happy peace and goodly government 
Is setled there in sure establishment. 
There Alma, like a virgin Queene most 

bright, 
Doth florish in all beau tie excellent ; 
And to her guestes doth bounteous banket 

dight, 
Attempred goodly well for health and for 

delight. 

III. 

Early, before the Morne with cremosin 
ray 
The windowes of bright heaven opened 

had. 
Through which into the world the dawn- 
ing day 
Might looke, that maketh every creature 

glad, 
Uprose Sir Guy on, in bright armour clad, 
And to his purposd journey him prepar'd : 
With him the Palmer eke in habit sad 
Him selfe addrest to that adventure hard : 
So to the rivers syde they both together 
far'd : 

IV. 

Where them awaited ready at the ford 
The Ferriman, as Alma had behight, 
With his well-rigged bote: They goe 

abord, 
And he eftsoones gan launch his barke 

forthright. 
Ere long they rowed were quite out of 

sight, 
And fast the land behynd them fled away. 



But let them pas, whiles wind and wether 

right 
Doe serve their turnes: here I a while 

must vStay, 
To see a cruell fight doen by the prince 

this day. 

V. 

For all so soone as Guyon thence was 

gon 
Upon his voyage with his trustie guyde, 
That wicked band of villeins fresh begon 
That castle to assaile on every side, 
And lay strong siege about it far and 

wyde. 
So huge and infinite their numbers were, 
That all the land they under them did 

hyde; 
So fowle and ugly, that exceeding feare 
Their visages imprest when they ap- 

proched neare. 



Them in twelve troupes their Captein 

did dispart. 
And round about in fittest steades did 

place, 
Where each might best offend his proper 

part, 
And his contrary object most deface. 
As every one seem'd meetest in that cace. 
Seven of the same against the Castle gate 
In strong entrenchments he did closely 

place. 
Which with incessaunt force and endlesse 

hate 
They battred day and night, and entraunce 

did awate. 

VII. 

The other five five sondry wayes he sett 
Against the five great Bulwarkes of that 

pyie, 

And unto each a Bulwarke did arrett, 
T' assayle with open force or hidden guyle, 
In hope thereof to win victorious spoile. 
They all that charge did fervently apply 
With greedie malice and importune toyle. 
And planted there their huge artillery, 
With which they dayly made most dread- 
full battery. 

VIII. 

The first troupe was a monstrous rable- 
ment 



178 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book II. 



Of fowle misshapen wightes, of which 

some were 
Headed like Owles, with beckes uncomely 

bent ; 
Others like Dogs; others like Gryphons 

dreare ; 
And some had wings, and some had clawes 

to teare : 
And eveiy one of them had Lynces eyes ; 
And every one did bow and arrowes beare. 
All those were lawlesse lustes, corrupt 

envyes, 
And covetous aspects, all cruell enimyes. 



Those same against the bulwarke of the 
Sight 

Did lay strong siege and battailous as- 
sault, 

Ne once did yield it respitt day nor night ; 

But soone as Titan gan his head exault, 

And soone againe as he his light with- 
hault, 

Their wicked engins they against it bent ; 

That is, each thing by which the eyes may 
fault : 

But two then all more huge and violent, 

Beautie and Money, they that Bulwarke 
sorely rent. 

X. 

The second Bulwarke was the Hearing 
sence, 

Gainst which the second troupe assign- 
ment makes ; 

Deformed creatures, in straunge differ- 
ence. 

Some having heads like Harts, some like 
to Snakes, 

Some like wilde Bores late rouzd out of 
the brakes : 

Slaunderous reproches, and fowle infa- 
mies, 

Leasinges, iDackbytinges, and vain-glorious 
crakes. 

Bad counsels, prayses, and false flatteries : 

All those against that fort did bend their 
batteries. 

XI. 

Likewise that same third Fort, that is 

the Smell, 
Of that third troupe was cruelly assayd ; 
Whose hideous shapes were like to 

feendes of hell. 
Some like to houndes, some like to Aj^es, 

dismayd, 
Some like to Pvittockes, all in plumes 

arayd ; 
All shap't according their conditions : 
For by those ugly formes weren pourtrayd 
Foolish delights, and fond abusions, 



Which doe tliat sence 
illusions. 



besiege with light 



And that fourth band which cruell 
battry bent 
Against the fourth Bulwarke, that is the 

Taste, 
Was, as the rest, a grysie rablement ; 
Some mouth'd like greedy Oystriges; 

some faste 
Like loathly Toades ; some fashioned in 

the waste 
Like swine : for so deformd is luxury, 
Surfeat, misdiet, and unthriftie waste, 
Vaine feastes, and ydle superfluity : 
All those this sences Fort assayle inces- 
santly. 

XIII. 

But the fift troupe, most horrible of 

hew 
And ferce of force, is dreadfull to report ; 
For some like Snailes, some did like 

spyders shew, 
And some like ugly Urchins thick and 

short : 
Cruelly they assayed that fift Fort, 
Armed with dartes of sensuall Delight, 
With stinges of carnall lust, and strong 

effort 
Of feeling pleasures, with which day and 

night 
Against that same fift bulwarke they 

continued fight. 

XIV. 

Thus these twelve troupes with dread- 
full puissaunce 
Against that Castle restlesse siege did 

lay, 
And evermore their hideous Ordinaunce 
Upon the Bulwarkes cruelly did play. 
That now it gan to threaten neare decay: 
And evermore their wicked CapitajTi 
Provoked them the breaches to assay. 
Sometimes with threats, sometimes with 

hope of gayn, 
Which by the ransack of that peece they 
should attayn. 

XV, 

On th' other syde, th' assieged Castles 

ward 
Their stedfast stonds did mightily main- 

taine, 
And many bold repulse and many hard 
Atchieveraent wrought, with perill and 

and with payne, 
That goodly frame from mine to sus- 

taine : 
And those two brethren Gyauntesdid 

defend 



CANTO XI.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



179 



The walles so stoutly with their sturdie 

mayue, 
That never entraunce any durst pretend, 
But they to direfull death their groniug 

ghosts did send. 



, The noble Virgin, Ladie of the Place, 
Was much dismayed with that dreadful 

sight, 
For never was she in so evill cace, 
Till that the Prince, seeing her wofuU 

plight, 
Gan her recomfort from so sad affright, 
Off ring his service, and his dearest life 
For her defence against that Carle to 

fight. 
Which was their chiefe and th' authour 

of that strife : 
She him remercied as the Patrone of her 

life. 

XVII. 

Eftsoones him self e in glitterand armes 

he dight, 
And his well proved weapons to him 

hent; 
So, taking courteous conge, he behight 
Those gates to be unbar'd, and forth he 

went. 
Fayre mote he thee, the prowest and 

most gent. 
That ever brandished bright Steele on 

hye ! 
Whome soone as that unruly rablement 
With his gay Squyre issewing did espye. 
They reard a most outrageous dreadfull 

yelling cry: 



And there withall attonce at him let 

fly 

Their fluttring arrowes, thicke as flakes 

of snow. 
And round about him flocke impetuously : 
Like a greaji water flood, that tombling 

low 
From the high mountaines, threates to 

overflow 
With suddein fury all the fertile playne. 
And the sad husbandman s long hope doth 

throw 
Adowne the streame, and all his vowes 

make vayne ; 
Nor bounds nor banks his headlong ruine 

may sustayne. 



Upon his shield their heaped hayle he 
bore, 



And with his sword disperst the raskall 

flockes. 
Which fled asonder, and him fell before ; 
As withered leaves drop from their dryed 

stockes, 
AVhen the wroth Western wind does 

reave their locks : 
And underneath him his courageous 

steed. 
The fierce Spumador, trode them downe 

like docks ; 
The fierce Spumador, borne of heavenly 

seed, 
Such as Laomedon of Phoebus race did 

breed. 

XX. 

Which suddeine horrour and confused 
cry 

When as their Capteine heard, in haste 
he yode 

The cause to weet, and fault to remedy : 

Upon a Tygre swift and fierce he rode. 

That as the winde ran underneath his 
lode. 

Whiles his long legs nigh raught unto the 
ground. 

Full large he was of limbe, and shoulders 
brode. 

But of such subtile substance and un- 
sound. 

That like a ghost he seem'd whose grave- 
clothes were unbound : 

XXI. 

And in his hand a bended bow was 
scene, 
And many arrowes under his right side, 
All deadly daungerous, all cruel! keene. 
Headed with flint, and fethers bloody 

dide ; 
Such as the Indians in their quivers hide : 
Those could he well direct and streight as 

line. 
And bid them strike the marke which he 

had eyde ; 
Ne was there salve, ne was there medi- 
cine. 
That mote recure their wounds ; so inly 
they did tine. 

XXII. 

As pale and wan as ashes was his 

looke, 
His body leane and meagre as a rake. 
And skin all withered like a dryed rooke ; 
Thereto as cold and drery as a snake. 
That seerad to tremble evermore and 

quake ; 
All in a canvas thin he was bedight. 
And girded with a belt of twisted brake : 



i8o 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book II. 



Upon his head he wore au Helmet light, 
Made of a dead mans skull, that seemd a 
ghastly sight. 

XXIII. 

Maleger was his name ; and after him 
There follow'd fast at hand two wicked 

Hags, 
With hoary lockes all loose, and visage 

grim ; 
Their feet mishod, their bodies wrapt in 

rags, 
And both as swift on foot as chased 

Stags ; 
And yet the one her other legge had 

lame. 
Which with a stafife, all full of litle snags, 
She did support, and Impotence her 

name : 
But th' other was Impatience, arm'd 

with raging fiame. 

XXIV. 

Soone as the Carle from far the Prince 

espyde 
Glistring in armes and warlike ornament. 
His Beast he felly prickt on either syde, 
And his mischievous bow full readie 

bent. 
With which at him a cruell shaft he 

sent: 
But he was warie, and it warded well 
Upon his shield, that it no further went. 
But to the ground the idle quarrell fell : 
Then he another and another did expell. 

XXV. 

Which to prevent the Prince his mortall 

speare 
Soone to him raught, and fierce at him 

did ride, 
To be avenged of that shot whyleare ; 
But he was not so hardy to abide 
That bitter stownd, but turning quicke 

aside 
His light-foot beast, fled fast away for 

f eare : 
Whom to poursue the Infant after hide 
So fast as his good Courser could him 

beare ; 
But labour lost it was to weene approch 

him neare. 

XXVI. 

For as the winged wind his Tigre fled, 
That vew of eye could scarse him over- 
take, 
Ne scarse his feet on ground were seene 

to tred : 
Through hils and dales he speedy way 
did make. 



Ne hedge ne ditch his readie passage 

brake ; 
And in his flight the villein turn'd his 

face 
(As wonts the Tartar by the Caspian 

lake, 
Whenas the Russian him in fight does 

chace) 
Unto his Tygres taile, and shot at him 

apace. 

XXVII. 

Apace he shot, and yet he fled apace, 
Still as the greedy knight nigh to him 

drew; 
And oftentimes he would relent his pace, 
That him his foe more fiercely should 

poursew : 
But when his uncouth manner he did 

vew, 
He gan avize to follow him no more. 
But keepe his standing, and his shaftes 

eschew, 
Untill he quite had spent his perlous 

store. 
And then assayle him fresh, ere he could 

shift for more. 

XXVIII. 

But that lame Hag, still as abroad he 

strew 
His wicked arrowes, gathered them 

againe. 
And to him brought, fresh batteill to 

renew ; 
Which he espying cast her to restraine 
From yielding succour to that cursed 

Swaine, 
And her attaching thought her hands to 

tye; 
But soone as him dismounted on the 

plaine 
That other Hag did far away espye 
Binding her sister, she to him ran hastily ; 

XXIX. 

And catching hold of him, -as downe he 

lent, 
Him backeward overthrew, and downe 

him stayd 
With their rude handes and gryesly gra- 

plement; 
Till that the villein, comming to their ayd, 
Upon him fell, and lode upon him layd : 
Full litle wanted but he had him slaine, 
And of the battell balefull end had 

made. 
Had not his gentle Squire beheld his 

paine, 
And commen to his reskew, ere his bitter 

bane. 



CANTO XL] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



l8i 



So greatest and most glorious thing on 

ground 
May often need the helpe of weaker hand ; 
So feeble is mans state, and life unsound, 
That in assuraunce it may never stand, 
Till it dissolved be from earthly band. 
Proof e be thou, Prince, the pro west man 

alyve, 
And noblest borne of all in Britayne land ; 
Yet thee fierce Fortune did so nearely 

drive. 
That, had not grace thee blest, thou 

shouldest not survive. 

"xxxi. 

The Squyre arriving fiercely in his 

armes 
Snatcht first the one, and then the other 

Jade, 
His chiefest lefts and authors of his 

harmes, 
And them perforce withheld with threat- 

ned blade, 
Least that his Lord they should behinde 

invade ; 
The whiles the Prince, prickt with re- 

prochful shame. 
As one awakte out of long slombring 

shade, 
Revivyng thought of glory and of fame, 
United all his powres to purge him selfe 

from blame. 

XXXII. 

Like as a fire, the which in hollow cave 
Hath long bene underkept and down sup- 

prest. 
With murmurous disdayne doth inly rave. 
And grudge in so streight prison to be 

prest. 
At last breakes forth with furious unrest, 
And strives to mount unto his native seat ; 
All that did earst it hinder and molest, 
Yt now devoures with flames and scorch- 
ing heat. 
And carries into smoake with rage and 
horror great. 

xxxin. 

So mightely the Briton Prince him 
rouzd 

Out of his holde, and broke his caytive 
bands ; 

And as a Beare, whom angry curres have 
touzd, 

Having off-shakt them and escapt their 
hands. 

Becomes more fell, and all that him with- 
stands 



Treads down and overthrowes. Now had 

the Carle 
Alighted from his Tigre, and his hands 
Discharged of his bow and deadly quar'le, 
To seize upon his foe flatt lying on the 

marie. 

xxxiy. 

Which now him turnd to disavantage 
deare ; 

For neither can he fly, nor other harme. 

But trust unto his strength and manhood 
meare, 

Sith now he is far from his monstrous 
s war me. 

And of his weapons did himselfe disarme. 

The knight, yet wrothfuU for his late dis- 
grace, 

Fiercely advaunst his valorous right 
arme. 

And him so sore smott with his yron mace, 

That groveling to the ground he fell, and 
fild his place. 

XXXV. 

Wei weened hee that field was then his 

owne, 
And all his labor brought to happy end ; 
When suddein up the villeine overthrowne 
Out of his swowne arose, fresh to contend, 
And gan him selfe to second battaill bend. 
As hurt he had not beene. Thereby there 

lay 
An huge great stone, which stood upon 

one end. 
And had not bene removed many a day ; 
Some land-marke seemd to bee, or signe 

of sundry way : 

XXXVI. 

The same he snatcht, and with exceed- 
ing sway 
Threw at his foe, whe was right well aware 
To shonne the engin of his meant decay ; 
It booted not to thinke that throw to 

beare. 
But grownd he gave, and lightly lept 

areare : 
Eft fierce retourning, as a faulcon fayre. 
That once hath failed of her souse full 

neare. 
Remounts againe into the open ayre. 
And unto better fortune doth her selfe 
prepayre. 

XXXVII. 

So brave retourning, with his brandisht 

blade 
He to the Carle him selfe agayn addrest, 
And strooke at him so sternely, that he 

made 
An open passage through his riven brest. 



l82 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book II. 



That halfe the Steele behind his backe did 
rest ; 

Which drawing backe, he looked ever- 
more 

When the hart blood should gush out of 
his chest, 

Or his dead corse should fall upon the 
flore; 

But his dead corse upon the flore fell 
nathemore. 



Ne drop of blood appeared shed to bee. 
All were the wownd so wide and wonder- 

ous 
That through his carcas one might playnly 

see. 
Halfe in amaze with horror hideous, 
And halfe in rage to be deluded thus, 
Again through both the sides he strooke 

him quight. 
That made his spright to grone full pite- 
ous; 
Yet nathemore forth fled his groning 

spright. 
But freshly, as at first, prepard himself e 
to fight. 

XXXIX. 

Thereat he smitten was with great 

affright, 
And trembling terror did his hart apall ; 
Ne wist he what to thinke of that same 

sight, 
Ne what to say, ne what to doe at all : 
He doubted least it were some magicall 
Illusion that did beguile his sense. 
Or wandring ghost that wanted funerall. 
Or aery spirite under false pretence. 
Or hellish feend raysd up through divelish 

science. 

XL. 

His wonder far exceeded reasons reach. 
That he began to doubt his dazeled sight, 
And oft of error did himselfe appeach : 
Flesh without blood, a person without 

spright, 
Wounds without hurt, a body without 

might. 
That could doe harme, yet could not 

harmed bee. 
That could not die, yet seemd a mortall 

wight. 
That was most strong in most infirmitee ; 
Like did he never heare, like did he never 



Awhile he stood in this astonishment. 
Yet would he not for all his great dismay 
Give over to effect his first intent. 
And th' utmost meanes of victory assay, 



Or th' utmost yssew of his owne decay. 
His owne good sword Mordure, that never 

fayld 
At need till now, he lightly threw away. 
And his bright shield that nought him now 

avayld ; 
And with his naked hands him forcibly 

assay Id. 

XLII. 

Twixt his two mighty armes him up he 

snatcht. 
And crusht his carcas so against his brest, 
That the disdainfull sowle he thence dis- 

patcht, 
And th' ydle breath all utterly exprest. 
Tho, when he felt him dead, adowne he 

kest 
The lumpish corse unto the sencelesse 

growud ; 
Adowne he kest it with so puissant wrest. 
That backe againe it did alofte rebownd, 
And gave against his mother earth a 

gronefull sownd. 



As when Joves harnesse-bearing Bird 

from hye 
Stoupes at a flying heron with proud dis- 

dayue. 
The stone-dead quarrey falls so forciblye, 
That yt rebownds against the lowly 

playne, 
A second fall redoubling backe agayne. 
Then thought the Prince all peril sure was 

past, 
And that he victor onely did remayne ; 
No sooner thought, then that the Carle as 

fast 
Gan heap huge strokes on him, as ere he 

down was cast. 



Nigh his wits end then woxe th' amazed 

knight, 
And thought his labor lost, and travell 

vayne, 
Against this lifelesse shadow so to fight : 
Yet life he saw, and felt his mighty mayne, 
That, whiles he marveild still, did still 

him payne ; 
Forthy he gan some other wayes advize. 
How to take life from that dead-living 

swayne. 
Whom still he marked freshly to arize 
From th' earth, and from her womb new 

spirits to reprize. 

XLV. 

He then remembred well, that had bene 
sayd, 



CANTO XI.] 



THE F-AERIE QUEENE. 



i8' 



How th' Earth his mother was, and first 

him bore ; 
She eke, so often as his life decayd. 
Did life with usury to liim restore, 
And reysd him up much stronger then 

before, 
So sooue as he unto her wombe did fall : 
Therefore to grownd he would him east 

no more, 
Ne him committ to grave terrestriall. 
But beare him farre from hope of succour 

usuall. 

XL VI. 

The up he caught him twixt his puissant 

hands, 
And having scruzd out of his carrion corse 
The lothfull life, now loosd from siufull 

bands, 
Upon his shoulders carried him perforse 
Above three furlongs, taking his full 

course 
Until he came unto a standing lake ; 
Him thereinto he threw without remorse, 
Ne stird, till hope of life did him forsake : 
So end of that Carles dayes and his owne 

pajTies did make. 

XLVII. 

Which when those wicked Hags from 

far did spye, 
Like two mad dogs they ran about the 

lands, 
And th' one of them with dreadfull j^elling 

crye, 
Throwing away her broken chaines and 

bands. 
And having quencht her burning fier- 

hrands, 



Hedlong her selfe did cast into that lake ; 
But Impotence with her owne wilfull 

hands 
One of Malegers cursed darts did take, 
So ryv'd her trembling hart, and wicked 

end did make. 

XLVIII. 

Thus now alone he conquerourremaines: 
Tho, cumming to his Squyre that kept his 

steed. 
Thought to have mounted ; but his feeble 

values 
Him faild thereto, and served not his 

need, 
Through losse of blood which from his 

Avounds did bleed. 
That he began to faint, and life decay : 
But his good Squyre, him helping up 

with speed, 
"With stedfast hand upon his horse did 

stay, 
And led him to the Castle by the beaten 

way. 

XLIX. 

"Where many Groomes and Squyres 
ready T^ere 
To take him from his steed full tenderlj^ ; 
And eke the fayrest Alma mett him there 
"With balme, and wine, and costly spicery, 
To comfort him in his infirmity. 
Eftesoones shee causd him up to be con- 

vayd. 
And of his armes despoyled easily 
In sumptuous bed shee made him to be 

layd; 
And al the while his wounds were dress- 
ing by him stayd. 



CANTO XXL 

Guyon, by Palmers governaunce, 
Passing through perilles great, 

Doth overthrow the Bo\^Te of bits, 
And Acrasy defeat. 



Now ginnes that goodly frame of Tem- 
peramice 
Fayrely to rise, and her adorned hed 
To pricke of highest prayse forth to ad- 

vaunce, 
Formerly grounded and fast setteled 
On firme foundation of true bountyhed: 
And this brave knight, that for this ver- 

tae fightes. 
Now comes to point of that same peril- 
ous sted, 



"V\'here Pleasure dwelles in sensuall de- 
lights, 

Mongst thousand dangers, and ten thou- 
sand Magick mights. 



Two dayes now in that sea he saj^ed 
has, 
Ne ever land beheld, ne living wight, 
Ne ought save perill still as be did pas : 
Tho, when appeared the third Morrow 
bright 



1 84 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book II. 



Upon the waves to spred her trembling 

light, 
An hideous roring far away they heard, 
That all their sences filled with affright ; 
And streight they saw the raging surges 

reard 
Up to the skyes, that them of drowning 

made affeard. 



Said then the Boteman, ' Palmer, stere 

aright, 
And keepe an even course; for yonder 

way 
We needes must pas (God doe us well 

acquight!) 
That is the Gulfe of Greedinesse, they 

say, 
That deepe engorgeth all this worldes 

pray; 
Which having swallowd up excessively. 
He soone in vomit up againe doth lay. 
And belcheth forth his superfluity, 
That all the seas for feare doe seeme 

away to fly. 



' On thother syde an hideous Rocke is 

pight 
Of mightie Magnes stone, whose craggie 

clift 
Depending from on high, dreadfull to 

sight, 
Over the waves his rugged armes doth 

lift, 
And threatneth downe to throw his ragged 

rift 
On whoso cometh nigh ; yet nigh it 

drawes 
All passengers, that none from it can 

shift : 
For, whiles they fly that Gulfes devour- 
ing jawes, 
They on this rock are rent, and sunck in 

helples wawes.' 



Forward they passe, and strongly he 

them rowes, 
Untill they nigh unto that Gulfe arryve, 
Where streame more violent and greedy 

growes : 
Then he with all his puisaunce doth 

stryve 
To strike his oares, and mightily doth 

drive 
The hollow vessell through the threatfull 

wave; 
Which, gaping wide to swallow them 

alyve 
In th' huge abysse of his engulfing grave, 



Doth rore at them in vaine, and with 
great terrour rave. 



They, passing by, that grisely mouth 
did see 

Sucking the seas into his entralles 
deepe. 

That seemd more horrible then hell to 
bee, 

Or that darke dreadfull hole of Tartare 
steepe 

Through M^hich the damned ghosts doen 
often creepe 

Backe to the world, bad livers to tor- 
ment: 

But nought that falles into this direful! 
deepe 

Ne that approcheth nigh the wyde de- 
scent. 

May backe retourne, but is condemned to 
be drent. 

VII. 

On thother side they saw that perilous 

Rocke, 
Threatning it selfe on them to ruinate. 
On whose sharp cliftes the ribs of vessels 

broke ; 
And shivered ships, which had beene 

wrecked late, 
Yet stuck with carkases exaniinate 
Of such, as having all their substance 

spent 
In wanton joyes and lustes intemperate, 
Did afterwards make shipwrack violent 
Both of their life and fame, for ever 

fowly blent. 

VIII. 

Forthy this bight The Rocke of vile 

Reproch, 
A daungerous and detestable place, 
To which nor fish nor fowle did once 

approch, 
But yelling Meawes, with Seagulles hoars 

and bace. 
And Cormoyraunts, with birds of rav- 
enous race, 
Which still sat waiting on that wastfull 

clift 
For spoile of wretches, whose unhappy 

cace, 
After lost credit and consumed thrift, ^ 
At last them driven hath to this despaire- 

full drift. 

IX. 

The Palmer, seeing them in safetie 
past. 
Thus saide ; ' Behold th' ensamples in our 
sights 



CANTO XII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



185 



Of lustfull luxurie and thriftlesse wast. 
"What now is left of miserable wightes, 
Which spent their looser dales iu lend 

delightes, 
But shame and sad reproch, here to be 

red 
By these rent reliques, speaking their ill 

plightes ? 
Let all that live hereby be counselled 
To shunne Rocke of Reprooh, and it as 

death to dred ! ' 



So forth they rowed ; and that Ferry- 
man 
With his stiffe oares did brush the sea so 

strong, 
That the hoare waters from his frigot 

ran, 
And the light bubles daunced all along. 
Whiles the salt brine out of the billowes 

sprong. 
At last far off they many Island es spy 
On every side floting the floodes emong : 
Then said the knight ; ' Lo ! I the land 

descry ; 
Therefore, old Syre, thy course doe there- 
unto apply.' 

XI. 

* That may not bee,' said then the 

Ferryman, 
' Least wee unweeting hap to be for- 

donne ; 
For those same Islands, seeming now and 

than , 
Are not firme land, nor any certein 

wonne, 
But stragling plots which to and fro doe 

ronne 
In the wide waters: therefore are they 

hight 
The Wandring Islands. Therefore doe 

them shonne; 
For they have ofte drawne many a 

wandring wight 
Into most deadly daunger and distressed 

plight. 

XII. 

' Yet well they seeme to him, that farre 

doth vew. 
Both faire and fruitfull, and the grownd 

dispred 
With grassy greene of delectable hew ; 
And the tall trees with leaves appareled 
Are deckt with blossoms dyde in white 

and red, 
That mote the passengers thereto allure ; 
But whosoever once hath fastened 
His foot thereon, may never it recure, 
But wandreth evermore uncertein and 



* As th' Isle of Delos whylome, men re- 
port, 
Amid th' Aegaean sea long time did stray, 
Ne made for shipping any certeine port, 
Till that Latona traveiliug that way, 
Flying from Junoes wrath and hard 

assay, 
Of her fayre twins was there delivered. 
Which afterwards did rule the night and 

day: 
Thenceforth it firmely was established. 
And for ApoUoes temple highly berried.' 



They to him hearken, as beseemeth 
meete, 
And passe on forward : so their way does 

ly, 

That one of those same Islands, which 

doe fleet 
In the wide sea, they needes must passen 

Which seemd so sweet and pleasaunt to 

the eye, 
That it would tempt a man to touchen 

there : 
Upon the banck they sitting did espy 
A daintie damsell dressing of her heare. 
By whom a little skippet floting did 

appeare. 

XV. 

She, them espying, loud to them can 

call. 
Bidding them nigher draw unto the 

shore, 
For she had cause to busie them withall ; 
And therewith lowdly laught: But nathe- 

more 
Would they once turne, but kept on as 

afore : 
Which when she saw, she left her lockes 

undight, 
And running to her boat withouten ore. 
From the departing land it launched 

light, 
And after them did drive with all her 

power and might. 

XVI. 

Wliom overtaking, she in merry sort 
Them gan to bord, and purpose diversly ; 
Now faining dalliaunce and wanton 

sport, 
Now throwing forth lewd wordes im- 
modestly; 
Till that the Palmer gan full bitterly 
Her to rebuke for being loose and light : 
Which not abiding, but more scornfully 
Scofling at him that did her justly wite, 



i86 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book II. 



She turud her bote about, and from them 
rowed quite. 



That was the wanton Phaedria, which 
late 
Did ferry him over the Idle lake : 
Whom nought regarding they kept on 

their gate, 
And all her vaine allurements did forsake ; 
When them the wary Boteman thus be- 
spake : 
* Here now behoveth us well to avyse, 
And of our safety good heede to take ; 
For here before a perlous passage lyes, 
Where many Mermayds haunt making 
false melodies : 



' But by the way there is a great Quick- 
sand, 

And a whirlepoole of hidden jeopardy ; 

Therefore, Sir Palmer, keepe an even 
hand. 

For twixt them both the narrow way doth 

Scarse had he saide, when hard at hand 

they spy 
That quicksand nigh with water covered ; 
But by the checked wave they did descry 
It plaine, and by the sea discoloured : 
It called was the quickesaud of Unthrifty- 

hed. 

XIX. 

They, passing by, a goodly Ship did see 

Laden from far with precious merchan- 
dize, 

And bravely furnished as ship might bee, 

Which through great disa venture, or mes- 
prize. 

Her selfe had ronne into that hazardize ; 

Whose mariners and merchants with much 
toyle 

Labour'd in vaine to have recur'd their 
prize. 

And the rich wares to save from pitteous 
spoyle ; 

But neither toyle nor t.'aveill might her 
backe recoyle. 



On th' other side they see that perilous 

Poole, 
That called was the Whirlepoole of decay ; 
In which full many had with haplesse 

doole 
Beene suncke, of whom no memorie did 

stay: 
Whose circled waters rapt with whirling 

sway. 



Like to a restlesse wheele, still ronning 

round, 
Did covet, as they passed by that way, 
To draw their bote within the utmost 

bound 
Of his wide Labyrinth, and then to have 

them d round. 

XXI. 

- But th' heedful Boteman strongly forth 

did stretch 
His brawnie armes, and all his bodie 

straine, 
That th' utmost sandy breach they shortly 

fetch. 
Whiles the dredd daunger does behind 

remaine. 
Suddeine they see from midst of all the 

Maine 
The surging waters like a mountaine rise. 
And the great sea, puft up with proud 

disdaine. 
To swell above the measure of his guise, 
As threatning to devoure all that his 

powre despise. 

XXII. 

The waves come rolling, and the billowes 

rore 
Outragiously, as they enraged were. 
Or wrathfull Neptune did them drive 

before 
His whirling charet for exceeding feare ; 
For not one puffe of winde there did ap- 

peare. 
That all the three thereat woxe much 

afrayd, 
Unweeting what such horrour straunge 

did reare. 
Eftsoones they saw an hideous hoast 

arrayd 
Of huge Sea monsters, such as living sence 

dismayd : 

XXIII. 

Most ugly shapes and horrible aspects, 
Such as Dame Nature selfe mote feare to 

see. 
Or shame that ever should so fowle defects 
From her most cunning hand escaped bee ; 
All dreadf ull pourtraicts of def ormitee : 
Spring-headed Hydres; and sea-should- 

ring Whales ; 
Great whirlpooles which all fishes make 

to flee ; 
Bright Scolopendraes arm'd with silver 

scales ; 
Mighty Monoceroses with immeasured 

tayles. 

XXIV. 

The dreadful Fish that hath deserv'd 
the name 



CANTO XII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



187 



Of Death, and like him lookes in dread- 
full hew ; 
The griesly Wassermau, that makes his 

game 
The flying ships with swif tnes to pursew : 
The horrible Sea-satyre, that doth shew 
His fearefull face in time of greatest 

storme ; 
Huge Ziffius, whom Mariners eschew 
No lesse then rockes, (as travellers in- 

forme) 
And greedy Rosmarines with visages de- 
forme. 

XXV. 

All these, and thousand thousands many 

more, 
And more deformed Monsters thousand 

fold, 
With dreadfull noise and hollow rombling 

. rore 
Came rushing, in the fomy waves enrold, 
Which seem'd to fly for feare them to 

behold. 
Ne wonder, if these did the knight appall ; 
For all that here on earth we dreadfull 

hold. 
Be but as bugs to fearen babes withall. 
Compared to the creatures in the seas en- 

trall. 

XXVI. 

* Feare nought,' then saide the Palmer 
well aviz'd, 

* For these same Monsters are not these 
in deed. 

But are into these fearefull shapes dis- 
guiz'd 

By that same wicked witch, to worke us 
dreed, 

And draw from on this journey to pro- 
ceed.' 

Tho lifting up his vertuous staff e on hye. 

He smote the sea, which calmed was with 



And all that dreadfull Armie fast gan flye 
Into great Tethys bosome, where they 
hidden lye. 

xxvii. 

Quit from that danger forth their course 

they kept ; 
And as they went they heard a ruefull 

ciy 
Of one that wayld and pittifully wept. 
That through the sea resounding plaints 

did fiy : 
At last they in an Island did espy 
A seemely 'Maiden sitting by the shore. 
That with great sorrow and sad agony 
Seemed some great misfortune to deplore. 



And lowd to them for succour called ever- 
more. 

XXVIII. 

Which Guyon hearing streight his 

Palmer bad 
To stere the bote towards that dolefuU 

Mayd, 
That he might know and ease her sorrow 

sad; 
Who, him avizing better, to him sayd : 
' Faire Sir, be not displeasd if disobayd : 
For ill it were to hearken to her cry. 
For she is inly nothing ill apayd ; 
But onely womanish fine forgery, 
Your stubborne hart t'affect with fraile 

infirmity. 

XXIX. 

' To which when she your courage hath 

inclind 
Through foolish pitty, then her guileful! 

bayt 
She will embosome deeper in your mind, 
And for your mine at the last awayt.' 
The Knight was ruled, and the Boteman 

strayt 
Held on his course with stayed stedfast- 

nesse, 
Ne ever shroncke, ne ever sought to bayt 
His tyred armes for toylesomeVearinesse, 
But with his oares did sweepe the watry 

wildernesse. 



And now they nigh approched to the 

sted 
Whereas those Mermayds dwelt : it was a 

still 
And calmy bay, on th' one side sheltered 
With the brode shadow of an hoarie hill ; 
On th' other side an high rocke toured 

still. 
That twixt them both a pleasaunt port 

they made. 
And did like an halfe Theatre fulfill : 
There those five sisters had continuall 

trade. 
And usd to bath themselves in that de- 

ceiptfull shade. 

XXXI. 

They were faire Ladies, till they fondly 

striv'd 
With th' Heliconian maides for maystery ; 
Of whom they, over-comen, weredepriv'd 
Of their proud beautie, and th' one moyity 
Transformd to fish for their bold surque- 

dry; 
But th' upper halfe their hew retayned 

still. 
And their sweet skill in wonted melody ; 



1 88 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book II. 



Which ever after they ahusd to ill, 
T' allure weake traveillers, whom gotten 
they did kill. 



So now to Guyon, as he passed by, 
Their pleasauut tunes they sweetly thus 

applyde : 
* O thou fayre sonne of gentle Faery, 
That art in mightie armes most magnifyde 
Above all knights that ever batteill tryde, 
O ! turne thy rudder hitherward awhile : 
Here may thy storme-bett vessell safely 

ryde, 
This is the Port of rest from troublous 

toyle, 
The worldes sweet In from paine and 

wearisome turmoyle.* 



With that the rolling sea, resounding 

soft, 
In his big base them fitly answered ; 
And on the rocke the waves breaking aloft 
A solemne Meane unto them measured ; 
The whiles sweet Zephyrus lowd whisteled 
His treble, a straunge kinde of harmony, 
W^hich Guyons senses softly tickeled. 
That he the boteman bad row easily. 
And let him heare some part of their rare 

melody. 

XXXIV. 

But him the Palmer from that vanity 
With temperate advice discounselled. 
That they it past, and shortly gan descry 
The land to which their course they 

leveled ; 
When suddeinly a grosse fog over-spred 
With his dull vapour all that desert has. 
And heavens chearefuU face enveloped. 
That all things one, and one as nothing 

was. 
And this great Universe seemd one con- 
fused mas. 



Thereat they greatly were dismayd, ne 

wist 
How to direct theyr way in darkenes wide, 
But feard to wander in that wasteful! 

mist, 
For tombling into mischief e unespide : 
Worse is the daunger hidden then descride. 
Suddeinly an innumerable flight 
Of harmefull fowles about them fluttering 

cride. 
And with their wicked wings them ofte 

did smight. 
And sore annoyed, groping in that griesly 

night. 



XXXVI. 

Even all the nation of unfortunate 
And fatall birds about them flocked 

were. 
Such as by nature men abhorre and hate ; 
The ill-faste Owle, deaths dreadfull mes- 

sengere ; 
The hoars Night-raven, trump of doleful! 

drere ; 
The lether-winged Batt, dayes enimy ; 
The rueful! Strich, still waiting on the 

here; 
The whistler shrill, that whoso heares 

doth dy ; 
The hellish Harpy es, prophets of sad 

destiny. 

XXX VII. 

All those, and all that els does horror 

breed. 
About them flew, and fild their sayles 

with feare : 
Yet stayd they not, but forward did pro- 
ceed. 
Whiles th' one did row, and th' other 

stifly steare ; 
Till that at last the weather gan to cleare, 
And the faire land it selfe did playnly 

sheow. 
Said then the Palmer ; * Lo ! where does 

appeare 
The sacred soile where all our perills grow. 
Therfore, Sir knight, your ready arms 

about you throw.' 

XXX vin. 

He hearkned, and his armes about him 

tooke. 
The whiles the nimble bote so well her 

sped. 
That with her crooked keele the land she 

strooke : 
Then forth the noble Guyon sallied. 
And his sage Palmer that him governed ; 
But th' other by his bote behind did stay. 
They marched fayrly forth, of nought 

yd red. 
Both firmely armd for every hard assay, 
With constancy and care, gainst daunger 

and dismay. 

XXXIX. 

Ere long they heard an hideous bellow- 
ing 
Of many beasts, that roard outrageously, 
As if that hungers poynt or Venus sting 
Had them enraged with fell surquedry : 
Yet nought they feard, but past on 

hardily. 
Until! they came in vew of those wilde 
beasts. 



CANTO XII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



189 



Who all attonce, gaping full greedily, 
And rearing fercely their upstaring crests, 
Ran towards to devoure those unexpected 
guests. 

XL. 

But soone as they approcht with deadly 

threat. 
The Palmer over them his staff e upheld. 
His mighty staffe, that could all charmes 

defeat. 
Eftesooues their stubborue corages were 

queld. 
And high advaunced crests downe meekely 

feld; 
Instead of fraying, they them selves did 

feare, 
And trembled as them passing they beheld : 
Such wondrous powre did in that staffe 

appeare, 
All monsters to subdew to him that did it 

beare. 

XLI. 

Of that same wood it fram'd was cun- 

ingly, 
Of which Caduceus whilome was made, 
Caduceus, the rod of Mercury, 
With which he wonts the Stygian realmes 

invade 
Through ghastly horror and eternall 

shade : 
Th' infernall feends with it he can 

asswage, 
And Orcus tame, whome nothing can per- 
suade. 
And rule the Furyes when they most doe 

rage. 
Such vertue in his staffe had eke this 

Palmer sage. 

XLII. 

Thence passing forth, they shortly doe 

arryve 
Whereas the Bowre of Blisse was situate ; 
A place pickt out by choyce of best alyve, 
That natures worke by art can imitate : 
In which whatever in this worldly state 
Is sweete and pleasing mito living sense, 
Or that may dayntest fantasy aggrate, 
Was poured forth with plentifull dis- 

pence, 
And made there to abound with lavish 

affluence. 



Goodly it was enclosed rownd about, 
As well their entred guestes to keep 

within. 
As those unruly beasts to hold without ; 
Yet was the fence thereof but weake and 

thin: 



Nought feard theyr force that fortilage to 

win, 
But wisedomes powre, and temperaunces 

might, 
By which the mightiest things efforced 

bin: 
And eke the gate was wrought of sub- 

staunce light. 
Rather for pleasure then for battery or 

fight. 

XLIV. 

Yt framed was of precious yvory. 
That seemd a worke of admirable witt; 
And therein all the famous history 
Of Jason and Medsea was ywritt ; 
Her mighty charmes, her furious loving 

fitt; 
His goodly conquest of the golden fleece. 
His falsed fayth, and love too lightly 

flitt; 
The wondred Argo, which in venturous 

peace 
First through the Euxine seas bore all 

the flowr of Greece. 



Ye might have scene the frothy bil- 

lowes fry 
Under the ship as thorough them she 

went. 
That seemd the waves were into yvory, 
Or yvory into the waves were sent ; 
And otherwhere the snowy substaunce 

sprent 
With vermeil, like the boyes blood 

therein shed, 
A piteous spectacle did represent ; 
And otherwhiles, with gold besprinkeled, 
Yt seemd thenchaunted flame which did 

Creusa wed. 

XLVI. 

All this and more might in that goodly 
gate 
Be red, that ever open stood to all 
Which thither came; but in the Porch 

there sate 
A comely personage of stature tall. 
And semblaunce pleasing, more then 

naturall, 
That travellers to him seemd to entize : 
His looser garment to the ground did fall, 
And flew about his heeles in wanton 

wize, 
Not fitt for speedy pace, or manly exer- 
cize. 

XLVII. 

They in that place him Genius did call : 
Not that celestiall powre, to whom th© 
care 



IQO 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book II. 



Of life, aud generation of all 

That lives, perteiues in charge particu- 
lare, 

Who wondrous things concerning our 
welfare, 

And strauuge phantomes doth lett us of te 
foresee, 

And of te of secret ill bids us beware : 

That is our Selfe, whom though we do 
not see. 

Yet each doth in him selfe it well per- 
ceive to bee. 



Therefore a God him sage Antiquity 
Did wisely make, and good Agdistes call ; 
But this same was to that quite contrary, 
The foe of life, that good envyes to all, 
That secretly doth us procure to fall 
Through guilefull semblants which he 

makes us see : 
He of this Gardin had the governall, 
And Pleasures porter was devizd to bee, 
Holding a stafEe in hand for mere for- 

malitee. 

XLIX. 

With diverse flowres he daintily was 

deckt, 
And strowed rownd about ; and by his 

side 
A mighty Mazer bowle of wine was sett, 
As if it had to him bene sacrifide, 
Wherewith all new-come guests he graty- 

fide: 
So did he eke Sir Guyon passing by ; 
But he his ydle curtesie defide, 
And overthrew his bowle disdainfully, 
And broke his staffe with which he 

charmed semblants sly. 



Thus being entred, they behold arownd 
A large and spacious plaine, on every 

side 
Strowed with pleasauns; whose fayre 

grassy grownd 
Mantled with greene, and goodly beauti- 

fide 
With all the ornaments of Floraes pride, 
Wherewith her mother Art, as halfe in 

scorne 
Of niggard Nature, like a pompous bride 
Did decke her, and too lavishly adorne, 
When forth from virgin bowre she comes 

in th' early morne. 



Therewith the Heavens alwayes joviall 
Lookte on them lovely, still in stedfast 
state, 



Ne suffred storm e nor frost on them to 

fall. 
Their tender buds or leaves to violate ; 
Nor scorching heat, nor cold intemperate, 
T' atHict the creatures which therein did 

dwell ; 
But the milde ay re with season moderate 
Gently attempred, aud disposd so well. 
That still it breathed forth sweet spirit 

and holesom smell : 



More sweet and holesome then the 

pleasaunt hill 
Of Rhodope, on which the Nimphe that 

bore 
A gyauut babe herselfe for griefe did kill ; 
Or the Thessalian Tempe, where of yore 
Fayre Daphne Phoebus hart with love did 

gore ; 
Or Ida, where the Gods lov'd to repayre, 
When ever they their heavenly bowres 

forlore ; 
Or sweet Parnasse, the haunt of Muses 

fayre ; 
Or Eden selfe, if ought with Eden mote 

compayre. 

LIII. 

Much wondred Guyon at the fayre 
aspect 

Of that sweet place, yet suffred no de- 
light 

To sincke into his sence, nor mind affect, 

But passed forth, and lookt still forward 
right, 

Brydling his will and maystering his 
might. 

Till that he came unto another gate ; 

No gate, but like one, being goodly dight 

With bowes and braunches, which did 
broad dilate 

Their clasping armes in wanton wreath- 
ings intricate : 

LIV. 

So fashioned a Porch with rare device. 
Archt over head with an embracing vine, 
Whose bounches hanging downe seemd to 

entice 
All passers by to taste their lushious wine, 
And did them selves into their hands 

incline. 
As freely offering to be gathered ; 
Some deepe empurpled as the Hyacine, 
Some as the Rubine laughing sweetely red, 
Some like faire Emeraudes, not yet well 

ripened. 

LV. 

And them amongst some were of bur- 
nisht gold, 



CANTO XII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



191 



So made by art to beautify the rest, 
Which did themselves emongst the leaves 

enfold, 
As lurking from the vew of covetous 

guest, 
That the weake boughes, with so rich load 

opprest 
Did bow adowne as overburdened. 
Under that Porch a comely dame did 

rest 
Clad ill fay re weedes but fowle disordered, 
And garments loose that seemd unmeet 

for womanhed. 



In her left hand a Cup of gold she held, 
And with her right the riper fruit did 

reach, 
Whose sappy liquor, that with fulnesse 

sweld, 
Into her cup she scruzd with daintie 

breach 
Of her fine fingers, without fowle em- 
peach. 
That so faire winepresse made the wine 

more sweet : 
Thereof she usd to give to drinke to each, 
Whom passing by she happened to meet : 
It was her guise all Straungers goodly so 
to greet. 

liVII. 

So she to Guyon offred it to tast, 
Who, taking it out of her tender bond, 
The cup to ground did violently cast. 
That all in peeces it was broken fond. 
And with the liquor stained all the loud : 
Whereat Excesse exceedingly was wroth, 
Yet no'te the same amend, ne yet with- 

stond. 
But suffered him to passe, all were she 

loth; 
Who, nought regarding her displeasure, 

forward goth. 



There the most daintie Paradise on 
ground 

It selfe doth offer to his sober eye. 

In which all pleasures plenteously abownd. 

And none does others happinesse envye ; 

The painted fiowres, the trees upshooting 
hye, 

The dales for shade, the hilles for breath- 
ing space. 

The trembling groves, the christall run- 
ning by. 

And, that which all faire workes doth 
most aggrace. 

The art which all that wrought appeared 
in no place. 



One would have thought, (so cunningly 

the rude 
And scorned partes were mingled with the 

fine) 
That nature had for wantonesse ensude 
Art, and that Art at nature did repine ; 
So striving each th' other to undermine, 
Each did the others worke more beautify ; 
So diff'ring both in willes agreed in tine: 
So all agreed, through sweete diversity, 
This Gardin to adorne with all variety. 



And in the midst of all a fountaine 

stood. 
Of richest substance that on earth might 

bee, 
So pure and shiny that the silver flood 
Through every channell running one 

might see ; 
Most goodly it with curious ymageree 
Was overwrought, and shapes of naked 

boyes, 
Of which some seemd with lively jollitee 
To fly about, playing their wanton toyes, 
Whylest others did them selves embay in 

liquid joyes. 



And over all of purest gold was spred 
A trayle of yvie in his native hew ; 
For the rich metall was so coloured, 
That wight who did not well avis'd it vew 
Would surely deeme it to bee yvie trew: 
Low his lascivious armes adown did 

creepe. 
That themselves dipping in the silver 

dew 
Their fleecy fiowres they fearefully did 

steepe, 
Which drops of Christall seemd for wan- 
tones to weep. 



Infinit streames continually did well 
Out of this fountaine, sweet and faire to 

see. 
The which into an ample laver fell, 
And shortly grew into so great quantitie, 
That like a litle lake it seemd to bee ; 
Whose depth exceeded not three cubits 

bight. 
That through the waves one might the 

bottom see. 
All pav'd beneath with Jaspar shining 

bright. 
That seemd the fountaine in that sea did 

sayle upright. 



192 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book II. 



And all the margent round about was 
sett 
With shady Laurel! trees, thence to de- 
fend 
The sunny beanies which on the billowes 

bett, 
And those which therein bathed mote 

offend. 
As Guyon hapned by the same to wend, 
Two naked Damzelles he therein espyde, 
Which therein bathing seemed to contend 
And wrestle wantonly, ne car'd to hyde 
Their dainty partes from vew of any 
which them eyd. 



Sometimes the one would lift the other 

quight 
Above the waters, and then downe againe 
Her plong, as over-maystered by might, 
Where both awhile would covered re- 

maine, 
And each the other from to rise restraine ; 
The whiles tbeir snowy limbes, as through 

a vele. 
So through the christall waves appeared 

plain e : 
Then suddeinly both would themselves 

unhele. 
And th' amarous sweet spoiles to greedy 

eyes revele. 



As that faire Starre, the messenger of 

morne. 
His deawy face out of the sea doth reare ; 
Or as the Cyprian goddesse, newly borne 
Of th' Ocean's fruitfull froth, did first 

appeare : 
Such seemed they, and so their yellow 

heare 
Christalline humor dropped downe apace. 
Whom such when Guyon saw, he drew 

him neare, 
And somewhat gan relent his earnest 

pace ; 
His stubborne brest gan secret pleasaunce 

CO embrace. 



The wanton Maidens, him espying, stood 
Gazing awhile at his unwonted guise ; 
Then th' one her selfe low ducked in the 

flood, 
Abasht that her a straunger did avise ; 
But thother rather higher did arise, 
And her two lilly paps aloft displayd, 
And all that might his melting hart en- 

tyse 



To her delights she unto him bewrayd ; 
The rest hidd underneath him more de- 
sirous made. 



With that the other likewise up arose. 
And her faire lockes, which formerly were 

bownd 
Up in one knott, she low adowne did lose. 
Which flowing low and thick her cloth'd 

arownd. 
And th' yvorie in golden mantle gownd : 
So that faire spectacle from him was reft, 
Yet that which reft it no lesse faire was 

fownd. 
So hidd in lockes and waves from lookers 

theft. 
Nought but her lovely face she for his 

looking left. 



Withall she laughed, and she blusht 

withall. 
That blushing to her laughter gave more 

grace, 
And laughter to her blushing, as did fall. 
Now when they spyde the knight to slacke 

his pace 
Them to behold, and in his sparkling face 
The secrete signes of kindled lust appeare. 
Their wanton meriments they did en- 

creace. 
And to him beckned to approch more 

neare, 
And shewd him many sights that corage 

cold could reare. 

LXIX. 

On which when gazing him the Palmer 

saw, 
He much rebukt those wandring eyes of 

his, 
And counseld well him forward thence 

did draw. 
Now are they come nigh to the Bowre of 

Wis, 
Of her fond favorites so nam'd amis, 
When thus the Palmer : ' Now, Sir, well 

avise ; 
For here the end of all our traveill is : 
Here wonnes Acrasia, whom we must sur- 
prise. 
Els she will slip away, and all our drift 

despise. 

LXX. 

Eftsoones they heard a most melodious 
sound. 
Of all that mote delight a daintie eare. 
Such as attonce might not on living 
ground, 



CANTO XII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



193 



Save in this Paradise, be heard elsewhere : 
Right hard it was for wight which did it 

heare, 
To read what manner musicke that mote 

bee; 
For all that pleasing is to living eare 
Was there consorted in one harmonee ; 
Birdes, voices, instruments, windes, wa- 
ters, all agree : 

LXXI. 

The joyous birdes, shrouded in cheare- 

full shade 
Their notes unto the voice attempred 

sweet ; 
Th' Angelicall soft trembling voyces made 
To th' instruments divine respondence 

meet; 
The silver sounding instruments did meet 
With the base murmure of the waters 

fall ; 
The waters fall with difference discreet. 
Now soft, now loud, unto the wind did 

call; 
The gentle warbling wind low answered 

to all. 

LXXII. 

There, whence that Musick seemed 
heard to bee, 

Was the faire Witch her selfe now solac- 
ing 

With a new Lover, whom, through sor- 
ceree 

And witchcraft, she from farre did thither 
bring ; 

There she had him now laid aslombering 

In secret shade after long wanton joyes ; 

Whilst round about them pleasauntly did 
sing 

Many faire Ladies and lascivious boyes. 

That ever mixt their song with light licen- 
tious toyes. 



And all that while right over him she 

hong 
With her false eyes fast fixed in his sight. 
As seeking medicine whence she was 

stong. 
Or greedily depasturing delight; 
And oft inclining downe, with kisses light 
For feare of waking him, his lips bedewd, 
And through his humid eyes did sucke his 

spright, 
Quite molten into lust and pleasure lewd ; 
Wherewith she sighed soft, as if his case 

she rewd. 

LXXIV. 

The whiles some one did chaunt this 
lovely lay: 



Ah ! see, whoso fay re thing doest faine to 

see, 
In springing flowre the image of thy day. 
Ah! see the Virgin Rose, how sweetly 



Doth first peepe foorth with bashful! 
modestee. 

That fairer seemes the lesse ye see her 
may. 

Lo! see soone after how more bold and 
free 

Her bared bosome she doth broad dis- 
play; 

Lo! see soone after how she fades and 
falls away. 

LXXV. 

So passeth, in the passing of a day, 
Of mortall life the leafe, the bud, the 

flowre ; 
Ne more doth florish after first decay, 
That earst was sought to deck both bed 

and bowre 
Of many a lady', and many a Paramowre. 
Gather therefore the Rose whiiest yet is 

prime. 
For Sonne comes age that will her pride 

deflowre ; 
Gather the Rose of love whiiest yet is 

time, 
Whiiest loving thou mayst loved be with 

equall crime. 

LXXVI. 

He ceast ; and then gan all the quire of 

birdes 
Their diverse notes t'attune unto his lay, 
As in approvaunce of his pleasing wordes. 
The constant payre heard all that he did 

say, 
Yet swarved not, but kept their forward 

way 
Through many covert groves and thickets 

close, 
In which they creeping did at last display 
That wanton Lady with her lover lose, 
Whose sleepie head she in her lap did 

soft dispose. 



Upon a bed of Roses she was layd, 
As faint through heat, or dight to pleas- 
ant sin ; 
And was arayd, or rather disarayd, 
All in a vele of silke and silver thin. 
That hid no whit her alablaster skin, 
But rather shewd more white, if more 

might bee : 
More subtile web Arachne cannot spin ; 
Nor the fine nets, which oft we woven 



194 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book II. 



Of scorched deaw, do not in th' ayre 
more lightly flee. 

LXXVIII. 

Her snowy brest was hare to ready spoyle 
Of hungry eies, which n'ote therewith be 

fild; 
And yet, through languour of her late 

sweet toyle, 
Few drops, more cleare then Nectar, 

forth distild. 
That like pure Orient perles adowne it 

trild ; 
And her faire eyes, sweet smyling in 

delight, 
Moystened their fierie beames, with 

which she thrild 
Fraile harts, yet quenched not; like 

starry light, 
Which, sparckliug on the silent waves, 

does seeme more bright. 

LXXIX. 

The young man, sleeping by her, seemd 

to be 
Some goodly swayne of honorable place, 
That certes it great pittj^ was to see 
Him his nobility so fowle deface: 
A sweet regard and amiable grace, 
Mixed with manly sternesse, did appeare. 
Yet sleeping, in his well proportiond 

face ; 
And on his tender lips the downy heare 
Did now but freshly spring, and silken 

blossoms beare. 

LXXX. 

His warlike Armes, the ydle instru- 
ments 

Of sleeping praise, were hong upon a tree ; 
"And his brave shield, full of old moni- 
meuts, 

Was fowly ras't, that none the signes 
might see : 

Ne for them ne for honour cared hee, 

Ne ought that did to his advauncement 
tend ; 

But in lewd loves, and wastfull luxuree, 

His dayes, his goods, his bodie, he did 
spend : 

O horrible enchantment, that him so did 
blend ! 

LXXXI. 

The noble Elfe and carefull Palmer 
drew 

So nigh them, minding nought but lust- 
full game. 

That suddein forth they on them rusht, 
and threw 

A subtile net, which only for that same 

The skilfuU Palmer formally did frame : 



So held them under fast ; the whiles the 

rest 
Fled all away for feare of fowler shame, 
The faire Enchauntresse, so un wares 

opprest, 
Tryde all her arts and all her sleights 

thence out to wrest. 

LXXXII. 

And eke her lover strove, but all in 

vaine ; 
For, that same net so cunningly was 

wound. 
That neither guile nor force might it 

distraine. 
They tooke them both, and both them 

strongly bound 
In captive bandes, which they readie 

found : 
But her in chaines of adamant he tyde ; 
For nothing else might keepe her safe 

and sound : 
But Verdant (so he hight) he soone un- 

tyde, 
And counsell sage in steed thereof to him 

apply de. 

LXXXIII. 

But all those pleasaunt bowres, and 

Pallace brave, 
Guyon broke downe with rigour pitti- 

lesse ; 
Ne ought their goodly workmanship 

might save 
Them from the tempest of his wrathful- 

nesse. 
But that their blisse he turn'd to baleful- 



Their groves he feld; their gardins did 
deface ; 

Their arbers spoyle ; their Cabinets sup- 
presse ; 

Their banket houses burne; their build- 
ings race; 

And, of the fayrest late, now made the 
fowlest place. 

LXXXIV. 

Then led they her away, and eke that 

knight 
They with them led, both sorrowfull and 

sad. 
The way they came, the same retourn'd 

they right. 
Till they arrived where they lately had 
Charm'd those wild-beasts" that rag'd 

with f urie mad ; 
Which, now awaking, fierce at them gan 

fly, 

As in their mistresse reskew whom they 

lad; 
But them the Palmer soone did pacify. 



CANTO XII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



195 



Then Guyon askt, what meant those 
heastes which there did ly? 



Sayd he ; ' These seeming beasts are 
men indeed, 

Whom this Enchauutresse hath trans- 
formed thus ; 

Whylome her lovers, which her lustes 
did feed, 

Now turned into figures hideous, 

According to their mindes like mon- 

Stl'UOUS.' 

* Sad end,' (quoth he) 'of life intemper- 
ate, 

And mourneful meed of joyes delicious ! 

But, Palmer, if it mote thee so aggrate, 

Let them returned he unto their former 
state.' 

LXXXVI. 

-Streight way he with his vertuous staff e 

them strooke. 
And streight of beastes they comely men 

became; 
Yet being men they did unmanly looke, 



And stared ghastly; some for inward 

shame, 
And some for wrath to see their captive 

Dame : 
But one above the rest in speciall 
That had an hog beene late, hight Grylle 

by name, 
Repyned greatly, and did him miscall 

had from hoggish 

brought to uaturall. 



Saide Guyon ; ' See the mind of beastly 

man. 
That hath so soone forgot the excellence 
Of his creation, when he life began, 
That now he chooseth with vile "difference 
To be a beast, and lacke intelligence ! ' 
To whom the Palmer thus : ' The dong- 

hill kiude 
Delightes in filth and fowls incontinence : 
Let Gryll be Gryll, and have his hoggish 

minde ; 
But let us hence depart whilest wether 

serves and winde.' 



THE THIRDE BOOKE 

OF 

THE FAERIE QUEENE 

CONTATNING THE LEGEND OF BRITOMARTIS, OR OF CHASTITY. 



It falls me here to write of Chastity, 
The fayrest vertue, far above the rest : 
For which what needes nie fetch from 

Faery 
Forreine ensamples it to have exprest ? 
Sith it is shrined iu my Soveraines brest, 
And formd so lively in each perfect part, 
That to all Ladies, which have it profest, 
Need but behold the pourtraict of her 

hart ; 
If pourtrayd it might bee by any living 

art. 

n. 

But living art may not least part ex- 
presse, 
Nor life-resembling pencill it can paynt : 
All were it Zeuxis or Praxiteles, 
His dsedale hand would faile and greatly 

faynt. 
And her perfections with his error taynt : 
Ne Poets witt, that passeth Painter farre 
In picturing the parts of beauty daynt, 
So hard a workemanship adventure darre, 
For fear, through want of words, her ex- 
cellence to marre. 



How then shall I, Apprentice to the skill 
That whilome in divinest wits did rayne, 
Presume so high to stretch mine humble 

quill ? 
Yet now my luckelesse lott doth me con- 

strayne 



Hereto perforce. But, O dredd Sover- 

ayne! 
Thus far-forth pardon, sith that choicest 

witt 
Cannot your glorious pourtraict figure 

playne. 
That I in colourd showes may shadow itt. 
And antique praises unto present persons 

fitt. 

IV. 

But if in living colours, and right hew, 
Thy selfe thou covet to see pictured. 
Who can it doe more lively, or more trew. 
Then that sweete verse, with Nectar 

sprinckeled, 
In which a gracious servaunt pictured 
His Cynthia, his heavens fayrest light ? 
That with his melting sweetnes ravished. 
And with the wonder of her beames bright, 
My sences lulled are in slomber of delight. 



But let that same delitious Poet lend 
A little leave unto a rusticke Muse 
To sing his mistresse prayse ; and let him 

mend, 
If ought amis her liking may abuse : 
Ne let his fayrest Cynthia refuse 
In mirrours more then one her selfe to 

see; 
But either Gloriana let her chuse. 
Or in BelphcEbe fashioned to bee ; 
In th' one her rule, in th' other her rare 

chastitee. 



CANTO I. 

Guyon encountreth Britomart : 
Fayre Florimell is chaced : 

Duessaes traines and Malecas- 
taes champions are defaced. 



The famous Briton Prince and Faery 
knight. 



After long wayes and perilous paines en- 

dur'd. 
Having their weary limbes to perfect plight 



196 



CANTO I.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



197 



Restord, and sory wounds right well re- 
cur 'd, 

Of the faire Alma greatly were procur'd 

To make there leuger sojounie and abode ; 

But when thereto they might not he 
allur'd, 

From seeking praise and deeds of armes 
abrode, 

They courteous conge tooke, and forth 
together yode. 



But the captiv'd Acrasia he sent, 
Because of traveill long, a nigher way. 
With a strong gard, all reskew to prevent, 
And her to Faery court safe to convay ; 
That her for witnes of his hard assay 
Unto his Faery Queene he might present : 
But he him selfe hetooke another way. 
To make more triall of his hardiment. 
And seek adventures as he with Prince 
Arthure went. 



Long so they travelled through waste- 
full wayes, 
Where daungers dwelt, and perils most 

did wonne. 
To hunt for glory and renowmed prayse. 
Full many Countreyes they did overronne. 
From the uprising to the setting Sunne, 
And many hard adventures did atchieve ; 
Of all the which they honour ever wonne, 
Seeking the weake oppressed to relieve, 
And to recover right for &uch as wrong 
did grieve. 

IV. 

At last, as through an open plaine they 

yode. 
They spide a knight that towards pricked 

f ayre ; 
And him beside an aged Squire there rode, 
That seemd to couch under his shield 

three-square. 
As if that age badd him that burden spare, 
And yield it those that stouter could it 

wield. 
He them espying gan him selfe prepare. 
And on his arme addresse his goodly shield 
That bore a Lion passant in a golden field. 



Which seeing, good Sir Guyon deare 

besought 
The Prince of grace to let him ronne that 

turne. 
He graunted: then the Faery quickly 

raught 
His poynant speare, and sharply gan to 

spurne 



His fomy steed, whose fiery feete did 

burne 
The verdant gras as he thereon did tread ; 
Ne did the other backe his foote returne, 
But fiercely forward came withouten 

dread. 
And bent his dreadful speare against the 

others head. 

VI. 

They beene ymett, and both theyr points 

arriv'd ; 
But Guyon drove so furious and fell. 
That seemd both shield and plate it would 

have riv'd ; 
Nathelesse it bore his foe not from his sell, 
But made him stagger, as he were not 

well: 
But Guyon selfe, ere well he was aware. 
Nigh a speares length behind his crouper 

fell; 
Yet in his fall so well him selfe he bare, 
That mischievous mischaunce his life and 

limbs did spare. 



Great shame and sorrow of that fall he 

tooke ; 
For never yet, sith warlike armes he bore 
And shivering speare in bloody field first 

shooke. 
He fownd him selfe dishonored so sore. 
Ah ! gentlest knight, that ever armor bore, 
Let not thee grteve dismounted to have 

beene. 
And brought to grownd that never wast 

before ; 
For not thy fault, but secret powre un- 

seene : 
That speare enchauuted was which layd 

thee on the greene. 



But weenedst thou what wight thee 

overthrew, 
Much greater griefe and shamefuller re- 

grett 
For thy hard fortune then thou wouldst 

renew. 
That of a single damzell thou wert mett 
On equall plaine, and there so hard be- 

sett : 
Even the famous Britomart it was. 
Whom straunge adventure did from Brit- 

ayne sett 
To seeke her lover (love far sought alas!) 
Whose image shee had scene in Venus 

looking gias. 

IX. 

Full of disdainefull wrath he fierce up 
rose 



198 



THE FAERIE QUEEN E. 



[book III. 



For to i-eveuge that fowle reprochefull 

shame, 
Aud snatching his bright sword began to 

close- 
With her on foot, aud stoutly forward 

came : 
Dye rather would he then endure that 

same. 
Which when his Palmer saw, he gan to 

feare 
His toward perill, and untoward blame, 
Which by that new rencounter he should 

reare ; 
For death sate on the point of that en- 

chaunted speare : 



And hasting towards him gan fayre 

perswade 
Not to provoke misfortune, nor to weene 
His speares default to mend with cruell 

blade ; 
For by his mightie Science he had scene 
The secrete vertue of that weapon keene, 
That raortall puissaunce mote not with- 

stond. 
Nothing on earth mote alwaies happy 

beene : 
Great hazard were it, and adventure fond, 
To loose long gotten honour with one evill 

bond. 

XI. . 

By such good meanes he him discoun- 

selled 
From prosecuting his revenging rage : 
And eke the Prince like treaty handeled, 
His wrathfull will with reason to aswage ; 
And laid the blame, not to his carriage. 
But to his starting steed that swarv'd 

asyde, 
And to the ill purveyaunce of his page, 
That had his furnitures not firmly tyde. 
So is his angry corage fayrly pacifyde. 

XII. 

Thus reconcilement was betweene them 
knitt. 

Through goodly temperaunce and affec- 
tion chaste ; 

And either vowd with all their power and 
witt 

To let not others honour be defaste 

Of friend or foe, who ever it embaste ; 

Ne armes to beare against the others syde : 

In which accord the Prince was also 
plaste. 

And with that golden chaine of concord 
tyde. 

So goodly all agreed they forth yfere did 
ryde. 



O! goodly usage of those antique 

tymcri, 
In which the sword was servaunt unto 

right ; 
When not for malice and contentious 

crymes. 
But all for prayse, and proofe of manly 

might. 
The martial! brood accustomed to fight : 
Then honour was the meed of victory. 
And yet the vanquished had no despight. 
Let later age that noble use envy, 
Vyle rancor to avoid and cruel surquedry. 

XIV, 

Long they thus travelled in friendly 

wise. 
Through countreyes waste, and eke well 

edifyde. 
Seeking adventures hard, to exercise 
Their puissaunce, whylome full dernly 

tryde. 
At length they came into a forest wyde, 
Whose hideous horror and sad trembling 

sownd. 
Full griesly seemd: Therein they long- 
did ryde, 
Yet tract of living creature none they 

fownd, 
Save Beares, Lyons, and Buls, which 

romed them arownd. 

XV. 

All suddenly out of the thickest brush, 
Upon a milkwhite Palfrey all alone, 
A goodly Lady did foreby them rush, 
Whose face did seeme as cleare as Chris- 
tall stone. 
And eke, through feare, as white as 

whales bone : 
Her garments all were wrought of beaten 

gold. 
And all her steed with tinsell trappings 

shone, 
Which fledd so fast that nothing mote 

him hold, 
And scarse them leasure gave her passing 
to behold. 



Still as she fledd her eye she backward 

threw. 
As fearing evill that poursewd her fast ; 
And her faire yellow locks behind her 

flew. 
Loosely disperst with puff of every blast : 
All as a blazing starre doth farre outcast 
His hearie beames, and flaming lockes 

dispredd, 



CANTO I.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



199 



At sight whereof the people stand aghast ; 
But "the sage wisard telles, as he has 

redd, 
That it importunes death and dolefull 

dreryhedd. 



So as they gazed after her a whyle, 
Lo! where a griesly foster forth did rush, 
Breathing out beastly lust her to defyle : 
His tyreling Jade he fiersly forth did 

push 
Through thicke and thin, both over banck 

and bush, 
In hope her to attaine by hooke or 

crooke, 
That from his gory sydes the blood did 

gush. 
Large were his limbes, and terrible his 

looke. 
And in his clownish hand a sharp bore 

speare he shooke. 



Which outrage when those gentle 

knights did see, 
Full of great envy and fell gealosy 
They stayd not to avise who first should 

bee, 
But all spurd after, fast as they mote fly, 
To reskew her from shamefull villany. 
The Prince and Guyou equally bylive 
Her selfe pursewd, m hope to win thereby 
Most goodly meede, the fairest Dame 

alive : 
But after the foule foster Timias did 

strive. 



The whiles faire Britomart, whose con- 
stant mind 
Would not so lightly follow beauties 

chace, 
Ne reckt of Ladies Love, did stay be- 

hynd, 
And them a way ted there a certaine 

space, 
To weet if they would turue backe to 

that place ; 
But when she saw them gone she forward 

went, 
As lay her journey, through that perlous 

Pace, 
With stedfast corage and stout hardi- 

ment : 
^Ne evil thing she feard, ne evill thing she 

ment. 

XX, 

At last, as nigh out of the wood she 
came, 



A stately Castle far away she spyde. 
To which her steps directly she did frame. 
That Castle was most goodly edifyde. 
And plaste for pleasure nigh that forrest 

syde : 
But faire before the gate a spatious 

playne, 
Mantled with greene, it selfe did spredden 

wyde, 
On which she saw six knights, that did 

darrayne 
Fiers battaill against one with cruell 

might and mayne. 



Mainely they all attonce upon him laid, 
And sore beset on every side arownd. 
That nigh he breathlesse grew, yet 

nought dismaid, 
Ne ever to them yielded foot of grownd. 
All had he lost much blood through 

many a wownd. 
But stoutly dealt his blowes, and every 

way, 
To which he turned in his wrathfull 

stownd. 
Made them recoile, and fly from dredd 

decay, 
That none of all the six before him durst 

assay. 



Like dastard Curres that, having at a 

bay 
The salvage beast embost in wearie 

chace. 
Dare not adventure on the stubborue 

pray, 
Ne byte before, but rome from place to 

place 
To get a snutch when turned is his face. 
In such distresse and doubtfuU jeopardy 
When Britomart him saw, she ran apace 
Unto his reskew, and with earnest cry 
Badd those same six forbeare that single 

enimy. 

XXIII. 

Bat to her cry they list not lenden eare, 
Ne ought the more their mightie strokes 

"surceasse. 
But gathering him rownd about more 

' neare, 
Their direful! rancour rather did en- 

creasse ; 
Till that she rushing through the thickest 

preasse 
Perforce disparted their compacted gyre. 
And soone compeld to hearken unto 

peace. 
Tho gau she myldly of them to inquyre 



200 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book III. 



The cause of their dissention and out- 
rageous yre. 



Whereto that single knight did answere 

frame : 
' These six would me enforce by oddes of 

might 
To chaunge my liefe, and love another 

Dame;, 
That death me liefer were then such 

despight, 
So unto wrong to yield my wrested right : 
For I love one, the truest one on grownd, 
Ne list me chaunge ; she th' Errant Dam- 

zell hight ; 
For whose deare sake full many a bitter 

stownd 
I have endurd, and tasted many a bloody 

wownd.' 

XXV. 

* Certes,' (said she) * then beene ye sixe 

to blame, 
To weene your wrong by force to justify ; 
For knight to leave his Lady were great 

shame 
That faithfull is, and better were to dy. 
All losse is lesse, and lesse the infamy, 
Then losse of love to him that loves but 

one: 
Ne may love be compeld by maistery ; 
For soone as maistery comes sweet Love 

anone 
Taketh his nimble winges, and soone 

away is gone.' 



Then spake one of those six ; ' There 
dwelleth here 
Within this castle wall a Lady fayre, 
Whose soveraine beautie hath no living 

pere; 
Thereto so bounteous and so debonayre, 
That never any mote with her compayre : 
She hath ordaind this law, which we 

approve, 
That every knight which doth this way 

repayre, 
In case he have no Lady nor no love. 
Shall doe unto her service, never to re- 
move: 

XXVII. 

* But if he have a Lady or a Love, 
Then must he her forgoe with fowle de- 
fame, 
Or els with us by dint of sword approve, 
That she is fairer then our fairest Dame ; 
As did this knight, before ye hither came.' 
* Perdy,' (said Britomart) ' the choise is 
hard : 



But what reward had he that over- 
came ? ' 

' He should advamiced bee to high re- 
gard,' 

(Said they) ' and have our Ladies love for 
his reward. 

XXVIII. 

' Therefore aread. Sir, if thou have a 

love.' 
* Love hath I sure,' (quoth she) * but 

Lady none; 
Yet will I not fro mine own love remove, 
Ne to your Lady will I service done, 
But wreake your wronges wrought to this 

knight alone. 
And prove his cause.' With that, her 

mortall speare 
She mightily aventred towards one. 
And downe him smot ere well aware he 

weare ; 
Then to the next she rode, and downe the 

next did beare. 



Ne did she stay till three on ground she 

layd 
That none of them himselfe could reare 

againe : 
The fourth was by that other knight dis- 

mayd. 
All were he wearie of his former paine ; 
That now there do but two of six re- 

maine, 
Which two did yield before she did them 

smight. 
* Ah ! ' (said she then) * now may ye all 

see plaine, 
That truth is strong, and trew love most 

of might. 
That for his trusty servaunts doth so 

strongly fight.' 



* Too well we see,' (saide they) * and 

prove too well 
Our faulty weakenes, and your match- 

lesse might: 
Forthy, faire Sir, yours be the Damozell, 
Which by her owne law to your lot doth 

light. 
And we your liegemen faith unto you 

plight.' 
So underneath her feet their swords they 

mard, 
And, after, her besought, well as they 

might. 
To enter in and reape the dew reward. 
She graunted ; and then in they all to- 
gether far'd. 



CANTO I.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



20I 



Long were it to describe the goodly 
frame, 
And stately port of Castle Joyeous, 
(For so that Castle hight by commun 

name) 
^Vhere they were entertaynd with cour- 
teous 
And comely glee of many gratious 
Faire Ladies, and of many a gentle knight, 
Who, through a Chamber long and spa- 
cious, 
Eftsoones them brought unto their Ladies 

sight. 
That of them cleeped was the Lady of 
Delight. 

XXXII. 

But for to tell the sumptuous aray 
Of that great chamber should be labour 

lost; 
For living wit, I weene, cannot display 
The roiall riches and exceeding cost 
Of every pillour and of every post, 
AVhich all of purest bullion framed were, 
And with great perles and pretious stones 

embost ; 
That the bright glister of their beames 

cleare 
Did sparckle forth great light, and glori- 
ous did appeare. 



These stranger knights, through pass- 
ing, forth were led 

Into an inner rowme, whose royaltee 

And rich purveyance might uneath be red ; 

Mote Princes place be seeme so deckt to 
bee. 

Which stately manner whenas they did 
see. 

The image of superfluous riotize, 

Exceeding much the state of meane de- 
gree, 

They greatly wondred whence so sumptu- 
ous guize 

Might be maintaynd, and each gan diverse- 
ly devize. 

XXXIV. 

The wals were round about apparelled 
With costly clothes of Arras and of Toure ; 
In which with cunning hand was pour- 

trahed 
The love of Venus and her Paramoure, 
The fayre Adonis, turned to a flowre ; 
A worke of rare device and wondrous wit. 
First did it shew the bitter balefull stowre, 
Which her essayd with many a fervent fit. 
When first her tender hart was with his 

beautie smit. 



Then with what sleights and sweet 

allurements she 
Eutyst the Boy, as well that art she knew. 
And wooed him her Paramoure to bee, 
Now making girlonds of each flowre that 

grew, 
To crowne his golden lockes with honour 

dew; 
Now leading him into a secret shade 
From his Beauperes, and from bright 

heavens vew. 
Where him to sleepe she gently would 

perswade. 
Or bathe him in a fountaine by some 

covert glade : 

XXXVI. 

And whilst he slept she over him would 

spred 
Her mantle, colour'd like the starry skyes, 
And her soft arme lay underneath his hed. 
And with ambrosiall kisses bathe his eyes ; 
And whilst he bath'd with her two crafty 

spyes 
She secretly would search each daintie 

lim, 
And throw into the well sweet Rose- 

maryes. 
And fragrant violets, and Paunces trim ; 
And ever with sweet Nectar she did 

sprinkle him. 



So did she steale his heedelesse hart 

away, 
And joyd his love in secret unespyde : 
But for she saw him bent to cruell play, 
To hunt the salvage beast in forrest wyde, 
Dreadfull of daunger that mote him be- 

tyde. 
She oft and oft adviz'd him to refraine 
From chase of greater beastes, whose 

brutish pryde 
Mote breede him scath unwares : but all 

in vaine ; 
For who can shun the chance that dest'ny 

doth ordaine ? 



Lo ! where beyond he lyeth languishing. 
Deadly engored of a great wilde Bore ; 
And by his side the Goddesse groveling 
Makes for him endlesse mone, and ever- 
more 
With her soft garment wipes away the 

gore 
Which staynes his snowy "skin with hate- 
full hew : 



202 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book III. 



But, when she saw no helpe might him 

restore, 
Him to a dainty flowre she did transmew, 
Which in that cloth was wrought as if it 

lively grew. 



So was that chamber clad in goodly 

wize: 
And rownd about it many beds were 

dight, 
As whylome was the antique worldes 

guize, 
Some for untimely ease, some for delight, 
As pleased them to use that use it might ; 
And all was full of Damzels and of 

Squyres, 
Dauncing and reveling both day and 

night, 
And swimming deepe in sensuall desyres ; 
And Cupid still emongest them kindled 

lustfull fyres. 



And all the while sweet Musicke did 
divide 

Her looser notes with Lydian harmony ; 

And all the while sweet birdes thereto 
applide 

Their daintie layes and dulcet melody, 

Ay caroling of love and jollity, 

That wonder was to heare their trim con- 
sort. 

Which when those knights beheld, with 
scornefull eye 

They sdeigued such lascivious disport, 

And loath 'd the loose demeanure of that 
wanton sort. 



Thence they were brought to that great 
Ladies vew. 
Whom they found sitting on a sumptuous 

bed 
That glistred all with gold and glorious 

shew. 
As the proud Persian Queenes accus- 
tomed. 
She seemd a woman of great bountihed, 
And of rare beautie, saving that askaunce 
Her wanton eyes, ill signes of womanhed. 
Did roll too lightly, and too often glaunce. 
Without regard of grace or comely ame- 
naunce. 

XLII. 

Long worke it were, and needlesse, to 

devize 
Their goodly entertainement and great 

glee. 
She caused them be led in courteous wize 



Into a bowre, disarmed for to be. 

And cheared well with wine and spiceree : 

The Redcrosse Knight was soon disarmed 

there ; 
But the brave Mayd would not disarmed 

bee, 
But onely vented up her umbriere. 
And so did let her goodly visage to appere. 



As when fayre Cynthia, in darkesome 

night. 
Is in a noyous cloud enveloped. 
Where she may finde the substance thin 

and light, 
Breakes forth her silver beames, and her 

bright bed 
Discovers to the world discomfited : 
Of the poore traveller that went astray 
With thousand blessings she is heried. 
Such was the beautie and the shining ray. 
With which fayre Britomart gave light 

unto the day. 



And eke those six, which lately with 

her fought. 
Now were disarmd, and did them selves 

present 
Unto her vew, and company unsought ; 
For they all seemed courteous and gent. 
And all sixe brethren, borne of one parent. 
Which had them traynd in all civilitee. 
And goodly taught to tilt and turuament : 
Now were they liegmen to this Ladie free. 
And her knights service ought, to hold of 

her in fee. 

XLV. 

The first of them by name Gardante 

bight, 
A jolly person, and of comely vew; 
The second was Parlante, a bold knight ; 
And next to him Jocante did ensew ; 
Basciante did him selfe most courteous 

shew ; 
But fierce Bacchante seemd too fell and 

keene ; 
And yett in armes Noctante greater grew : 
All were faire knights, and goodly well 

beseene ; 
But to faire Britomart they all but sha- 

dowes beene. 



For shee was full of amiable grace 
And manly terror mixed therewithall ; 
That as the one stird up affections bace. 
So th' other did mens rash desires apall. 
And hold them backe that would in error 
fall: 



CANTO I.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



203 



As hee that hath espide a vermeill Rose, 
To which sharp thornes and breres the 

way forstall, 
Dare not for dread his hardy hand expose, 
But wishing it far off his ydle wish doth 

lose. 

XL VII. 

Whom when the Lady saw so faire a 

wight. 
All ignorant of her contrary sex, 
(For shee her weend a fresh and lusty 

knight,) 
Shee greatly gan enamoured to wex 
And with vaine thoughts her falsed fancy 

vex: 
Her fickle hart conceived hasty fyre, 
Like sparkes of fire which fall in sclender 

flex, 
That shortly brent into extreme desyre, 
And ransackt all her veines with passion 

en tyre. 

XLVITI. 

Eftsoones shee grew to great impa- 
tience. 
And into termes of open outrage brust, 
That plaine discovered her incontinence ; 
Ne reckt shee who her meaning did mis- 
trust. 
For she was given all to fleshly lust, 
And poured forth in seusuall delight, 
That all regard of shame she had discust, 
And meet respect of honor putt to flight : 
So shamelesse beauty soone becomes a 
loathly sight. 

XLIX. 

Faire Ladies, that to love captived arre. 

And chaste desires doe nourish in your 
mind, 

Let not her fault your sweete affections 
marre, 

Ne blott the bounty of all womankind, 

'Mongst thousands good one canton Dame 
to find : 

Emongst the Roses grow some wicked 
weeds : 

For this was not to love, but lust, inclind ; 

For love does alwaies bring forth boun- 
teous deeds, 

And in each gentle hart desire of honor 
breeds. 

L. 

Nought so of love this looser Dame did 

skill, 
But as a cole to kindle fleshly flame, 
Giving the bridle to her wanton will. 
And treading under foote her honest 

name: 
Such love is hate, and such desire is 

shame. 



Still did she rove at her with crafty 

glaunce 
Of her false eies, that at her hart did 

ay me, 
And told her meaning in her counte- 

naunce ; 
But Britomart dissembled it with igno- 

raunce. 

LI. 

Supper was shortly dight, and downe 
they satt; 

Where they were served with all sump- 
tuous fare, 

Whiles fruitfull Ceres and Lyseus fatt 

Pourd out their plenty without spight 
or spare. 

Nought wanted there that dainty was 
and rare. 

And aye the cups their bancks did over- 
flow; 

And aye betweene the cups she did pre- 
pare 

Way to her love, and secret darts did 
throw ; 

But Britomart would not such guilfull 
message know. 

LII. 

So, when they slaked had the fervent 

heat 
Of appetite with meates of every sort. 
The Lady did faire Britomart entreat 
Her to disarme, and with delightfull 

sport 
To loose her warlike limbs and strong 

effort ; 
But when shee mote not thereunto be 

wonne, 
(For shee her sexe under that straunge 

purport 
Did use to hide, and plaine apparaunce 

shonne) 
In playner wise to tell her grievaunce she 

begonne. 

LIII. 

And all attonce discovered her desire 
With sighes, and sobs, and plaints, and 

piteous griefe, 
The outward sparkes of her inburning 

fire; 
Which spent in vaine, at last she told her 

brief e. 
That but if she did lend her short relief e 
And doe her comfort, she mote algates 

dye: 
But the chaste damzell, that had never 

priefe 
Of such mal engine and fine forgerye. 
Did easely beleeve her strong extremitye. 



204 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book III. 



Full easy was for her to have beliefe, 
"Who by self-feeling of her feeble sexe, 
And by long triall of the inward griefe 
Wherewith imperious love her hart did 

vexe, 
Could judge what paines doe loving harts 

perplexe. 
Who meanes no guile be guiled soonest 

shall, 
And to faire serablaunce doth light faith 

annexe : 
The bird that knowes not the false 

fowlers call, 
Into his hidden nett full easely doth fall. 



Forthy she would not in discourteise 

wise 
Scorne the faire offer of good will pro- 

fest; 
For great rebuke it is love to despise. 
Or rudely sdeigne a gentle harts request, 
But with faire countenaunce, as beseemed 

best. 
Her entertaynd: nath'lesse shee inly 

deemd 
Her love too light, to wooe a wandring 

guest; 
Which she misconstruing, thereby es- 

teemd 
That from like inward fire that outward 

smoke had steemd. 

LVI. 

Therewith a while she her flit fancy 
fedd. 

Till she mote winne fit time for her de- 
sire; 

But yet her wound still inward freshly 
bledd. 

And through her bones the false instilled 
fire 

Did spred it selfe, and venime close in- 
spire. 

Tho were the tables taken all away ; 

And every knight, and every gentle 
Squire, 

Gan choose his Dame with Bascimano 
gay, 

With whom he ment to make his sport 
and courtly play. 

LVII. 

Some fell to daunce, some fel to haz- 

ardry. 
Some to make love, some to make mery- 

ment, 
As diverse witts to diverse things apply ; 
And all the while faire Malecasta bent 



Her crafty engins to her close intent. 
By this th' eternall lampes, where with 

high Jove 
Doth light the lower world, where halfe 

yspent, 
And the moist daughters of huge Atlas 

strove 
Into the Ocean deepe to drive their weary 

drove. 



High time it seemed then for everie 

wight 
Them to betake unto their kindly rest : 
Eftesoones long waxen torches weren 

light 
Unto their bowres to guyden every 

guest. 
Tho, when the Britonesse saw all the 

rest 
Avoided quite, she gan her selfe despoile, 
And safe committ to her soft fethered 

nest; 
Wher through long watch, and late dales 

weary toile. 
She soundly slept, and careful! thoughts 

did quite assoile. 



Now whenas all the world in silence 

deepe 
Yshrowded was, and every mortall 

wight 
Was drowned in the depth of deadly 

sleepe ; 
Faire Malecasta, whose engrieved spright 
Could find no rest in such perplexed 

plight, 
Lightly arose out of her wearie bed. 
And, under the blacke vele of guilty 

Night, 
Her with a scarlott mantle covered 
That was with gold and Ermines faire 

enveloped. 



Then panting softe, and trembling 

every joynt. 
Her fearful! feete towards the bowre she 

mov'd, 
Where she for secret purpose did appoynt 
To lodge the warlike maids, unwisely 

loov'd ; 
And, to her bed approching, first she 

proov'd 
Whether she slept or wakte: with her 

softe hand 
She softely felt if any member moov'd, 
And lent her wary eare to understand 
If any puffe of breath or signe of sence 

shee fond. 



CANTO I.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



205 



Which whenas none she fond, with 

easy shifte, 
For feare least her unwares she should 

ah ray d, 
Th' embroder'd quilt she lightly up did 

lifte, 
And by her side her selfe she softly layd, 
Of every faiest fiugers touch affrayd ; 
Ne any noise she made, ne word she spake. 
But iiily sigh'd. At last the royall Mayd 
Out of her quiet slomber did awake. 
And chaunged her weary side the better 

ease to take. 



Where feeling one close couched by 

her side, 
Sbe lightly lept out of her filed bedd. 
And to her weapon ran, in minde to gride 
The loathed leachour. But the Dame, 

halfe dedd 
Through suddein feare and ghastly dreri- 

hedd, 
Did shrieke alowd, that through the hous 

it rong. 
And the whole family, therewith adredd. 
Rashly out of their rouzed couches 

sprong. 
And to the troubled chamber all in arms 

did throng. 

LXIII. 

And those sixe knights, that ladies 

Champions 
And eke the Redcrosse knight ran to the 

stownd. 
Halfe armd and halfe unarmed, with 

them attons : 
Where when confusedly they came, they 

fownd 
Their lady lying on the sencelesse grownd : 
On thother side they saw the warlike 

Mayd 
Al in her snow-white smocke, with locks 

unbo^Tid, 
Threatning the point of her avenging 

blaed ; 
That with so troublous terror they were all 

dismayd. 

Lxrv. 
About their Ladye first they flockt 

arownd ; 
Whom having laid in comfortable couch, 
Shortly they reard out of her frosen 

swownd ; 
And afterwardes they gan with fowle 

reproch 
To stirre up strife, and troublous con- 

tecke broch: 
But by ensample of the last dayes losse, 



None of them rashly durst to her ap- 

proch, 
Ne in so glorious spoile themselves em- 

bosse : 
Her succourd eke the Champion of the 

bloody Crosse. 



But one of those sixe knights, Gar- 

dante hight, 
Drew out a deadly bow and arrow keene. 
Which forth he sent, with felonous de- 

spight 
And fell intent, against the virgin sheene : 
The mortall Steele stayd not till it was 



To gore her side ; yet was the wound not 

deepe, 
But lightly rased her soft silken skin, 
That drops of purple blood there out did 

weepe. 
Which did her lilly smock with staines of 

vermeil steep. 

LXVI. 

Wherewith enrag'd she fiercely at 

them flew. 
And with her flaming sword about her 

layd. 
That none of them foule mischiefe could 

eschew. 
But with her dreadfull strokes were all 

dismayd : 
Here, there, and every where, about her 

swayd 
Her wrathfull Steele, that none mote it 

abyde ; 
And eke the Redcrosse knight gave her 

good ayd. 
Ay joyning foot to foot, and syde to 

syde; 
That in short space their foes they have 

quite terrifyde. 

LXVII. 

Tho, whenas all were put to shamefull 

flight, 
The noble Britomartis her arayd. 
And her bright armes about her body 

dight. 
For nothing would she lenger there be 

stayd. 
Where so loose life, and so ungentle 

trade, 
Was usd of knightes and Ladies seeming 

gent : 
So earely, ere the grosse Earthes gryesy 

shade 
Was all disperst out of the firmament. 
They tooke their steeds, and forth upon 

their journey went. 



206 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book III. 



CANTO II. 

The Kedcrosse knight to Britomart 

Describeth Artegall : 
The wondrous myrrhour, by which she 
• lu love with him did fall. 



Herb have I cause in men just blame 

to find, 
That in their proper praise too partiall 

bee, 
And not indifferent to woman kind, 
To whom no share in armes and chevalree 
They doe impart, ne maken memoree 
Of their brave gestes and prowesse mar- 

tiall : 
Scarse do they spare to one, or two, or 

tliree, 
Rowme in their writtes; yet the same 

writing small 
Does all their deedes deface, and dims their 

glories all. 

II. 

But by record of antique times I finde 

That wemen wont in warres to beare most 
sway, 

And to all great exploites them selves in- 
clind. 

Of which they still the girlond bore away ; 

Till envious Men, fearing their rules de- 
cay, 

Gan coyne streight lawes to curb their 
liberty : 

Yet sith they warlike armes have laide 
away, 

They have exceld in artes and pollicy. 

That now we foolish men that prayse gin 
eke t'envy. 

III. 

Of warlike puissaunce in ages spent. 
Be thou, faire Britomart, whose prayse I 

wryte ; 
But of all wisedom bee thou precedent, 
O soveraine Queene! whose prayse I 

would endyte, 
Endite I would as dewtie doth excyte ; 
But ah! my rymes too rude and rugged 

arre. 
When in so high an object they do lyte, 
And, striving fit to make, I feare, doe 

marre : 
Thy selfethy prayses tell, and make them 

knowen farre. 



She, travelling with Guy on, by the way 
Of sondry thinges faire purpose gan to find , 



T'abridg their journey long, and lingring 

day; 
Mongst which it fell into that Fairies 

mind 
To aske this Briton Maid, what uncouth 

wind 
Brought her into those partes, and what 

inquest 
Made her dissemble her disguised kind ? 
Faire Lady she him seemd, like Lady 

drest. 
But fairest knight alive, when armed was 

her brest. 

V. 

Thereat she sighing softly had no powre 
To speake a while, ne ready answere 

make; 
But with hart-thrilling throbs and bitter 

stowre, 
As if she had a fever fitt, did quake. 
And every daintie limbe with horrour 

shake ; 
And ever and anone the rosy red 
Flasht through her face, as it had beene 

a flake 
Of lightning through bright heven ful- 

mined : 
At last, the passion past, she thus him 

answered. 

VI. 

* Faire Sir, I let you weete, that from 

the howre 
I taken was from nourses tender pap, 
I have been trained up in warlike stowre, 
To tossen speare and shield, and to affrap 
The warlike ryder to his most mishap : 
Sithence I loathed have my life to lead. 
As Ladies wont, in pleasures wanton lap. 
To finger the fine needle and nyce thread. 
Me lever were with point of foemans 

speare be dead. 



* All my delight on deedes of armes is 

sett. 
To hunt out perilles and adventures hard, 
By sea, by land, where so they may be 

mett, 
Onely for honour and for high regard. 
Without respect of richesse or reward : 
For such intent into these partes I came, 



CANTO II.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



207 



Withouten compasse or withouten card, 
Far fro my native soyle, that is by uame 
The greater Brytayiie, here. to seek for 
praise aud fame. 

vin. 

* Fame blazed hath, that here in Faery 

lond 
Doe many famous knightes and Ladies 

wonne, 
Aud many strauuge adventures to bee 

fond, 
Of which great worth aud worship may 

be wonne ; 
Which to prove, I this voyage have be- 

gonue. 
But mote I weet of you, right courteous 

knight, 
Tydings of one that hath unto me doune 
Late foule dishonour and reprochfull 

spight. 
The which I seeke to wreake, and Arthe- 

gall he hight.' 

IX. 

The worde gone out she backe againe 

wouki call. 
As her repenting so to have missayd, 
But that he, it uptaking ere the fall, 
Her shortly answered : ' Faire martiall 

Mayd, 
Certes ye misavised beene t'upbrayd 
A gentle knight with so unknightlyblame ; 
For, weet ye well, of all that ever playd 
At tilt or tourney, or like warlike game, 
The noble Arthegall hath ever borne the 

name. 



* Forthy great wonder were it, if such 
shame 

Should ever enter in his bounteous 
thought, 

Or ever doe that mote deserven blame : 

Tlie noble corage never weeneth ought 

That may unworthy of it selfe be thought. 

Therefore, faire Damzell, be ye well 
aware, 

Least that too farre ye have your sorrow 
sought : 

You aud your countrey both I wish wel- 
fare. 

And honour both ; for each of other wor- 
thy are.' 

XI. 

The royall Maid woxe inly wondrous 
glad, 
To heare her Love so highly magnifyde ; 
And joyd that ever she affixed had 
Her iiart on knight so goodly glorifyde. 
How ever finely she it faind to hyde. 



The loving mother, that nine monethes 

did beare 
In the deare closett of her painefull syde 
Her tender babe, it seeing safe appeare, 
Doth not so much rejoyce as she rejoyced 

theare. 

XII. 

But to occasion him to further talke, 
To feed her humor with his pleasing style, 
Her list in stryfull termes Avith him to 

balke, 
And thus replyde : ' How ever, Sir, ye fyle 
Your courteous tongue his prayses to 

compyle. 
It ill beseemes a knight of gentle sort, 
Such as ye have him'boasted, to beguyle 
A simple maide, and worke so hainous tort. 
In shame of knighthood, as I largely can 

report. 

XIII. 

' Let bee therefore my vengeaunce to 
diss wade, 
And read where I that faytour false may 

find.' 
'Ah! but if reason faire might you per- 

swade 
To slake your wrath, and mollify your 

mind,' 
(Said he) ' perhaps ye should it better find : 
For bardie thing it is, to weene by might 
That man to hard conditions to bind, 
Or ever hope to match in equall fight, 
^Yhose prowesse paragone saw never liv- 
ing wight. 

XIV. 

' Ne soothlich is it easie for to read 
Where now on earth, or how, he may be 

f owud ; 
For he ne wonneth in one certeine stead, 
But restlesse walketh all the world 

arownd. 
Ay doing thinges that to his fame re- 
do wnd. 
Defending Ladies cause and Orphans 

right, 
Whereso he heares that any doth con- 

fownd 
Them corafortlesse through tyranny or 

might : 
So is his soveraine honour raisde to hevens 

bight.' 

XV. 

His feeling wordes her feeble sence much 

pleased, 
And softly sunck into her molten hart : 
Hart that is inly hurt is greatly eased 
With hope of thing that may allegge his 

smart ; 
For pleasing wordes are like to Magick art , 



208 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book III. 



That doth the charmed Snake in slomber 

lay. 
Such secrete ease felt gentle Britomart, 
Yet list the same efforce with f aind gaine- 

say; 
So dischord ofte in Musick makes the 

sweeter lay : — 



And sayd ; ' Sir knight, these ydle 
termes forbeare ; 

And, sith it is uneath to finde his haunt, 

Tell me some markes by which he may 
appeare, 

If chaunce I him encounter paravaunt ; 

For perdy one shall other slay, or daunt : 

What shape, what shield, what armes, 
what steed, what stedd. 

And what so else his person most may 
vaunt ? ' 

All which the Kedcrosse knight to point 
aredd. 

And him in everie part before her fash- 
ioned. 

XVII. 

Yet him in everie part before she knew. 
However list her now her knowledge 

fayne, 
Sith him whylome in Britayne she did 

vew. 
To her revealed in a mirrhour playne ; 
Whereof did grow her first engraffed 

payne. 
Whose root and stalke so bitter yet did 

taste. 
That but the fruit more sweetnes did con- 

tayne. 
Her wretched dayes in dolour she mote 

waste. 
And yield the pray of love to lothsome 

death at last. 



By straunge occasion she did him be- 
hold. 
And much more straungely gan to love 

his sight, 
As it in bookes hath written beene of 

old. 
In Deheubarth, that now South-wales is 

bight. 
What time king Ryence raign'd and 

dealed right. 
The great Magitien Merlin had deviz'd, 
By his deepe science and hell-dreaded 

might, 
A looking glasse, right wondrously 

aguiz'd, 
Whose vertues through the wyde worlde 

soone were solemniz'd. 



It vertue had to shew in perfect sight 
Whatever thing was in the world con- 

taynd. 
Betwixt the lowest earth and hevens 

bight, 
So that it to the looker appertaynd : 
Whatever foe had wrought, or frend had 

faynd. 
Therein discovered was, ne ought mote 

pas, 
Ne ought in secret from the same re- 

raaynd; 
Forthy it round and hollow shaped was, 
Like to the world itselfe, and seemd a 

world of glas. 



Who wonders not, that reades so won- 

derous worke ? 
But who does wonder, that has red the 

Towre 
WTierein th' Aegyptian Phao long did 

lurke 
From all mens vew, that none might her 

discoure. 
Yet she might all men vew out of her 

bowre ? 
Great Ptolomsee it for his lemans sake 
Ybuilded all of glasse, by Magicke powre, 
And also it impregnable did make ; 
Yet when his love was false he with a 

peaze it brake. 



Such was the glassy globe that Merlin 
made. 
And gave unto king Ryence for his gard, 
That never foes his kingdome might in- 
vade, 
But he it knew at home before he hard 
Ty dings thereof, and so them still debar 'd. 
It was a famous Present for a Prince, 
And worthy worke of infinite reward. 
That treasons could bewray, and foes con- 
vince : 
Happy this Realme, had it remayned ever 
since ! 

XXII. 

One day it fortuned fay re Britomart 
Into her fathers closet to repayre ; 
For nothing he from her reserv'd apart. 
Being his onely daughter and his hayre ; 
Where when she had espyde that mirrhour 

fay re, 
Her selfe awhile therein she vewd in 

vaine : 
Tho, her avizing of the vertues rare 
Which thereof spoken were, she gan 



CANTO II.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



209 



Her to bethinke of that mote to her selfe 
pertaine. 

XXIII. 

But as it falleth, in the gentlest harts 
Imperious Love hath highest set his 

throne, 
And tyrannizeth in the bitter smarts 
Of them that to him buxome are and 

prone : 
So thought this Mayd (as maydens use to 

done) 
Whom fortune for her husband would 

allot : 
Not that she lusted after any one, 
For she was pure from blame of sinfull 

blott; 
Yet wist her life at last must lincke in 

that same knot. 

XXIV. 

Eftsoones there was presented to her 

eye 
A comely knight, all arm'd in complete 

wize, 
Through whose bright ventayle, lifted up 

on bye. 
His manly face, that did his foes agrize, 
And freiids to termes of gentle truce 

entize, 
Lookt foorth, as Phoebus face out of the 

east 
Betwixt two shady mountaynes doth 

arize : 
Portly his person was, and much increast 
Through his Heroicke grace and honor- 
able gest. 



His crest was covered with a couchant 

Hownd, 
And all his armour seemd of antique 

mould. 
But wondrous massy and assured sownd, 
And round about yfretted all with gold, 
In which there written was, with cyphres 

old, 
Achilles armes, which Arthegall did win: 
And on his shield enveloped sevenfold 
He bore a, crowned little Ermelin, 
That deckt the azure field with her f ayre 

pouldred skin. 

xxvi. 

The Damzell well did vew his Person- 
age 
And liked well, ne further fastned not. 
But went her way ; ne her unguilty age 
Did weene, un wares, that her unlucky 

lot 
Lay hidden in the bottome of the pot. 



Of hurt unwist most daunger doth re- 
dound ; 

But the false Archer, which that arrow 
shot 

So slyly that she did not feele the wound. 

Did smyle full smoothly at her weetlesse 
wofuU stound. 

XXVII. 

Thenceforth the fether in her lofty 

crest. 
Ruffed of love, gan lowly to availe ; 
And her prowd portaunce and her princely 

gest, 
With which she earst tryumphed, now 

did quaile : 
Sad, solemne, sowre, and full of fancies 

fraile. 
She woxe ; yet wist she nether how, nor 

why. 
She wist not, silly Mayd, what she did 

aile. 
Yet wist she was not well at ease perdy ; 
Yet thought it was not love, but some 

melancholy. 

XXVIII. 

So soone as Night had with her pallid 

hew 
Defaste the beautie of the shyning skye. 
And refte from men the worldes desired 

vew. 
She with her Nourse adowne to sleepe did 

lye; 
But sleepe full far away from her did fly: 
In stead thereof sad sighes and sorrowes 



Kept watch and ward about her warily, 
That nought she did but wayle, and often 

steepe 
Her dainty couch with teares which closely 

she did weepe. 



And if that any drop of slombring rest 
Did chaunce to still into her weary 

spright, 
When feeble nature felt her selfe opprest, 
Streight-way with dreames, and with fan- 

tastick sight 
Of dreadf ull things, the same was put to 

flight; 
That oft out of her bed she did astart, 
As one with vew of ghastly f eends affright : 
Tho gan she to renew her former smart. 
And thinke of that fayre visage written 

in her hart. 

XXX. 

One night, when she was tost with such 
unrest. 



2IO 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book III. 



Her aged Nourse, whose name was Glauce 

bight, 
Feeling her leape out of her loathed 

nest, 
Betwixt her feeble armes her quickly 

keight, 
And dowue againe her in her warme bed 

dight : 
' Ah ! my deare daughter, ah ! my dearest 

dread, 
What uncouth fit,' (sayd she) 'what evill 

plight 
Hath thee opprest, and with sad dreary- 
head 
Chauuged thy lively cheare, and living 

made thee dead ? 

XXXI. 

* For not of nought these suddein 

ghastly feares 
All night alitiict thy naturall repose ; 
And all the day, when as thine equall 

peares 
Their fit disports with faire delight doe 

chose, 
Thou in dull corners doest thy selfe in- 
close ; 
Ne tastest Princes pleasures, ne doest 

spred 
Abroad thy fresh youths fay rest flowre, 

but lose 
Both leafe and fruite, both too untimely 

shed, 
As one in wilfull bale for ever buried. 

XXXII. 

* The time that mortall men their weary 

cares 
Do lay away, and all wilde beastes do 

rest. 
And every river eke his course forbeares, 
Then doth this wicked evill thee infest, 
And rive with thousand throbs thy thrilled 

brest : 
Like an huge Aetn' of deepe engulfed 

gryefe. 
Sorrow is heaped in thy hollow chest. 
Whence foorth it breakes in sighes and 

anguish ryfe, 
As smoke and sulphure mingled with con- 
fused stryfe. 

XXXIII. 

*Ay me! how much I feare least love 

it bee! 
But if that love it be, as sure I read 
By knowen signes and passions which 

I see, 
Be it worthy of thy race and royall sead. 
Then I avow, by this most sacred head 



Of my deare foster childe, to ease thy 

griefe 
And win thy will: Therefore away doe 

dread ; 
For death nor daunger from thy dew 

reliefe 
Shall me debarre : tell me therefore, my 

liefest lief e ! ' 

XXXIV. 

So having sayd, her twixt her armes 
twaine 

Shee streightly straynd, and colled ten- 
derly ; 

And every trembling joynt and every 
vaine 

Shee softly felt, and rubbed busily, 

To doe the f rosen cold away to fly ; 

And her faire deawy eies with kisses 
deare 

Shee ofte did bathe, and ofte againe did 
dry; 

And ever her importimd not to feare 

To let the secret of her hart to her ap- 
peare. 

XXXV. 

The Damzell pauzd ; and then thus fear- 
fully: 
' Ah ! Nurse, what needeth thee to eke my 

payne ? 
Is not enough that I alone doe dye. 
But it must doubled bee with death of 

twaine ? 
For nought for me but death there doth 

remaine.' 
' O daughter deare ! ' (said she) * despeire 

no whit ; 
For never sore but might a salve obtaine : 
That blinded God, which hath ye blindly 

smit, 
Another arrow hath your lovers hart to 

hit.' 

XXXVI. 

'But mine is not' (quoth she) 'like 

other wownd ; 
For which no reason can finde remedy.' 
' Was never such, but mote the like be 

fownd,' 
(Said she) 'and though no reason may 

apply 
Salve to your sore, yet love can higher 

stye 
Then reasons reach, and oft hath wonders 

donne.' 
' But neither God of love nor God of skye 
Can doe ' (said she) ' that which cannot 

be donne.' 
' Things ofte impossible ' (quoth she) 

' seeme, ere begonne. 



CANTO II.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



211 



XXXVII. 

' These idle wordes ' (said she) ' doe 

nought aswage 
My stubborue smart, but more aiiuoiaunce 

breed : 
For no, no usuall fire, no usual! rage 
Yt is, O Nourse ! which on my life doth 

feed, 
And sucks the blood which from my hart 

doth bleed : 
But since thy faithful zele lets me not 

hyde 
My crime, (if crime it be) I will it reed. 
Nor Prince nor pere it is, whose love hath 

gryde 
My feeble brest of late, and launched this 

wound wyde. 



* Nor man it is, nor other living wight. 
For then some hope I might unto me 

draw ; 
But th' only shade and semblant of a 

knight. 
Whose shape or person yet I never saw, 
Hath me subjected to loves cruell law: 
The same one day, as me misfortune led, 
I in my fathers wondrous mirrhour saw. 
And, pleased with that seeming goodly- 

hed, 
Unwares the hidden hooke with baite I 

swallowed. 

XXXIX. 

* Sithens it hath infixed faster hold 
Within my bleeding bowells, and so sore 
Now ranc'kleth in this same fraile fleshly 

mould, 
That all my entrailes flow with poisuous 

gore, 
And th' ulcer groweth daily more and 

more; 
Ne can my ronning sore finde remedee, 
Other then my hard fortune to deplore, 
And languish, as the leafe fain from the 

tree. 
Till death make one end of my dales and 

miseree ! ' 

XL. 

'Daughter,' (said she) 'what need ye 

be dismayd ? 
Or why make ye such Monster of your 

minde ? 
Of much more uncouth thing I was 

affrayd. 
Of filthy lust, contrary unto kinde ; 
But this affection nothing straunge I finde ; 
For who wath reason can you aye reprove 
To love the semblaunt pleasing most your 

minde, 



And yield your heart whence ye cannot 

remove ? 
No guilt in you, but in the tyranny of 

love. 



* Not so th' Arabian Myrrhe did set her 

mynd , 
Nor so did Biblis spend her pining hart; 
But lov'd their native flesh against al 

kynd, 
And to their purpose used wicked art : 
Yet playd Pasiphae a more monstrous 

part. 
That lov'd a Bui, and learnd a beast to 

bee. 
Such shamefull lustes who loaths not, 

which depart » 

From course of nature and of modestee? 
Sweete love such lewdnes bands from his 

faire compauee. 



' But thiu'fe, my Deare, (welfare thy 

heart, my deare!) 
Though straunge beginning had, yet fixed 

is 
On one that worthy may perhaps appeare ; 
And certes seemes bestowed not amis : 
Joy thereof have thou and eternall blis ! ' 
With that, upleaning on her elbow weake. 
Her alablaster brest she soft did kis. 
Which all that while shee felt to pant and 

quake. 
As it an Earth-quake were: at last she 

thus bespake. 

XLIII. 

' Beldame, your words doe worke me 

litle ease ; 
For though my love be not so lewdly bent 
As those ye blame, yet may it nought 

appease 
My raging smart, ne ought my flame 

relent, 
But rather doth my helpelesse griefe aug- 
ment ; 
For they, how ever shamefull and un- 

kinde, 
Yet did possesse their horrible intent ; 
Short end of sorrowes they therby did 

finde ; 
So w^as their fortune good, though wicked 

were their minde. 



' But wicked fortune mine, though 
minde be good. 
Can have no ende nor hope of my desire, 
But feed on shadowes whiles I die for food, 



212 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book III. 



And like a shadowe wexe, whiles with 

entire 
Affection I doe languish and expire. 
I, fonder then Cephisus foolish chyld, 
Who, having vewed in a fomitaine shere 
His face, was with the love thereof be- 

guyld; 
I, fonder, love a shade, the body far exyld.' 



' Nought like,' (quoth shee) * for that 

same wretched boy 
Was of him selfe the ydle Paramoure, 
Both love and lover, without hope of joy, 
For which he faded to a watry flowre : 
But better fortune thine, and better 

howr§, 
Which lov'st the shadow of a warlike 

knight ; 
No shadow but a body hath in powre : 
That body, wheresoever that it light. 
May learned be by cyphers, or by Magicke 

might. 

XLVI. 

* But if thou may with reason yet re- 

presse 
The growing evill, ere it strength have 

gott. 
And thee abandond wholy do possesse, 
Against it strongly strive, and yield thee 

nott 
Til thou in open fielde adowne be smott : 
But if the passion mayster thy fraile 

might. 
So that needs love or death must bee thy 

lott. 
Then, I avow to thee, by wrong or right 
To compas thy desire, and find that loved 

knight.' 

XLVII. 

Her chearefull words much cheard the 

feeble spright 
Of the sicke virgin, that her downe she 

layd 
In her warme bed to sleepe, if that she 

might ; 
And the old-woman carefully displayd 
The clothes about her round with busy 

ayd; 
So that at last a litle creeping sleepe 
Surprisd her sence : Shee, therewith well 

apayd, 
The dronken lamp down in the oyl did 

steepe, 
And sett her by to watch, and sett her by 

to weepe. 

XLVIII. 

Earely , the morrow next, before that day 
His joyous face did to the world revele, 



They both uprose and tooke their ready 

way 
Unto the Church, their praiers to appele 
With great devotion, and with little zele : 
For the faire Damzel from the holy herse 
Her love-sicke hart to other thoughts did 

steale ; 
And that old Dame said many an idle verse, 
Out of her daughters hart fond fancies to 

reverse. 

XLIX. 

Retourned home, the royall Infant fell 
Into her former fitt ; for- why no powre 
Nor guidaunce of herselfe in her did 

dwell : 
But th' aged Nourse, her calling to her 

bowre. 
Had gathered Rew, and Savine, and the 

flowre 
Of Camphora, and Calamint, and Dill; 
All which she in a earthen Pot did poure. 
And to the brim with Coltwood did it fill, 
And many drops of milk and blood 

through it did spill. 



Then, taking thrise three heares from 

off her head. 
Then trebly breaded in a threefold lace, 
And round about the Pots mouth bound 

the thread ; 
And, after having whispered a space 
Certein sad words with hollow voice and 

bace, 
Shee to the virgin sayd, thrise sayd she 

itt; 
* Come daughter, come ; come, spit upon 

my face; 
Spitt thrise upon me, thrise upon me spitt ; 
Th' uneven nomber for this busines is 

most fitt.' 

LI. 

That sayd, her rownd about she from 

her turnd. 
She turned her contrary to the Sunne ; 
Thrise she her turnd contrary, and returnd 
All contrary ; for she the right did shimne ; 
And ever what she did was straight un- 

donne. 
So thought she to undoe her daughters 

love; 
But love, that is in gentle brest begonne. 
No ydle charmes so lightly may remove : 
That well can witnesse who by tryall it 

does prove. 

LII. 

Ne ought it mote the noble Mayd avayle, 
Ne slake the fury of her cruell flame, 
But that shee still did waste, and still did 
wayle. 



CANTO III.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



213 



That, through long languour and hart- 
burning brame, 
She shortly like a pyned ghost became 
Which long hath waited by the Stygian 
strond. 



That when old Glauce saw, for feare least 

blame 
Of her miscarriage should in her be fond, 
She wist not how t'amend, nor how it to 

withstoud. 



CANTO III. 

Merlin bewrayes to Britomart 

The state of Arthegall ; 
And shews the famous Progeny, 

Which from them springen shall. 



^ Most sacred fyre, that burnest mightily 
In living brests, ykindled first above 
Emongst th' eternall spheres and lamping 

sky, 
And thence pourd into men, which men 

call Love ! 
Not that same, which doth base affections 

move 
In brutish mindes, and filthy lust inflame. 
But that sweete fit that doth true beautie 

love. 
And choseth vertue for his dearest Dame, 
Whence spring all noble deedes and never 

dying fame : 

II. 

Well did Antiquity a God thee deeme, 
That over mortall mindes hast so great 

might, 
To order them as best to thee doth seeme. 
And all their actions to direct aright : 
The fatall purpose of divine foresight 
Thou doest effect in destined descents, 
Through deepe impression of thy secret 

might. 
And stirredst up th' Heroes high intents, 
Which the late world admyres for won- 
drous moniments. 



But thy dredd dartes in none doe triumph 

more, 
Ne braver proofe in any of thy powre 
Shewd'st thou, then in this royall Maid 

of yore. 
Making her seeke an unknowne Para- 

moure. 
From the worlds end, through many a 

bitter stowre: 
From whose two loynes thou afterwardes 

did rayse 
Most famous f ruites of matrimoniall bowre, 
Which through the earth have spredd 

their living prayse. 
That fame in tromp of gold eternally 

displayes. 



Begin then, O my dearest sacred Dame! 
Daughter of Phoebus and of Memorye, 
That doest ennoble with immortall name 
The warlike Worthies, from antiquitye. 
In thy great volume of Eternitye : 
Begin, O Clio ! and recount from hence 
My glorious Soveraines goodly auucestrj^e. 
Till that by dew degrees, and long pro- 
tense, 
Thou have it lastly brought unto her Excel- 
lence. 

V. 

Full many wayes within her troubled 

mind 
Old Glauce cast to cure this Ladies griefe ; 
Full many waies she sought, but none 

could find. 
Nor herbes, nor charmes, nor counsel, that 

is chief e 
And choicest med'cine for sick harts 

relief e : 
Forthy great care she tooke, and greater 

feare. 
Least that it should her turne to fowle 

repriefe 
And sore reproch, when so her father deare 
Should of his dearest daughters hard mis- 
fortune heare. 



VI. 

At last she her avisde, that he which 

made 
That mirrhour , wherein the sicke Damosell 
So straungely vewed her straunge lovers 

shade, 
To weet, the learned Merlin, well could 

tell 
Under what coast of heaven the man did 

dwell. 
And by what means his love might best 

be wrought : 
For, though beyond the Africk Ismael 
Or th' Indian Peru he were, she thought 
Him forth through infinite endevour to 

have sought. 



214 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book III. 



Forthwith them selves disguising both 

iu straunge 
And base atyre, that none might them 

bewray, 
To Maridunuin, that is now by chaunge 
Of name Cayr-Merdiu cald, they tooke 

their way: 
Tliere the wise Merlin whylome wont 

(they say) 
To make his wonue, low underneath the 

ground, 
In a deepe delve, farre from the vew of 

day, 
That of no living wight he mote be found. 
When so he counseld with his sprights 

encompast round. 



And, if thou ever happen that same way 
To traveill, go to see that dreadful place. 
It is an hideous hollow cave (they say) 
Under a Rock that lyes a litle space 
From the swift Barry, tombling downe 

apace 
Emongst the woody hilles of Dynevowre : 
But dare thou not, I charge, in any cace 
To enter into that same balefuU Bowre, 
For feare the cruell Feendes should thee 

un wares devowre: 

IX. 

But standing high aloft low lay thine 

eare. 
And there such ghastly noyse of yron 

chaines 
And brasen Caudrons thou shalt rombling 

heare. 
Which thousand sprights with long endur- 
ing paines 
Doe tosse, that it will stonn thy feeble 

braines ; 
And oftentimes great grones, and grievous 

stownds, 
"When too huge toile and labour them 

constraines, 
And oftentimes loud strokes and ringing 

sowndes 
From under that deepe Rock most horribly 

rebowndes. 



The cause, some say, is this : A litle 

whyle 
Before that Merlin dyde, he did intend 
A brasen wall in compas to compyle 
About Cairmardin, and did it commend 
Unto these Sprights to bring to perfect 

end: 
During which worke the Lady of the Lake, 



Whom long he lov'd, for him in hast did 
send ; 

Who, thereby forst his workemen to for- 
sake, 

Them bownd till his retourne their labour 
not to slake. 



In the meane time, through that false 

Ladies traine 
He was surprisd, and buried under beare, 
Ne ever to his worke return d againe : 
Nath'lesse those feends may not their 

work forbeare. 
So greatly his commandement they feare, 
But there doe toyle and traveile day and 

night, 
Untill that brasen wall they up doe reare ; 
For Merlin had in Magick more insight 
Then ever him before, or after, living 

wight : 

XII. 

For he by wordes could call out of the 

sky 
Both Sunne and Moone, and make them 

him obay; 
The Land to sea, and sea to maineland dry. 
And darksom night he eke could turne to 

day: 
Huge hostes of men he could alone dismay, 
And hostes of men of meanest thinges 

could frame, 
When so him list his enimies to fray ; 
That to this day, for terror of his fame. 
The feends do quake when any him to 

them does name. 



And, sooth, men say that he was not 

the Sonne 
Of mortall Syre or other living wight. 
But wondrously begotten, and begonne 
By false illusion of a guilefuU Spright 
On a faire Lady Nonne, that whilome hight 
Matilda, daughter to Pubidius, 
Who was the lord of Mathraval by right. 
And coosen unto king Ambrosius ; 
Whence he indued was with skill so mer- 

veilous. 

XIV. 

They, here arriving, staid awhile with- 
out, 
Ne durst adventure rashly in to wend. 
But of their first intent gan make new 

dout. 
For dread of daunger which it might por- 
tend; 
Untill the hardy Mayd (with love to frend) 
First entering, the dreadfull Mage there 
fownd 



CANTO III.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



21 



Deepe busied bout worke of wondrous end, 
And writing straunge characters in the 

grownd, 
Witli which the stubborne feendes be to 

his service bownd. 

XV. 

He nought was moved at their eutraunce 

bold, 
For of their comming well he wist afore ; 
Yet list them bid their businesse to unfold, 
As if ought in this world in secrete store 
Were from him hidden, or unknowne of 

yore. 
Then Glance thus : ' Let not it thee offend. 
That we thus rashly through thy darksom 

dore 
Un wares have prest ; for either fatall end, 
Or other mightie cause, us two did hither 

send.' 



He bad tell on ; And then she thus began. 
' Now have three Moones with borrowd 

brothers light 
Thrise shined faire, and thrise seemd dim 

and wan, 
Sith a sore evill, which this virgin bright 
Tormenteth and doth plonge in dolefuU 

plight, 
First rooting tooke; but what thing it 

mote bee. 
Or Avhence it sprong, I can not read aright : 
But this I read, that, but if remedee 
Thou her afford, full shortly I her dead 

shall see.' 

XVII. 

Therewith th' Euchaunter softly gan to 

smyle 
At her smooth speeches, weeting inly well 
That she to him dissembled womanish 

guyle, 
And to her said : ' Beldame, by that ye tell 
More neede of leach-crafte hath your 

Damozell, 
Then of my skill: who helpe may have 

elsewhere. 
In vaine seekes wonders out of Magick 

spell.' 
Th' old woman wox half blanck those 

wordes to heare. 
And 5'^et was loth to let her purpose plaine 

appeare ; 

XVIII. 

And to him said : ' Yf any leaches skill, 
Or other learned meanes, could have 

redrest 
This my deare daughters deepe engraffed 

ill, 
Certes I should be loth thee to molest ; 



But this sad evill, which doth her infest, 
Doth course of naturall cause farre exceed. 
And housed is within her hollow brest, 
That either seemes some cursed witches 

deed, 
Or evill spright, that in her doth such tor- 
ment breed.' 

XIX. 

The wisard could no lenger beare her 

bord, 
But, brustiug forth in laughter, to her 

sayd : 
' Glance, what needes this colourable word 
To cloke the cause that hath it selfe be- 

wrayd ? 
Ne ye, fayre Britomartis, thus arayd, 
More hidden are then Sunne in cloudy vele ; 
Whom thy good fortune, having fate 

obayd, 
Hath hither brought for succour to appele ; 
The which the powres to thee are pleased 

to re vele.' 

XX. 

The doubtfull Mayd, seeing her selfe 

desciyde, 
Was all abasht, and her pure yvory 
Into a cleare Carnation suddeine dyde ; 
As fayre Aurora, rysiug hastily. 
Doth by her blushing tell that she did lye 
All night in old Tithonus frozen bed, 
Whereof she seemes ashamed inwardly: 
But her olde Nourse was nought dishar- 

tened. 
But vauntage made of that which Merlin 

had ared ; 

XXI. 

And sayd ; ' Sith then thou knowest all 
our grief e, 

(For what doest not thou knowe?) of grace 
I pray, 

Pitty our playnt, and yield us meet re- 
lief e.' 

With that the Prophet still awhile did stay. 

And then his spirite thus gan foorth dis- 
play: 

' Most noble Virgin, that by fatall lore 

Hast learn'd to love, let no whit thee 
dismay 

The hard beginne that meetes thee in the 
dore, 

And with sharpe fits thy tender hart op- 
presseth sore : 



' For so must all things excellent begin ; 
And eke enrooted deepe'must be that Tree, 
Whose big embodied braunches shall not 
lin 



2l6 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book III. 



Till they to hevens hight forth stretched 

bee: 
For from thy wombe a famous Progenee 
Shall spring out of the auncient Trojan 

blood, 
"Which shall revive the sleeping memoree 
Of those same antique Peres, the hevens 

brood, 
Which Greeke and Asian rivers stayned 

with their blood. 

XXIII. 

'Renowmed kings, and sacred Emper- 

ours, 
Thy fruitfull Ofspring, shall from thee 

descend ; 
Brave Captaines, and most mighty war- 

riours, 
That shall their conquests through all 

lands extend, 
And their decayed kingdomes shall 

amend : 
The feeble Britons, broken with long 

war re, 
They shall upreare, and mightily defend 
Against their f orren foe that commes from 

farre. 
Till universall peace compound all civill 

Jarre. 

XXIV. 

* It was not, Britomart, thy wandring 

eye 
Glauncing unwares in charmed looking 

glas. 
But the streight course of hevenly destiny, 
Led with eternall providence, that has 
Guyded thy glaunce, to bring his will to 

pas: 
Ne is thy fate, ne is thy fortune ill. 
To love the pro west knight that ever was. 
Therefore submit thy wayes unto his will, 
And doe by all dew meanes thy destiny 

fulfill.' 

XXV. 

*But read,' (saide Glauce) 'thou 

Magitian, 
What meanes shall she out seeke, or what 

waies take ? 
How shall she know, how shall she finde 

the man ? 
Or what needes her to toyle, sith fates 

can make 
Way for themselves their purpose to per- 

take ? ' 
Then Merlin thus : ' Indeede the fates are 

firme, 
And may not shrinck, though all the world 

do shake ; 
Yet ought mens good endevours them con- 
fir me. 



And guyde the heavenly causes to their 
constant terme. 



' The man, whom heavens have ordaynd 
to bee 
The spouse of Britomart, is Arthegall : 
He wonneth in the land of Fayeree, 
Yet is no Fary borne, ne sib at all 
To Elfes, but sprong of seed terrestriall. 
And whylome by false Faries stolne away, 
Whyles yet in infant cradle he did crall ; 
Ne other to himselfe is knowne this day. 
But that he by an Elfe was gotten of a 
■ Fay: 

XXVII. 

* But sooth he is the sonne of Gorlois, 
And brother unto Cador, Cornish king ; 
And for his warlike feates renowmed is, 
From where the day out of the sea doth 

spring, 
Untill the closure of the Evening : 
From thence him, firmely bound with 

faithfull band, 
To this his native soyle thou backe shalt 

bring. 
Strongly to ayde his countrey to withstand 
The powre of forreine Paynims which in- 
vade thy land. 

xxvin. 
' Great ayd thereto his mighty puis- 

saunce 
And dreaded name shall give in that sad 

day; 
Where also proofe of thy prow valiaunce 
Thou then shalt make, t' increase thy 

lover's pray. 
Long time ye both in armes shall beare 

great sway. 
Till thy wombes burden thee from them 

do call. 
And his last fate him from thee take 

away; 
Too rathe cut ofE by practise criminall 
Of secrete foes, that him shall make in 

mischiefe fall. 



'With thee yet shall he leave, for 

memory 
Of his late puissaunce, his ymage dead, 
That living him in all activity 
To thee shall represent. He, from the 

head 
Of his coosen Constantius, without dread 
Shall take the crowne that was his fathers 

right. 
And therewith crowne himselfe in th' 

others stead : 



CANTO III.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



217 



Then shall he issew forth with dreadfull 

might 
Against his Saxon foes in bloody field to 

fight. 

XXX. 

* Like as a Lyon that in drowsie cave 
Hath long time slept, himselfe so shall he 

shake ; 
And comming forth shall spied his banner 

brave 
Over the troubled South, that it shall 

make 
The warlike Mertians for feare to quake : 
Thrise shall he fight with them, and twise 

shall win ; 
But the third time shall f ayre accordaunce 

make: 
And, if he then with victorie can lin, 
He shall his dayes with peace bring to his 

earthly In. 

XXXI. 

* His Sonne, hight Vortipore, shall him 

succeede 
In kingdome, but not in felicity: 
Yet shall he long time warre with happy 

speed, 
And with great honour many batteills try ; 
But at the last to th' importunity 
Of f roward fortune shall be forst to yield : 
But his Sonne Malgo shall full mightily 
Avenge his fathers losse with speare and 

shield. 
And his proud foes discomfit in victorious 

field. 

XXXII. 

* Behold the man ! and tell me, Brito- 

mart. 
If ay more goodly creature thou didst see ? 
How like a Gyaunt in each manly part 
Beares he himselfe with portly majestee, 
That one of th' old Heroes seemes to bee ! 
He the six Islands, comprovinciall 
In auncient times unto great Britainee, 
Shall to the same reduce, and to him call 
Their soudry kings to do their homage 

severall. 

xxxin. 

* All which his sonne Careticus awhile 
Shall well defend, and Saxons powre sup- 

presse ; 
Untill a straunger king, from unknowne 

soyle 
Arriving, him with multitude oppresse ; 
Great Gormond, having with huge mighti- 



Ireland subdewd, and therein fixt his 

throne, 
Like a swift Otter, fell through empti- 

nesse, 
Shall overswim the sea, with many one 



Of his Norveyses, to assist the Britons 
fone. 



' He in his f urie all shall overronne, 
And holy Church with faithlesse handes 

deface, 
That thy sad people, utterly fordonne, 
Shall to the utmost mountaines fly apace. 
Was never so great waste in any place. 
Nor so fowle outrage doen by living men ; 
For all thy Citties they shall sacke and 

race. 
And the greene grasse that groweth they 

shall bren, 
That even the wilde beast shall dy in 

starved den. 

XXXV. 

* Whiles thus thy Britons doe in lan- 
guour pine. 
Proud Etheldred shall from the North 

arise, 
Serving th' ambitious will of Augustine, 
And, passing Dee, with hardy enterprise 
Shall backe repulse the valiaunt Brock- 
well twise. 
And Bangor with massacred Martyrs fill. 
But the third time shall rew his fool- 

hardise : 
For Cadwan, pittying his peoples ill. 
Shall stoutly him defeat, and thousand 
Saxons kill. 

XXXVI. 

'But after him, Cadwallin mightily 
On his Sonne Edwin all those wrongs shall 

wreake ; 
Ne shall availe the wicked sorcery 
Of false Pellite his purposes to breake. 
But him shall slay, and on a gallowes 

bleak 
Shall give th' enchaunter his unhappy 

hire. 
Then shall the Britons, late dismayd and 

weake. 
From their long vassalage gin to respire, 
And on their Paynim foes avenge their 

ranckled ire. 

xxxvn. 

'Ne shall he yet his wrath so mitigate, 
Till both the sonnes of Edwin he have 

slayne, 
Offricke and Osricke, twinnes unfortu- 
nate. 
Both slaine in battaile upon Layburne 

playne. 
Together with the king of Louthiane, 
Hight Adin, and the king of Orkeny, 



2l8 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book III. 



Both joyiit partakers of their fatall payne : 
But Penda, iearefiill of like desteny, 
Shall yield him selfe his liegeman, and 
sweare fealty. 

XXXVIII. 

' Him shall he make his fatall Instru- 
ment 
T' afflict the other Saxons unsuhdewd ; 
He marching forth with fury insolent 
Against the good king Oswald, who in- 

dewd 
With heavenly powre, and hy Angels res- 

kewd, 
Al holding crosses in their hands on hye. 
Shall him defeate withouten blood im- 

hrewd : 
Of which that field , for endlesse memory, 
Shall Hevenfield he cald to all posterity. 

XXXIX. 

'Whereat Cadwallin wroth shall forth 

issew, 
And an huge hoste into Northumber lead, 
With which he godly Oswald shall subdew. 
And crowne with martiredome his sacred 

head : 
Whose brother Oswin, daunted with like 

dread, 
With price of silver shall his kingdome 

buy; 
And Penda, seeking him adowne to tread, 
Shall tread adowne, and doe him fowly 

dye; 
But shall with guifts his Lord Cadwallin 

pacify. 

XL. 

' Then shall Cadwallin die ; and then the 
raine 
Of Britons eke with him attonce shall dye ; 
Ne shall the good Cadwallader, with paine 
Or powre, be hable it to remedy, 
When the full time, prefixt by destiny, 
Shal be expird of Britons regiment : 
For heven it selfe shall their successe 

envy. 
And them with plagues and murrins pes- 
tilent 
Consume, till all their warlike puissaunce 
be spent. 

XLI. 

* Yet after all these sorrowes, and huge 

hills 
Of dying people, during eight yeares 

space, 
Cadwallader, not yielding to his ills. 
From Armoricke, where long in wretched 

cace 
Heliv'd, retourning to his native place, 
Shal be by vision staide from his intent : 



For th' heavens have decreed to displace 
The Britons for their sinnes dew punish- 
ment 
And to the Saxons over-give their govern- 
ment. 

XLII. 

' Then woe, and woe, and everlasting 

woe. 
Be to the Briton babe that shal be borne 
To live in thraldome of his fathers foe ! 
Late king, now captive; late lord, now 

forlorne ; 
The worlds reproch; the cruell victors 

scorn e ; 
Banisht from princely bowre to wastefull 

wood! 
O! who shal helpe me to lament and 

mourne 
The royall seed, the antique Trojan blood, 
Whose empire lenger here then ever any 

stood ? ' 

XLIII. 

The Damzell was full deepe empas- 
sioned 
Both for his griefe, and for her peoples 

sake. 
Whose future woes so plaine he fashioned ; 
And, sighing sore, at length him thus 

bespake : 
' Ah! but will hevens fury never slake. 
Nor vengeaunce huge relent it selfe at 

last? 
Will not long misery late mercy make. 
But shall their name for ever be defaste. 
And quite from off the earth their mem- 
ory be raste ? ' 



' Nay but the terme ' (sayd he) ' is 

limited, 
That in this thraldome Britons shall 

abide ; 
And the just revolution measured 
That they as Straungers shal be notifide : 
For twise fowre hundreth yeares shalbe 

supplide. 
Ere they to former rule restor'd shal bee, 
And their importune fates all satisfide : 
Yet, during this their most obscuritee. 
Their beames shall ofte breake forth, that 

men them faire may see. 



' For Khodoricke, whose surname shal 

be Great, 
Shall of him selfe a brave ensample shew, 
That Saxon kinges his friendship shall 

in treat; 
And Howell Dha shall goodly well in- 

dew 



CANTO III.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



219 



The salvage minds with skill of just aud 

trew: 
Then Griffj'^th Conan also shall upreare 
His dreaded head, and the old sparkeS re- 
new 
Of native corage, that his foes shall feare, 
Least hack againe the kingdom he from 
them should beare. 

XLVI. 

* Ne shall the Saxons selves all peaceably 
Enjoy the crowne, which they from 

Britons wonne 
First ill, and after ruled wickedly ; 
For, ere two hundred yeares be full out- 

ronne, 
There shall a Raven, far from rising 

Sunne, 
With his wide wings upon them fiercely 

fly, 

And bid his faithlesse chickens overronne 
The fruitfullplaines, and with fell cruelty 
In their avenge tread downe the victors 
surquedry. 

XLVII. 

* Yet shall a third both these and thine 

subdew. 
There shall a Lion from the sea-bord wood 
Of Neustria come roring, with a crew 
Of hungry whelpes, his battailous bold 

brood, 
Whose clawes were newly dipt in cruddy 

blood, 
That from the Daniske Tyrants head shall 

rend 
Th' usurped crowne, as if that he were 

wood. 
And the spoile of the countrey conquered 
Emougst his young ones shall divide with 

bounty bed. 

XLVIII. 

' Tho, when the terme is full accom- 
pli shid. 
There shall a sparke of fire, which hath 

longwhile 
Bene in his ashes raked up and hid, 
Bee freshly kindled in the fruitfull He 
Of Mona, where it lurked in exile ; 
Which shall breake forth into bright burn- 
ing flame. 
And reach into the house that beares the 

stile 
Of roiall majesty and soveraine name: 
So shall the Briton blood their crowne 
agayn reclame. 

XLIX, 

* Thenceforth eternall union shall be 

made 



Betweeue the nations different afore, 
And sacred Peace shall lovingly persuade 
The warlike minds to learne her goodly 

lore. 
And civile armes to exercise no more : 
Then shall a royall Virgin raine, which 

shall 
Stretch her white rod over the Belgicke 

shore, 
And the great Castle smite so sore with- 

all, 
That it shall make him shake, and shortly 

learn to fall. 



' But yet the end is not.' — There Merlin 

stayd. 
As overcomen of the spirites powre. 
Or other ghastly spectacle dismayd, 
That secretly he saw, yet note discoure : 
Which suddein fitt, and halfe extatick 

stoure, 
When the two fearefull wemen saw, they 

grew 
Greatly confused in behaveoure. 
At last, the fury past, to former hew 
Hee turnd againe, and chearfull looks as 

earst did shew. 



Then, when them selves they well in- 
structed had 
Of all that needed them to be inquird, 
They both, conceiving hope of comfort 

glad. 
With lighter hearts unto their home re- 

tird ; 
Where they in secret counsell close con- 

spird, 
How to effect so hard an enterprize. 
And to possesse the purpose they desird : 
Now this, now that, twixt them they did 

devize. 
And diverse plots did frame to maske in 
strange disguise. 



At last the Nourse in her foolhardy wit 

Conceiv'd a bold devise, and thus be- 
spake : 

' Daughter, I deeme that counsel aye 
most fit, 

That of the time doth dew advauntage 
take. 

Ye see that good king Uther now doth 
make 

Strong warre upon the Paynim brethren, 
bight 

Octa and Oza, whome hee lately brake 

Beside Cayr Verolame in victorious fight, 



220 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book III. 



That now all Britany doth burne in armes 
bright. 

tni. 
' That, therefore, nought our passage 
may empeach, 

Let us in feigned armes our selves dis- 
guize, 

And our weake hands (need makes good 
schollers) teach 

The dreadful speare and shield to exer- 
cize: 

Ne certes, daughter, that same warlike 
wize, 

I weene, would you misseeme; for ye 
beene tall, 

And large of limbe t' atchieve an hard 
emprize ; 

Ne ought ye want but skil, which practize 
small 

Wil bring, and shortly make you a mayd 
Martiall. 

LIV. 

* And, sooth, it ought your corage much 

inflame 
To heare so often, in that royall hous, 
From whence, to none inferior, ye came, 
Bards tell of many wemen valorous, 
Which have full many feats adventurous 
Perf ormd , in paragone of proudest men : 
The bold Bunduca, whose victorious 
Exployts made Rome to quake; stout 

Guendolen ; 
Renowmed Martia; and redoubted Em- 

milen. 

LV. 

* And, that which more then all the rest 

may sway. 
Late dayes ensample, which these eyes 

beheld : 
In the last field before Menevia, 
Which Uther with those forrein Pagans 

held, 
I saw a Saxon Virgin, the which feld 
Great Ulfin thrise upon the bloody playne ; 
And, had not Carados her hand withheld 
From rash revenge, she had him surely 

slayne : 
Yet Carados himselfe from her escapt with 

payne.' 

LVI, 

*Ah! read,' (quoth Britomart) * how is 

she hight ? ' 
' Fayre Angela ' (quoth she) ' men do her 

call. 
No whit lesse fayre then terrible in fight : 
She hath the leading of a Martiall 
And mightie people, dreaded more then 

all 
The other Saxons, which doe, for her 

sake 



And love, themselves of her name Angles 

call. 
Therefore, faire Infant, her ensample 

make 
Unto thy selfe, and equall corage to thee 

take.' 



Her harty wordes so deepe into the 

mynd 
Of the yong Damzell sunke, that great 

desire 
Of warlike armes in her forthwith they 

tynd. 
And generous stout courage did iuspyre. 
That she resolv'd, unweeting to her Syre, 
Advent'rous knighthood on her selfe to 

don; 
And counseld with her Nourse her Maides 

attyre 
To turne into a massy habergeon, 
And bad her all things put in readinesse 

anon. 



Th' old woman nought that needed did 

omit, 
But all thinges did conveniently purvay. 
It fortuned (so time their turne did fitt) 
A band of Britons, ryding on forray 
Few dayes before, had gotten a great pray 
Of Saxon goods ; emongst the which was 

scene 
A goodly Armour, and full rich aray. 
Which long'd to Angela, the Saxon 

Queene, 
All fretted round with gold, and goodly 

wel beseene. 



The same, with all the other ornaments, 
King Ryence caused to be hanged hy 
In his chief e Church, for endlesse moni- 

ments 
Of his successe and gladf ull victory : 
Of which her selfe avising readily. 
In th' evening late old Glauce thither led 
Faire Britomart, and, that same Armory 
Downe taking, her therein appareled 
Well as she might, and with brave baul- 

drick garnished. 



Beside those armes there stood a mightie 

speare, 
Which Bladud made by Magick art of 

yore. 
And usd the same in batteill aye to 

beare ; 
Sith which it had beene here preserv'd 

in store, 



CANTO III.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



221 



For his great virtues proved long afore : 
For never wight so fast in sell could sit, 
But him perforce unto the ground it bore. 
Both speare she tooke and shield which 

hong by it ; 
Both speare and shield of great powre, 

for her purpose fit. 



Thus when she had the virgin allarayd, 
Another harnesse which did hang thereby 
About her selfe she dight, that the yong 

Mayd 
She mighl in equall armes accompany, 
And as her Squyre attend her carefully. 
Tho to their ready Steedes they clombe 

full light, 
And through back wales, that none might 

them espy, 



Covered with secret cloud of silent night. 
Themselves they forth couvaid, and passed 
forward right. 



Ne rested they, till that to Faery lond 
They came, as Merlin them directed 

late: 
Where, meeting with this Redcrosse 

Knight, she fond 
Of diverse thinges discourses to dilate. 
But most of Arthegall and his estate. 
At last their wayes so fell, that they mote 

part: 
Then each to other, well affectionate. 
Friendship professed with unfained 

hart. 
The Redcrosse Knight diverst, but forth 

rode Britomart. 



CANTO IV. 

Bold Marinell of Britomart 

Is throwne on the Rich strond : 

Faire Florimell of Arthiire is 
Long followed, but not fond. 



Where is the Antique glory now be- 
come, 

That whylome wont in wemen to appeare ? 

Where be the brave atchievements doen 
by some ? 

Where be the batteilles, where the shield 
and speare, 

And all the conquests which them hig 
did reare, 

That matter made for famous Poets verse, 

And boastfull men so oft abasht to heare ? 

Beene they all dead, and laide in dolefull 
herse. 

Or doen they onely sleepe, and shall 
againe reverse? 

II. 

If they be dead, then woe is me there- 
fore; 
But if they sleepe, O let them soone 

awake ! 
For all too long I burne with envy sore 
To heare the warlike f eates which Homere 

spake 
Of bold Peuthesilee, which made a lake 
Of Greekish blood so ofte in Trojan 

plaine ; 
But when I reade, how stout Debora strake 
Proud Sisera, and how Camill' hath slaine 
The huge Orsilochus, I swell with great 
disdaine. 



Yet these, and all that els had puis- 
saunce. 
Cannot with noble Britomart compare, 
As well for glorie of great valiaunce. 
As for pure chastitee and vertue rare, 
That all her goodly deedes doe well de- 
clare. 
fek|..Well worthie stock, from which the 
branches sprong 
That in late yeares so faire a blossome 

bare, 
As thee, O Queene ! the matter of my song, 
Whose lignage from this Lady I derive 
along. 

IV. 

Who when, through speaches with the 

Redcrosse Knight, 
She learned had th' estate of Arthegall, 
And in each point her selfe informd 

aright, 
A friendly league of love perpetuall 
She with him bound, and Conge tooke 

withall : 
Then he forth on his journey did pro- 

ceede, 
To seeke adventures which mote him 

befall. 
And win him worship through his warlike 

deed, 
Which alwaies of his paines he made the 

chief est meed. 



222 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book III. 



V. 

But Britomart kept on her former 
course, 
Ne ever dofte her armes, but all the way- 
Grew pensive through that amarous dis- 
course, 
By which the Kedcrosse knight did earst 

display 
Her lovers shape and chevalrous aray : 
A thousand thoughts she fashiond in her 

mind, 
And in her feigning fancie did pourtray 
Him such as fittest she for love could 

find, 
Wise, warlike, personable, courteous, and 
kind. 

VI. 

With such selfe-pleasing thoughts her 

wound she fedd, 
And thought so to beguile her grievous 

smart ; 
But so her smart was much more grievous 

bredd, 
And the deepe wound more deep engord 

her hart. 
That nought but death her dolour mote 

depart. 
So forth she rode, without repose or rest, 
Searching all lands and each remotest 

part, 
Following the guydance of her blinded 

guest, 
Till that to the sea-coast at length she her 

addrest. 

VII. 

There she alighted from her light-foot 

beast. 
And sitting downe upon the rocky shore, 
Badd her old Squyre unlace her lofty 

creast : 
Tho having vewd awhile the surges hore 
That gainst the craggy clifts did loudly 

rore. 
And in their raging surquedry disdaynd 
That the fast earth affronted them so 

sore, 
And their devouring covetize restraynd ; 
Thereat she sighed deepe, and after thus 

complaynd. 

VIII. 

'Huge sea of sorrow and tempestuous 

griefe, 
Wherein my feeble barke is tossed long 
Far from the hoped haven of relief e, 
Why doe thy cruel billowes beat so strong, 
And thy moyst mountaines each on others 

throng, 
Threatning to swallow up my fearefull 

lyfe? 



O! doe thy cruell wrath and spightfull 

wrong 
At length allay, and stint thy stormy 

strife, 
Which in thy troubled bowels raignes and 

rageth ryfe. 

IX. 

'For els my feeble vessell, crazd and 

crackt 
Through thy strong buffets and outra- 
geous blowes. 
Cannot endure, but needes it must be 

wrackt 
On the rough rocks, or on the sandy shal- 

lowes. 
The whiles that love it steres, and fortune 

rowes : 
Love, my lewd Pilott, hath a restlesse 

minde; 
And fortune, Boteswaine, no assurance 

knowes; 
But saile withouten starres gainst tyde 

and wynde : 
How can they other doe, sith both are 

bold and blinde? 



* Thou God of windes, that raignest in 

the seas. 
That raignest also in the Continent, 
At last blow up some gentle gale of ease. 
The which may bring my ship, ere it be 

rent, 
Unto the gladsome port of her intent. 
Then, when I shall my selfe in safety see, 
A table, for eternall moniment 
Of thy great grace and my great jeopardee, 
Great Neptune, I avow to hallow unto 

thee ! ' 

XI. 

Then sighing softly sore, and inly deepe. 
She shut up all her plaint in privy griefe 
For her great courage would not let her 

weepe. 
Till that old Glance gan with sharpe re- 

priefe 
Her to restraine, and give her good reliefe 
Through hope of those, which Merlin had 

her told 
Should of her name and nation be chiefe, 
And fetch their being from the sacred 

mould 
Of her immortall womb, to be in heaven 

enrol d. 

XII. 

Thus as she her recomforted, she spyde 
Where far away one, all in armour bright. 
With hasty gallop towards her did ryde. 
Her dolour soone she ceast, and on her 
diffht 



CANTO IV.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



223 



Her Helmet, to her Courser mounting 
light: 

Her former sorrow into suddein wrath, 

Both coosen passions of distroubled 
spright, 

Converting, forth she beates the dusty- 
path : 

Love and despight attonce her courage 
kindled hath. 



As, when a foggy mist hath overcast 
The face of heven, and the cleare ay re 

engroste. 
The world in darkenes dwels ; till that at 

last 
The watry South winde, from the seabord 

coste 
Upblowing, doth disperse the vapour 

lo'ste, 
And poures it selfe forth in a stormy 

showre : 
So the fayre Britomart, having disclo'ste 
Her clowdy care into a wrathful! stowre. 
The mist of griefe dissolv'd did into 

vengeance powre. 



Eftsoones, her goodly shield addressing 

fayre, 
That mortall speare she in her hand did 

take, 
And unto battaill did her selfe prepay re. 
The knight, approching, sternely her be- 
spake : 
' Sir knight, that doest thy voyage rashly 

make 
By this forbidden way in my despight, 
Ne doest by others death ensample 

take, 
I read thee soone retyre, whiles thou hast 

might. 
Least afterwards it be too late to take 

thy flight.' 

XV. 

Ythrild with deepe disdaine of his 
proud threat, 
She shortly thus : * Fly they, that need to 

fly; 

Wordes fearen babes. I meane not thee 

entreat 
To passe, but maugre thee will passe 

or dy.' 
Ne longer stayd for th' other to reply, 
But with sharpe speare the rest made 

dearly knowne. 
Strongly the strauuge knight ran, and 

sturdily , 
Strooke her full on the brest, that made 

her downe 



Decline her head, and touch her crouper 
with her crown. 



But she againe him in the shield did 

smite 
With so fierce furie and great puissaunce. 
That, through his three-square scuchin 

percing quite 
And through his mayled hauberque, by 

mischaunce 
The wicked Steele through his left side 

did glauuce. 
Him so transfixed she before her bore 
Beyond his croupe, the length of all her 

launce ; 
Till, sadly soucing on the sandy shore, 
He tombled on an heape, and wallowd in 

his gore. 

XVII. 

Like as the sacred Oxe that carelesse 

stands, 
With gilden homes and flowry girlonds 

crownd, 
Proud of his dying honor and deare 

bandes, 
Whiles th' altars fume with frankincense 

arowud, 
All suddeinly, with mortall stroke as- 

townd. 
Doth groveling fall, and with his stream- 
ing gore 
Distaines the pill ours and the holy grownd. 
And the faire flowres that decked him 

afore : 
So fell proud Marinell upon the pretious 

shore. 

XVIII. 

The martiall Mayd stayd not him to 

lament. 
But forward rode, and kept her ready 

way 
Along the strond; which, as she over- 
went. 
She saw bestrewed all with rich aray 
Of pearles and pretious stones of great 

assay. 
And all the gravell mixt with golden 

owre : 
Whereat she wondred much, but would 

not stay 
For gold, or perles, or pretious stones, an 

howre, 
But them despised all ; for all was in her 

powre. 

XIX. 

Whiles thus he lay in deadly stonish- 
ment, 
Tydings hereof came to his mothers eare : 



224 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book III. 



His mother was the blacke-browd Cy- 

moeiit, 
The daughter of great Nerens, which did 

beare 
This warlike sonne unto an earthly peare, 
The famous Dumarin; who, on a day 
Finding the Nymph asleepe in secret 

wheare, 
As he by chaunce did wander that same 

way, 
Was taken with her love, and by her 

closely lay. 

XX. 

There he this knight of her begot, whom 

borne 
She, of his father, Marinell did name; 
And in a rocky cave, as wight forlorne. 
Long time she fostred up, till he became 
A mighty man at armes, and mickle fame 
Did get through great adventures by him 

donne : 
For never man he suffred by that same 
Rich strond to travell, whereas he did 

wonne, 
But that he must do battail with the Sea- 

nymphes sonne. 



An hundred knights of honorable name 

He had subdew'd, and them his vassals 
made 

That through all Faerie lond his noble 
fame 

Now blazed was, and feare did all in- 
vade, 

That none durst passen through that peri- 
lous glade : 

And to advaunce his name and glory 
more. 

Her Sea-god syre she dearely did per- 
swade 

T' endow her sonne with threasure and 
rich store 

Bove all the sonnes that were of earthly 
wombes ybore. 

XXII. 

The God did graunt his daughters deare 
demaund. 

To doen his Nephew in all riches flow ; 

Eftsoones his heaped waves he did com- 
raaund 

Out of their hollow bosome forth to 
throw 

All the huge threasure, which the sea be- 
low 

Had in his greedy gulfe devoured deepe. 

And him enriched through the overthrow 

And wreckes of many wretches, which 
did weepe 



And often wayle their wealth, which he 
from them did keepe. 



Shortly upon that shore there heaped 

was 
Exceeding riches and all pretious things, 
The spoyle of all the world; that it did 

pas 
The wealth of th' East, and pompe of 

Persian kings : 
Gold, amber, yvorie, perles, owches, rings, 
And all that els was pretious and deare. 
The sea unto him voluntary brings ; 
That shortly he a great Lord did appeare, 
And was in all the lond of Faery, or else 

wheare. 



Thereto he was a doughty dreaded 

knight, 
Tryde often to the scath of many Deare, 
That none in equall armes him matchen 

might : 
The which his mother seeing gan to feare 
Least his too haughtie hardines might 

reare 
Some hard mishap in hazard of his life. 
Forthy she oft him counseld to forbeare 
The bloody batteill and to stirre up 

strife. 
But after all his warre to rest his wearie 

knife. 

XXV. 

And, for his more assuraunce, she in- 

quir'd 
One day of Proteus by his mighty spell 
(For Proteus was with prophecy inspir'd) 
Her deare sonnes destiny to her to tell. 
And the sad end of her sweet Marinell : 
Who, through foresight of his eternall 

skill, 
Bad her from womankind to keepe him 

well. 
For of a woman he should have much ill ; 
A virgin straunge and stout him should 

dismay or kill. 



Forthy she gave him warning every 

day 
The love of women not to entertaine : 
A lesson too too hard for living clay 
From love in course of nature to refraine. 
Yet he his mothers lore did well retaine, 
And ever from fayre Ladies love did fly ; 
Yet many Ladies fayre did oft complaine. 
That they for love of him would algates 

dy: 
Dy, who so list for him, he was loves 

enimy. 



CANTO IV.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



225 



But ah ! who can deceive his destiny, 
Or weene by warning to avoyd his fate ? 
That, when he sleepes in most security 
And safest seemes, him soonest doth 

amate, 
And findeth dew effect or soone or late ; 
So feeble is the powre of fleshly arme. 
His mother bad him wemens love to hate. 
For she of womans force did feare no 

harme ; 
So, weening to have arm'd him, she did 

quite disarme. 

XXVIII. 

This was that woman, this that deadly 
wownd, 

That Proteus prophecide should him dis- 
may; 

The which his mother vainely did ex- 
pownd 

To be hart-wownding love, which should 
assay 

To bring her sonne unto his last decay. 

So tide be the termes of mortall state, 

And full of subtile sophismes, which doe 
play 

With double sences, and with false de- 
bate, 

T' approve the unknowen purpose of eter- 
nall fate. 

xxrx. 

Too trew the famous Marinell it fownd, 
Who, through late triall, on that wealthy 

Stroud 
Inglorious now lies in sencelesse swownd. 
Through heavy stroke of Britomartis 

bond. 
Which when his mother deare did under- 

stond. 
And heavy tidings heard, whereas she 

playd 
Amongst her watry sisters by a pond, 
Gathering sweete daffadillyes, to have 

made 
Gay girlonds from the Sun their forheads 

f ayr to shade ; 

XXX. 

Eftesoones both flowres and girlonds 
far away 

Shee flong, and her faire deawy lockes 
yrent ; 

To sorrow huge she turnd her former 
play, 

And gamesom merth to grievous dreri- 
ment: 

Shee threw her selfe downe on the Conti- 
nent, 



Ne word did speake, but lay as in a 

swowne, 
Whiles all her sisters did for her lament 
With yelling outcries, and with shrieking 

sowne ; 
And every one did teare her girlond from 

her crowne. 



Soone as shee up out of her deadly fitt 
Arose, shee bad her charett to be brought ; 
And all her sisters that with her did sitt 
Bad eke attonce their charetts to be 

sought : 
Tho, full of bitter griefe and pensife 

thought, 
She to her wagon clombe ; clombe all the 

rest, 
And forth together went with sorow 

fraught. 
The waves, obedient to theyr beheast, 
Them yielded ready passage, and their 

rage surceast. 



Great Neptune stoode amazed at their 
sight. 
Whiles on his broad rownd backe they 

softly slid, 
And eke him selfe mournd at their mourn- 
ful plight. 
Yet wist not what their wailing ment; 

yet did. 
For great compassion of their sorow, 

bid 
His mighty waters to them buxome bee : 
Eftesoones the roaring billowes still abid. 
And all the griesly Monsters of the See 
Stood gaping at their gate, and wondred 
them to see. 

xxxin. 

A teme of Dolphins raunged in aray 
Drew the smooth charett of sad Cymoent : 
They were all taught by Triton to obay 
To the long raynes at her commaunde- 

ment : 
As swifte as swallowes on the waves they 

went. 
That their brode flaggy finnes no fome 

did reare, 
Ne bubling rowndell they behinde them 

sent. 
The rest, of other fishes drawen weare. 
Which with their finny oars the swelling 

sea did sheare. 



Soone as they bene arriv'd upon the 
brim 



226 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book III. 



Of the Rich Strond, their charets they 

forlore, 
And let their temed fishes softly swim 
Along the margeut of the fomy shore, 
Least they their fiuues should bruze, and 

siirbate sore 
Their tender feete upon the stony grownd : 
And commiug to the place, where all in 

gore 
And cruddy blood enwallowed they fownd 
The lucklesse Marinell lying in deadly 

swownd, 

XXXV. 

His mother swowned thrise, and the 

third time 
Could scarce recovered bee out of her 

paine : 
Had she not beene devoide of mortall 

slime, 
Shee should not then have bene relyv'd 

againe ; 
But, sooue as life recovered had the raine, 
Shee made so piteous mone and deare 

wayment. 
That the hard rocks could scarse from 

tears ref raine ; 
And all her sister Nymphes with one con- 
sent 
Supplide her sobbing breaches with sad 

complement. 

XXXVI. 

'Deare image of my selfe, (she sayd) 

' that is 
The wretched sonne of wretched mother 

borne, 
Is this thine high advauncement ? O! is 

this 
Th' immortall name, with which thee, yet 

unborne, 
Thy Grandsire Nereus promist to adorne? 
Now lyest thou of life and honor refte ; 
Now lyest thou a lumpe of earth forlorne ; 
Ne of thy late life memory is lefte, 
Ne can thy irrevocable desteny bee wefte. 

XXXVII. 

' Fond Proteus, father of false prophecis ! 
And they more fond that credit to thee 

^ive! 
Not this theworke of womans hand ywis, 
That so deepe wound through these deare 

memljers drive. 
I feared love ; but they that love doe live, 
But they that dye doe nether love nor 

hate : 
Nath'lesse to thee thy folly I forgive ; 
And to my selfe, and to accursed fate, 
The guilt I doe ascribe: deare wisedom 

bought too late! 



XXXVIII. 

* O! what availes it of immortall seed 
To beene ybredd and never borne to dye? 
Farre better I it deeme to die with speed 
Then waste in woe and waylfull miserye : 
Who dyes, the utmost dolor doth abye ; 
But who that lives is lefte to waile his 

losse : 
So life is losse, and death felicity: 
Sad life worse then glad death; and 

greater crosse 
To see f rends grave, then dead the grave 

self to engrosse. 



* But if the heavens did his dayes envie, 
And my short blis maligne, yet mote they 

well 
Thus much afford me, ere that he did die, 
That the dim eies of my deare Marinell 
I mote have closed, and him bed farewell, 
Sith other offices for mother meet 

They would not graunt 

Yett, maulgre them, farewell, my sweetest 

sweet ! 
Farewell, my sweetest sonne, sith we no 

more shall meet ! ' 



Thus when they all had sorowed their 

fill. 
They softly gan to search his griesly 

wownd : 
And, that they might him handle more at 

will, 
They him disarmd; and, spredding on 

the grownd 
Their watchet mantles f rindgd with silver 

rownd, 
They softly wipt away the gelly blood 
From th' orifice ; which having well up- 

bownd. 
They pourd in soveraine balme and Nectar 

good, 
Good both for erthly med'cine and for 

hevenly food. 



Tho when the lilly handed Liagore 
(This Liagore whilome had learned skill 
In leaches craft, by great Apolloes lore, 
Sith her whilome upon high Pindus hill 
He loved, and at last her wombe did fill 
With hevenly seed, whereof wise Pjeon 

sprougj 
Did feele his pulse, shee knew there staied 

still 
Seme litle life his feeble sprites emong; 
Which to his mother told, despeyre she 

from her flong. 



CANTO IV.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



227 



Tho, up him taking in their tender 

hands, 
They easely unto her charett beare : 
Her teuie at her commaundement quiet 

stands, 
Whiles they the corse into her wagon 

reare, 
And strowe with liowres the lamentable 

beare. 
Then all the rest into their eoches clim, 
And through the brackish waves their 

passage sheare; 
Upon great Neptunes neeke they softly 

swim, 
And to her watry chamber swiftly carry 

him. 

XLIII. 

Deepe in the bottome of the sea her 

bowre 
Is built of hollow billowes heaped hye, 
Like to thicke clouds that threat a stormy 

showre, 
And vauted all withui, like to the Skye, 
In which the Gods doe dwell eternally ; 
There they him laide in easy couch well 

dight. 
And sent in haste for Tryphon, to apply 
Salves to his wounds, and medicines of 

might ; ' 
For Tryphon of sea gods the soveraine 

leach is hight. 



The whiles the Nymphes sitt all about 
him rownd, 
Lamenting his mishap and heavy plight ; 
And ofte his mother, vewing his wide 

WO'WTld, 

Cursed the hand that did so deadly smight 
Her dearest sonne, her dearest harts de- 
light : 
But none of all those curses overtooke 
The warlike Maide, th' ensample of that 

might ; 
But fairely well shee thryvd, and well did 

brooke 
Her noble deeds, ne her right course for 
ought forsooke. 



Yet did false Archimage her still pursew, 
To bring to passe his mischievous intent, 
Now that he had her singled from the crew 
Of courteous knights, the Prince and Faery 

gent, 
Whoni late in chace of beauty excellent 
Shee lefte, pursewing that same foster 

strong, 
Of whose fowle outrage they impatient. 



And full of firy zele, him followed long. 
To reskew her from shame, and to revenge 
her wrong. 



Through thick and thin, through moun- 
tains and through playns, 

Those two great champions did attonce 
pursew 

The fearefuU damzell with incessant 
payns : 

Who from them fled, as light-foot hare 
from vew 

Of hunter swifte and sent of howudes 
trew. 

At last they came unto a double way ; 

Where, doubtfuU which to take, her to 
reskew, 

Themselves they did dispart, each to assay 

Whether more happy were to win so 
goodly pray. 



But Timias, the Princes gentle Squyre, 
That Ladies love mito his Lord f orient, 
And with proud envy and indignant yre 
After that wicked foster fiercely went : 
So beene they three three sondry wayes 

ybent ; 
But fay rest fortune to the Prince befell, 
Whose chaunce it was, that soone he did 

repent, 
To take that way in which that Damozell 
Was tiedd afore, affraid of him as feend 

of hell. 

XLVIII, 

At last of her far off he gained vew. 
Then gan he freshly pricke his fomy steed, 
And ever as he nigher to her drew. 
So evermore he did increase his si^eed. 
And of each turning still kept wary heed : 
Alowd to her he oftentimes did call. 
To doe away vaine doubt and needlesse 

dreed : 
Full myld to her he spake, and oft let fall 
Many meeke wordes to stay and comfort 

her withall. 

XLIX. 

But nothing might relent her hasty 

flight, 
So deepe the deadly fears of that foule 

swain e 
Was earst impressed in her gentle spright. 
Like as a fearefull Dove, which through 

the raine 
Of the wide ayre her way does cut amaine. 
Having farre off espydc a Tassell gent, 
Which after her his nimble winges doth 

st raine, 



228 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book iit. 



Doubleth her hast for feare to bee for- 
hent, 

And with her pineons cleaves the liquid fir- 
mament. 

li. 

With no lesse hast, and eke witk no 

lesse dreed, 
That fearefuU Ladie riedd from him, that 

ment 
To her no evill thoui>lit nor evill deed ; 
Yet former feare of being fowly slient 
Carried her forward with her first intent : 
And though, oft lookiug backward, well 

she vewde 
Her selfe freed from that foster insolent, 
And that it was a knight which now her 

sewde, 
Yet she no lesse the knight feard then 

that villein rude. 

LI. 

His uncouth shield and straunge armes 

her dismayd, 
Who like in Faery lond were seldom 

seene, 
That fast she from him fiedd, no lesse 

afrayd 
Then of wilde beastes if she had chased 

beeue ; 
Yet he her followd still with corage keene 
So long, that now the golden Hesperus 
Was mounted high in top of heaven sheene, 
And warnd his other brethren joyeous 
To light their blessed lamps in Joves 

eternall hous. 



All suddeinly dim wox the dampish 

ay re, 
And griesly shadowes covered heaven 

bright. 
That now with thousand starres was 

decked f ayre : 
Which when the Prince beheld, a lothfull 

sight. 
And ttiat perforce, for want of lenger 

light, 
He mote surceasse his suit, and lose the 

hope 
Of his long labour, he gan fowly wyte 
His wicked fortune that had turnd 

aslope. 
And cursed night that reft from him so 

goodly scope. 



Tho, when her wayes he could no more 
descry, 
But to and fro at disaventure strayd ; 
Like as a ship, whose Lodestar suddeinly 



Covered with cloudes her Pilott hath dis- 
mayd ; 

His wearisome pursuit perforce he stayd. 

And from his loftie steed dismounting 
low 

Did let him forage. Downe himselfe he 
layd 

Upon the grassy ground to sleepe a 
throw : 

The cold earth was his couch, the hard 
Steele his pillow. 



But gentle Sleepe envyde him any rest: 
In stead thereof sad sorow and disdaine 
Of his hard hap did vexe his noble brest, 
And thousand Fancies bett his ydle brayne 
With their light wings, the sights of sem- 

blants vaine. 
Oft did he wish that Lady f aire mote bee 
His Faery Queene, for whom he did com- 

plaine, 
Or that his Faery Queene were such as 

shee; 
And ever hasty Night he blamed bitterlie. 



'Night! thou foule Mother of annoy- 

aunce sad, 
Sister of heavie death, and-nourse of woe. 
Which wast begot in heaven, but for thy 

bad 
And brutish shape thrust downe to hell 

below. 
Where, by the grim floud of Cocytus 

slow, 
Thy dwelling is in Herebus black hous, 
(Black Herebus, thy husband, is the foe 
Of all the Gods,) where thou ungratious 
Halfe of thy dayes doest lead in horrour 

hideous. 

LVI. 

' What had th' eternall Maker need of 

thee 
The world in his continuall course to 

keepe. 
That doest all thinges deface, ne lettest 

see 
The beautie of his worke? Indeed, in 

sleepe i 
The slouthfull body that doth love to 

steepe 
His lustlesse limbes, and drowne his baser 

mind, 
Doth praise thee oft, and oft from Stygian 

deepe 
Calles thee his goddesse, in his errour 

blind. 
And great Dame Natures handmaide 

chearing every kind. 



CANTO IV.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



229 



LVII. 

* But well I wote, that to an heavy hart 
Thou art the roote aud uourse of bitter 

cares, 
Breeder of uew, renevver of old smarts : 
Instead of rest thou lendest rayling 

teares ; 
Instead of sleepe thou sendest troublous 

feares 
And dreadfull visions, in the which alive 
The dreary image of sad death appeares : 
So from the wearie spirit thou doest drive 
Desired rest, and men of happinesse de- 
prive. 

Lvin. 

' Under thy mantle black there hidden 
lye 
Light-shonning thefte, and traiterous in- 
tent, 
Abhorred bloodshed, and vile felony, 
Shamefull deceipt, and daunger imminent, 
Fowle horror, and eke hellish dreriment : 
All these, I wote, in thy protection bee, 
And light doe shonne for feare of being 

shent ; 
For light ylike is loth'd of them and thee ; 
And all that lewdnesse love doe hate the 
light to see. 



* For day discovers all dishonest wayes. 
And sheweth each thing as it is in deed : 
The prayses of high God he faire dis- 

playes, 
And his large bountie rightly doth areed : 
Dayes dearest children be the blessed seed 
Which darknesse shall subdue and heaven 



Truth is his daughter; he her first did 

breed 
Most sacred virgin without spot of sinne. 
Our life is day, but death with darknesse 

doth begin. 

LX. 

' O ! when will day then turue to me 

againe, 
And bring with him his long expected 

light ? 
O Titan ! hast to reare thy joyous waine ; 
Speed thee to spred abroad thy beames 

bright, 
And chace away this too long lingring 

night ; 
Chace her away, from whence she came, 

to hell : 
She, she it is, that hath me done despight ; 
There let her with the damned spirits 

dwell, 
And yield her rowme to-day that can it 

governe well.' 



Thus did the Prince that wearie night 

outweare 
In restlesse anguish aud unqiiiet paine; 
And earely, ere the morrow did upreare 
His deawy head out of the Ocean maine. 
He up arose, as halfe in great disdaine. 
And clombe unto his steed. So forth he 

went 
With heavy look and lumpish pace, that 

plaine 
In him bewraid great grudge and mal- 

talent : 
His steed eke seemd t' apply his steps to 

his intent. 



CANTO V. 

Prince Arthur heares of Florimell : 
Three fosters Timlas wound ; 

Belphebe find.es him almost dead, 
And reareth out of sownd. 



Wonder it is to see in diverse mindes 
How diversly love doth his pageaunts 

play, 
And shewes his powre in variable kindes : 
The baser wit, whose ydle thoughts alway 
Are wont to cleave unto the lowly clay. 
It stirreth up to sensuall desire. 
And in lewd slouth to wast his carelesse 

day; 
But in brave sprite it kindles goodly fire, 
That to all high desert and honour doth 

aspire. 



Ne suffereth it uncemely idlenesse 
In his free thought to build her sluggish 

nest, 
Ne suffereth it thought of ungentlenesse 
Ever to creepe into his noble brest ; 
But to the highest and the worthiest 
Lifteth it up that els would lowly fall : 
It lettes not fall, it lettes it not to rest ; 
It lettes not scarse this Prince to breath 

at all. 
But to his first poursuit him forward still 

doth call. 



230 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book III. 



Who long time waudred through the 

forest wyde 
To finde some issue thence ; till that at 

last 
He met a Dwarfe that seemed terrifyde 
With some late perill which he hardly 

past, 
Or other accident which him aghast ; 
Of whom he asked, whence he lately came, 
And whither now he travelled so fast ? 
For sore he swat, and, ronning through 

that same 
Thicke forest, was hescracht and both his 

feet nigh lame. 



Panting for breath, and almost out of 

hart. 
The Dwarfe him answerd ; * Sir, ill mote 

I stay 
To tell the same : I lately did depart 
From Faery court, where I have many a 

day 
Served a gentle Lady of great sway 
And high accompt through out all Elfin 

land. 
Who lately left the same, and tooke this 

way. 
Her now I seeke ; and if ye understand 
Which way she fared hath, good Sir, tell 

out of hand.' 



* What mister wight,' (saide he) * and 

how arayd ? ' 
' Royally clad ' (quoth he) ' in cloth of 

gold. 
As meetest may beseeme a noble mayd : 
Her faire lockes in rich circlet be enrold, 
A fayrer wight did never Sunne behold ; 
And on a Palfrey rydes more white then 

snow. 
Yet she her selfe is whiter manifold. 
The surest signe, whereby ye may her 

know, 
Is that she is the fairest wight alive, I 

trow.' 



'Now certes, swaine,' (said he) 'such 

one, I weene, 
Fast flying through this forest from her fo, 
A foule ill-favoured foster, I have scene : 
Her selfe, well as I might, I reskewd tho, 
But could not stay, so fast she did foregoe, 
Carried away with wings of speedy feare.' 
'Ah, dearest God!' (quoth he) 'that is 

great woe. 
And wondrous ruth to all that shall it 

heare : 



But can ye read, Sir, how I may her finde, 
or where ? ' 



' Perdy, me lever were to weeten that,' 
(Saide he) ' then ransome of the richest 

knight, 
Or all the good that ever yet I gat : 
But froward fortune, and too forward 

Night, 
Such happinesse did, maulgre, to me 

spight. 
And fro me reft both life and light attone. 
But, Dwarfe, aread what is "that Lady 

bright 
That through this forrest wandreth thus 

alone ? 
For of her errour straunge I have great 

ruth and mone.' 



' That Ladie is,' (quoth he) ' where so 

she bee. 
The bountiest virgin and most debonaire 
That ever living eye, I weene, did see. 
Lives none this day that may with her 

compare 
In stedfast chastitie and vertue rare. 
The goodly ornaments of beautie bright; 
And is ycleped Florimell the fayre, 
Faire Florimell belov'd of many a knight, 
Yet she loves none but one, that Marinell 

is hight. 

IX. 

' A Sea-nymphes sonne, that Marinell is 
hight. 
Of my deare Dame is loved dearely well : 
In other none, but him, she sets delight; 
All her delight is set on Marinell, 
But he sets nought at all by Florimell ; 
For Ladies love his mother long ygoe 
Did him, they say, forwarne through sa- 
cred spell : 
But fame now flies, that of a forreine foe 
He is yslaine, which is the ground of all 
our woe. 

X. 

' Five daies there be since he (they say) 
was slaine. 
And fowre since Florimell the Court for- 
went, 
And vowed never to returne againe. 
Till him alive or dead she did invent. 
Therefore, faire Sir, for love of knighthood 

gent. 
And honour of trew Ladies, if ye may 
By your good counsell, or bold hardiment. 
Or succour her, or me direct the way. 
Do one or other good, I you most humbly 
pray. 



CANTO v.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



231 



XI. 

' So may ye gaine to you full great re- 
uownie 

Of all good Ladies through the worlde so 
wide, 

And haply in her hart fiiide highest rowme 

Of whom ye seeke to be most magnilide ; 

At least eteruall meede shall you abide.' 

To whom the Prince: 'Dwarfe, comfort 
to thee take, 

For, till thou tidings learne what her be- 
tide, 

I here avow thee never to forsake. 

Ill weares he armes, that uill them use for 
Ladies sake.' 

XII. 

So with the Dwarfe he back retourn'd 
againe, 
To seeke his Lady where he mote her 

fiude ; 
But by the way he greatly gan complaine 
The want of his good Squire late lefte be- 

hinde, 
For whom he wondrous pensive grew in 

minde, 
For doubt of daunger which mote him be- 
tide; 
For him he loved above all mankinde, 
Having him trew and f aithf ull ever tride, 
And bold, as ever Squyre that waited by 
knights side : 

xni. 
Who all this while full hardly was as- 
sayd 

Of deadly daunger, which to him betidd ; 

For, whiles his Lord pursewd that noble 
Mayd, 

After that foster fowle he fiercely ridd 

To bene avenged of the shame he did 

To that faire Damzell: Him he chaced 
long 

Through the thicke woods wherein he 
would have hid 

His shamefull head from his aA'^engement 
strong, 

And oft him threatned death for his out- 
rageous wrong:. 



Nathlesse the villein sped himselfe so 

well, 
Whether through swiftnesse of his speedie 

beast. 
Or knowledge of those woods where he 

did dwell. 
That shortly he from daunger was releast, 
And out of sight escaped at the least : 
Yet not escaped from the dew reward 
Of his bad deedes, which daily he increast, 



Ne ceased not, till him oppressed hard 
The heavie plague that for such leachours 
is prepard. 



For soone as he was vanisht out of sight, 
His coward courage gan eniboldned bee. 
And cast t' avenge him of that fowle de- 

spight 
Which he had borne of his bold enimee: 
Tho to his brethren came, for they were 

three 
Ungratious children of one gracelesse syre. 
And unto them complayued how that he 
Had used beene of that foolehardie 

Squyre : 
So them with bitter words he stird to 

bloodie yre. 

XVI. 

Forthwith themselves with their sad in- 
struments 

Of spoyle and murder they gan arme by- 
live. 

And with him foorth into the forrest went 

To wreake the wrath, which he did earst 
revive 

In their sterne brests, on him which late 
did drive 

Their brother to reproch and shamefull 
flight ; 

For they had vow'd that never he alive 

Out of that forest should escape their 
might : 

Vile rancour their rude harts had fild with 
such despight. 

XVII. 

Within that wood there was a covert 

glade, 
Foreby a narrow foord, to them well 

knowne. 
Through which it was uneath for wight 

to wade ; 
And now by fortune it was overflowne. 
By that same way they knew that Squyre 

unknowne 
Mote algates passe : forthy themselves 

they set 
There in await with thicke woods over- 

growne, 
And all the while their malice they did 

whet 
With cruell threats his passage through 

the ford to let. 

XVITI. 

It fortuned, as they devised had : 
The gentle Squyre came ryding that same 
way. 



232 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book III. 



Unweeting of their wile and treason bad, 
And throiigh the ford to passen did assay ; 
But that fierce foster, which late fled 

away. 
Stoutly foorth stepping on the further 

shore, 
Him boldly bad his passage there to stay. 
Till he had made amends, and full restore 
For all the damage which he had him doen 

afore. 

XEX. 

With that at him a quiv'ring dart he 

threw. 
With so fell force, and villeinous despite. 
That through his haberjeon theforkehead 

flew. 
And through the linked mayles empierced 

quite, 
But had no powre in his soft flesh to bite. 
That stroke the hardy Squire did sore dis- 
please. 
But more that him he could not come to 

smite ; 
For by no meanes the high banke he could 

sease. 
But labour'd long in that deepe ford with 

vaine disease. 



And still the foster with his long bore- 

speare 
Him kept from landing at his wished 

will. 
Anone one sent out of the thicket neare 
A cruell shaft, headed with deadly ill. 
And fethered with an unlucky quill : 
The wicRed Steele stayd not till it did light 
In his left thigh, and deepely did it thrill : 
Exceeding griefe that wound in him em- 

pight. 
But more that with his foes he could not 

come to fight. 



At last, through wrath and vengeaunce 

making way, 
He on the bancke arryvd with mickle 

payne, 
Where the third brother him did sore as- 
say, 
And drove at him with all his might and 

mayne 
A forest-bill, which both his hands did 

strayne ; 
But warily he did avoide the blow. 
And with his speare requited him againe. 
That both his sides were thrilled with the 

throw, 
And a large streame of blood out of the 

wound did flow. 



He, tombling downe, with gnashing 

teeth did bite 
The bitter earth, and bad to lett him in 
Into the balefull house of endlesse night. 
Where wicked ghosts doe waile their 

former sin. 
Tho gan the battaile freshly to begin ; 
For nathemore for that spectacle bad 
Did th' other two their cruell vengeaunce 

blin. 
But both attonce on both sides him bestad. 
And load upon him layd his life for to 

have had. 



Tho when that villayn he aviz'd, which 

late 
Affrighted had the fairest Florimell, 
Full of fiers fury and indignant hate 
To him he turned, and with rigor fell 
Smote him so rudely on the Pannikell, 
That to the chin he clefte his head in 

twaine. 
Downe on the ground his carkas groveling 

fell: 
His sinfull sowle with desperate disdaine 
Out of her fleshly ferme fled to the place 

of paine. 



That seeing, now the only last of three 
Who with that wicked shafte him wounded 

had. 
Trembling with horror, as that did foresee 
The fearefull end of his avengement sad, 
Through which he follow should his breth- 
ren bad. 
His bootelesse bow in feeble hand upcaught, 
And therewith shott an arrow at the 

lad; 
Which, fayntly fluttering, scarce his hel- 
met rauglit, 
And glauncing fel to ground, but him an- 
noyed naught. 



With that he would have fled into the 
wood ; 
But Timias him lightly overhent, 
Right as he entring was into the flood, 
And strooke at him with force so violent, 
That headlesse him into the foord he 

sent: 
The carcas with the streame was carried 

downe, 
But th' head fell backeward on the Conti- 
nent; 
So mischief fel upon the meaners crowne. 
They three be dead with shame, the Squire 
lives with renowne. 



CANTO v.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



233 



XXVI. 

He lives, but takes small joy of his re- 
no wne ; 

For of that cruell wound he bled so sore, 

That from his steed he fell in deadly 
swowne : 

Yet still the blood forth gusht in so great 
store, 

That he lay wallowd all in his owne gore. 

Now God thee keepe, thou gentlest squire 
alive, 

Els shall thy loving Lord thee see no more ; 

But both of comfort him thou shalt de- 
prive. 

And eke thy selfe of honor which thou 
didst atchive. 

XXVII. 

Providence hevenly passeth living 
thought. 
And doth for wretched mens reliefe make 

way; 
For loe! great grace or fortune thither 

brought 
Comfort to him that comfortlesse now lay. 
In those same woods ye well remember may 
How that a noble hunteresse did wonne, 
Shee, that base Braggadochio did affray. 
And make him fast out of the forest ronne ; 
Belphcebe was her name, as faire as Phoe- 
bus sunne. 

XXVIII. 

She on a day, as shee pursewd the 

chace 
Of some wilde beast, which with her 

arrowes keene 
She wounded had, the same along did 

trace 
By tract of blood, which she had freshly 



To have besprinckled all the grassy 

green e : 
By the great persue which she there per- 

ceav'd. 
Well hoped shee the beast engor'd had 

beene. 
And made more haste the life to have 

bereav'd ; 
But ah ! her expectation greatly was de- 

ceav'd. 



Shortly she came whereas that wofuU 

Squire, 
With blood deformed, lay in deadly 

swownd ; 
In whose faire eyes, like lamps of 

quenched fire. 
The Christall humor stood congealed 

rownd ; 



His locks, like faded leaves fallen to 

grownd, 
Knotted with blood in bounches rudely 

ran; 
And his sweete lips, on which before that 

stownd 
The bud of youth to blossome faire began, 
Spoild of their rosy red were woxen pale 

and wan. 

xxx. 

Saw never living eie more heavy sight, 
That could have made a rocke of stone to 

rew, 
Or rive in twaine : which when that Lady 

bright. 
Besides all hope, with melting eies did 

vew, 
All suddeinly abasht shee chaunged hew. 
And with sterne horror backward gan to 

start ; 
But when shee better him beheld shee 

grew 
Full of soft passion and unwonted smart : 
The point of pitty perced through her 

tender hart. 

XXXI. 

Meekely shee bowed downe, to weete if 

life 
Yett in his frosen members did remaine ; 
And, feeling by his pulses beating rife 
That the weake sowle her seat did yett 

retaine, 
She cast to comfort him with busie paine. 
His double folded necke she reard upright. 
And rubd his temples and each trembling 

vaine ; 
His mayled haberjeon she did undight, 
And from his head his heavy burganet did 

light. 

xxxn. 

Into the woods thenceforth in haste 

shee went. 
To seeke for hearbes that mote him 

remedy ; 
For shee of herbes had great intendi- 

ment. 
Taught of the Nymphe which from her 

infancy 
Her nourced had in trew Nobility : 
There, whether yt divine Tobacco were, 
Or Panachaea, or Polygony, 
Shee fownd, and brought it to her patient 

deare. 
Who al this while lay bleding out his 

hart-blood neare. 

XXXIII. 

The soveraine weede betwixt two mar- 
bles plaine 



234 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book III. 



Shee pownded small, and did iu peeces 
bruze ; 

And then atweene her lilly handes twaine 

Into his wound the juice thereof did 
scruze ; 

And round about, as she could well it uze. 

The flesh therewith shee suppled and did 
steepe, 

T' abate all spasme, and soke the swell- 
ing bruze ; 

And, after having searcht the intuse 
deepe, 

She with her scarf did bind the wound 
from cold to keepe. 

XXXIV. 

By this he had sweet life recur 'd 
agayne. 
And, groning inly deepe, at last his eies. 
His watry eies drizling like deawy rayne, 
He up gan lifte toward the azure skies. 
From whence descend all hopelesse reme- 
dies: 
Therewith he sigh'd; and, turning him 

aside, 
The goodly Maide, ful of divinities 
And gifts of heavenly grace, he by him 

spide, 
Her bow and gilden quiver lying him be- 
side. 

XXXV. 

* Mercy, deare Lord ! ' (said he) ' what 

grace is this 
That thou hast shewed to me sinfull 

wight, 
To send thine Angell from her bowre of 

blis 
To comfort me in my distressed plight. 
Angell, or Goddesse doe I call thee right ? 
What service may I doe unto thee meete. 
That hast from darkenes me returnd to 

light, 
And with thyjjjievenly salves and med- 

'cines sweete 
Hast drest my sinfull wounds? I kisse 

thy blessed feete.' 



Thereat she blushing said ; ' Ah ! gentle 
Squire, 
Nor Goddesse I, nor Angell ; but the Mayd 
And daughter of a woody Nymphe, desire 
No service but thy safety and ayd ; 
Which if thou gaine, I shal be well apayd. 
Wee mortall wights, whose lives and for- 
tunes bee 
To commun accidents stil open layd, 
Are bownd with commun bond of fra'iltee, 
To succor wretched wights whom we cap- 
tived see.' 



By this her Damzells, which the former 

chace 
Had undertaken after her, arryv'd, 
As did Belphoebe, in the bloody place, 
And thereby deemd the beast had bene 

depriv'd 
Of life, whom late their ladies arrow 

ryv'd : 
Forthy the bloody tract they foUowd 

fast, 
And every one to ronne the swiftest 

stryv'd ; 
But two of them the rest far overpast, 
And where their Lady was arrived at the 

last. 

XXXVIII. 

Where when they saw that goodly boy 

with blood 
Defowled, and their Lady dresse his 

wownd, 
They wondred much ; and shortly under- 
stood 
How him in deadly case theyr Lady 

fownd. 
And reskewed out of the heavy stownd. 
Eftsoones his warlike courser, which was 

strayd 
Farre in the woodes whiles that he lay in 

swownd. 
She made those Damzels search; which 

being stayd. 
They did him set theron, and forth with 

them convayd. 



Into that forest farre they thence him 

led. 
Where was their dwelling, in a pleasant 

glade 
With mountaines rownd about environed, 
And mightie woodes which did the valley 

shade 
And like a stately Theatre it made, 
Spreading it selfe into a spatious plaine : 
And in the midst a little river plaide 
Emongst the pumy stones, which seemd 

to plaine 
With gentle murmure that his cours they 

did restraine. 



Beside the same a dainty place there 

lay, 
Planted with mirtle trees and laurells 

greene. 
In which the birds song many a lovely lay 
Of Gods high praise, and of their loves 

sweet teene. 
As it an earthly Paradize had beene : 



CANTO v.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



235 



In whose enclosed shadow there was 

pight 
A faire Pavilion, scarcely to bee scene, 
The which was al within most richly 

dight, 
That greatest Princes liking it mote well 

delight. 

XLI. 

Thither they brought that wounded 

Squyre, and layd 
In easie couch his feeble limbes to rest. 
He rested him awhile ; and then the Mayd 
His readie wound with better salves new 

drest : 
Daily she dressed him, and did the best 
His grievous hurt to guarish, that she 

might ; 
That shortly she his dolour hath redrest. 
And his foule sore reduced to faire plight : 
It she reduced, but himselfe destroyed 

quight. 

XL II. 

O foolish physick, and unfruitfull 

paine. 
That heales up one, and makes another 

wound ! 
She his hurt thigh to him recurd againe, 
But hurt his hart, the which before was 

sound, 
Through an unwary dart, which did re- 

bownd 
From her faire eyes and gratious counte- 

naunce. 
What bootes it him from death to be 

unbownd, 
To be captived in endlesse duraunce 
Of sorrow and despeyre without aleg- 

geaunce ! 

XLIII. 

Still as his wound did gather, and grow 

hole, 
So still his hart woxe sore, and health 

decayd : 
Madnesse to save a part, and lose the 

whole ! 
Still whenas he beheld the heavenly 

Mayd, 
Whiles dayly playsters to his wownd she 

layd, 
So still his Malady the more increast, 
The whiles her matchlesse beautie him 

dismayd. 
Ah God ! what other could he do at least. 
But love so fayre a Lady that his life 

releast ? 

XLIV. 

Long while he strove in his corageous 
brest 
With reason dew the passion to subdew, 



And love for to dislodge out of his nest : 
Still when her excellencies he did vew. 
Her soveraine bountie and celestiall 

hew, 
The same to love he strongly was con- 

straynd ; 
But when his meane estate he did revew, 
He from such hardy boldnesse was re- 

straynd. 
And of his lucklesse lott and cruell love 

thus playnd : 



' Unthankfull wretch,' (said he) 'is 

this the meed, 
With which her soverain mercy thou 

doest quight? 
Thy life she saved by her gratious deed ; 
But thou doest weene with villeinous 

despight 
To blott her honour, and her heavenly 

light. 
Dye rather, dye, then so disloyally 
Deeme of her high desert, or seeme so 

light: 
Fayre death it is, to shonne more shame, 

to dy : 
Dye rather, dy, then ever love disloyally. 



* But if to love disloyalty it bee, 

Shall I then hate her that from deathes 
dore 

Me brought? ah, farre be such reproch 
fro mee ! 

What can I lesse doe then her love there- 
fore, 

Sith I her dew reward cannot restore ? 

Dye rather, dye, and dying doe her serve ; 

Dying her serve, and living her adore ; 

Thy life she gave, thy life she doth de- 
serve : 

Dye rather, dye, then ever from her ser- 
vice swerve. 

XLVII. 

' But, foolish boy, what bootes thy ser- 
vice bace 

To her to whom the hevens doe serve and 
sew? 

Thou, a meane Squyre of meeke and 
lowly place ; 

She, hevenly borne and of celestiall hew. 

How then ? of all love taketh equall vew ; 

And doth not highest God vouchsafe to 
take 

The love and service of the basest crew ? 

If she will not, dye meekly for her sake : 

Dye rather, dye, then ever so faire love 
forsake ! ' 



236 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book III. 



Thus warreid he long time against his 

will; 
Till that through weaknesse he was forst 

at last 
To yield himself e unto the mightie ill, 
Which, as a victour proud, gan ransack 

fast 
His inward partes, and all his entrayles 

wast. 
That neither blood in face nor life in hart 
It left, but both did quite drye up and 

blast ; 
As percing levin, which the inner part 
Of every thing consumes, and calcineth 

by art. 

XLIX. 

Which seeing fayre Belphoebe gan to 
feare. 

Least that his wound were inly well not 
heald. 

Or that the wicked Steele empoysned 
were: 

Litle shee weend that love he close con- 
ceald. 

Yet still he wasted, as the snow congeald 

When the bright suune his beams theron 
doth beat : 

Yet never he his hart to her^eveald ; 

But rather chose to dye for sorow great, 

Then with dishonorable termes her to en- 
treat. 



She, gracious Lady, yet no paines did 
spare 
To doe him ease, or doe him remedy. 
Many Restoratives of vertues rare. 
And costly Cordialles she did apply, 
To mitigate his stubborne malady : 
But that sweet Cordiall, which can re- 
store 
A love-sick hart, she did to him envy ; 
To him, and to all th' unworthy world 

forlore 
She did envy that soveraine salve in secret 
store. 

LI. 

That daintie Rose, the daughter of her 

Morne, 
More deare then life she tendered, whose 

flowre 
The girlond of her honour did adorne : 
Ne suffred she the Middayes scorching 

powre, 
Ne the sharp Northerne wind thereon to 

showre ; 
But lapped up her silken leaves most 

chayre, 
When so the froward skye began to lowre ; 



But, soone as calmed was the christall 

ay re. 
She did it fayre dispred and let to florish 

fayre. 

LII. 

Eternall God, in his al mightie powre, 
To make ensample of his heavenly grace. 
In Paradize whylome did plant this 

flowre ; 
Whence he it feteht out of her native 

place, 
And did in stocke of earthly flesh enrace, 
That mortall men her glory should 

admyre. 
In gentle Ladies breste and bounteous race 
Of woman kind it fayrest Flowre doth 

spy re. 
And beareth fruit of honour and all chast 

desyre. 

LHI. 

Fayre ympes of beautie, whose bright 

shining beames 
Adorne the world with like to heavenly 

light. 
And to your willes both royalties and 

Reames 
Subdew, through conquest of your won- 
drous might, 
With this fayre flowre your goodly gir- 

londs dight 
Of chastity and vertue virginall, 
That shall embellish more your beautie 

bright. 
And crowne your heades with heavenly 

coronall. 
Such as the Angels weare before Gods 

tribunall ! 



To your fairs selves a faire ensample 

frame 
Of this faire virgin, this Belphebe fayre ; 
To whom, in perfect love and spotlesse 

fame 
Of chastitie, none living may compayre : 
Ne poysnous Envy justly can empayre 
The prayse of her fresh flowring Mayden- 

head; 
Forthy she standeth on the highest stayre 
Of th' honorable stage of womanhead. 
That Ladies all may follow her ensample 

dead. 

LV. 

In so great prayse of stedfast chastity 
Nathlesse she was so courteous and 

kynde, 
Tempred with grace and goodly modesty. 
That seemed those two vertues strove to 

fynd 
The higher place in her Heroick mynd : 



CANTO VI.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



237 



So striving each did other more augment, 
And both encreast the prayse of woman 
kynde, 



And both encreast her beautie excellent : 
So all did make in her a perfect comple- 
ment. 



CANTO VI. 

The birth of fayre Belphoebe and 

Of Amorett is told : 
The Gardins of Adonis fraught 

With pleasures manifold. 



Well may I weene, fairs Ladies, all 

this while 
Ye wonder how this noble Damozell 
So great perfections did in her compile, 
Sith that in salvage forests she did dwell, 
So farre from court and royall Citadell, 
The great schoolmaistresse of all courtesy : 
Seemeth that such wilde woodes should far 

expell 
All civile usage and gentility, 
And gentle sprite deforme with rude rus- 
ticity. 

II. 
But to this faire Belphoebe in her berth 
The hevens so favorable were and free. 
Looking with myld aspect upon the earth 
In th' Horoscope of her nativitee, 
That all the gifts of grace and chastitee 
On her they poured forth of plenteous 

home : 
Jove laught on Venus from his soverayne 

see. 
And Phoebus with faire beames did her 

adorne, 
And all the Graces rockt her cradle being 

borne. 

ni. 

Her berth was of the wombe of Morn- 
ing dew, 
And her conception of the joyous Prime ; 
And all her whole creation did her shew 
Pure and unspotted from all loathly crime 
That is ingenerate in fleshly slime. 
So was this virgin borne, so was she bred ; 
So was she trayned up from time to time 
In all chaste vertue and true bounti-hed. 
Till to her dew perfection she were 
ripened , 

IV. 

Her mother was the faire Chrysogonee, 
The daughter of Amphisa, who by race 
A Faerie was, yborne of high degree. 
She bore Belphoebe ; she bore in like cace 
Fayre Amoretta in the second place : 
These two were twinnes, and twixt them 

two did share 
The heritage of all celestiall grace ; 



That all the rest it seemd they robbed bare 
Of bounty, and of beautie, and all vertues 
rare. 

V. 

It were a goodly storie to declare 
By what straunge accident faire Chryso- 

gone 
Conceiv'd these infants, and how them 

she bare 
In this wilde f orrest wandring all alone. 
After she had nine moneths fulfild and 

gone: 
For not as other wemens commune brood 
They were enwombed in the sacred throne 
Of her chaste bodie; nor with commune 

food, 
As other wemens babes, they sucked vitall 

blood : 

VI. 

But wondrously they were begot and 

bred 
Through influence of th' hevens fruitful] 

ray, 
As it in antique bookes is mentioned. 
It was upon a Sommers shinie day. 
When Titan faire his beames did display, 
In a fresh fountaine, far from all mens 

vew. 
She bath'd her brest the boyling heat 

fall ay; 
She bath'd with roses red and violets 

blew. 
And all the sweetest flowers that in the 

f orrest grew : 



Till faint through yrkesome wearines, 

adowne 
Upon the grassy ground her selfe she layd 
To sleepe, the whiles a gentle slombring 

swowne 
Upon her fell, all naked bare displayd. 
The sunbeames bright upon her body 

playd. 
Being through former bathing mollifide, 
And pierst into her wombe, where they 

embayd, 
With so sweet sence and secret powre un- 

spide, 



238 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book III. 



That in her pregnant flesh they shortly 
fructifide. 



Miraculous may seeme to him that 

reades 
So straunge ensample of conception ; 
But reason teacheth that the fruitful! 

seades 
Of all things living, through impression 
Of the sunbeames in moyst complexion, 
Doe life conceive and quickned are by 

kynd : 
So, after Nilus inundation, 
Infinite shapes of creatures men doe fynd 
Informed in the mud on which the Sunne 

hath shynd. 



Great father he of generation 
Is rightly cald, th' authour of life and 

light; 
And his faire sister for creation 
Ministreth matter fit, which , tempred right 
With heate and humour, breedes the living 

wight. 
So sprong these twinnes in womb of Chry- 

sogone ; 
Yet wist she nought thereof, but sore 

affright, 
"Wondred to see her belly so upblone, 
Which still increast till she her terme had 

full outgone. 



Whereof conceiving shame and foule 

disgrace, 
Albe her guiltlesse conscience her cleard, 
She fled into the wildernesse a space, 
Till that unweeldy burden she had reard, 
And shund dishonor which as death she 

feard : 
Wheiie, wearie of long traveill, downe to 

rest 
Her self e she set, and comfortably cheard : 
There a sad cloud of sleepe her overkest, 
And seized every sence with sorrow sore 

opprest. 

XI. 

It fortuned, faire Venus having lost 
Her little soune, the winged god of love. 
Who, for some light displeasure which 

him crost. 
Was from her fled as flit as ayery Dove, 
And left her blisfuU bowre of joy above: 
(So from her often he had fled away, 
When she for ought him sharpely did 

reprove. 
And wandred in the world in straunge 

aray, 



Disguiz'd in thousand shapes, that none 
might him bewray). 



Him for to seeke, she left her heavenly 

hous, 
The house of goodly formes and faire 

aspect. 
Whence all the world derives the glorious 
Features of beautie, and all shapes select. 
With which high God his workmanship 

hath deckt; 
And searched everie way through which 

his wings 
Had borne him, or his tract she mote 

detect : 
She promist kisses sweet, and sweeter 

things, 
Unto the man that of him tydings to her 

brings. 

XIII. 

First she him sought in Court, where 

most he us'd 
Whylome to haunt, but there she found 

him not; 
But many there she found which sore 

accus'd 
His falshood, and with fowle infamous 

blot 
His cruell deedes and wicked wyles did 

spot : 
Ladies and Lordes she everywhere mote 

heare 
Complayning, how with his empoysned 

shot 
Their wofull harts he wounded had why- 

leare 
And so had left them languishing twixt 

hope and feare. 

XIV. 

She then the Cities sought from gate to 

gate, 
And everie one did aske, did he him see ? 
And everie one her answerd, that too late 
He had him seene, and felt the crueltee 
Of his sharpe dartes and whot artilleree: 
And every one threw forth reproches rife 
Of his mischievous deedes, and sayd that 

hee 
Was the disturber of all civill life. 
The enimy of peace, and authour of all 

strife. 

XV. 

Then in the countrey she abroad him 

sought, 
And in the rurall cottages inquir'd ; 
Where also many plaintes to her were 

brought, 



CANTO VI.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



239 



How he their heedelesse harts with love 

had fir'd, 
And his false venim through their veines 

inspir'd : 
And eke the gentle Shepheard swaynes, 

which sat 
Keeping their fleecy flockes as they were 

hyr'd, 
She sweetly heard complaine, hoth how 

and what 
Her Sonne had to them doen ; yet she did 

smile thereat. 



But when in none of all these she him 

got, 
She gan avize where els he mote him hyde : 
At last she her bethought that she had not 
Yet sought the salvage woods and forests 

wyde, 
In which full many lovely Nymphes abyde ; 
Mongst whom might be that he did closely 

lye, 

Or that the love of some of them him tyde : 
Forthy she thither cast her course t' apply, 
To search the secret haunts of Dianes 
company. 

XVII. 

Shortly unto the wasteful! woods she 

came, 
Whereas she found the Goddesse with her 

crew, 
After late chace of their embrewed game, 
Sitting beside a f ountaine in a rew ; 
Some of them washing with the liquid dew 
From off their dainty limbs the dusty 

sweat 
And soyle, which did deforme their lively 

hew; 
Others lay shaded from the scorching heat, 
The rest upon her person gave attendance 

great. 

XVIII. 

She, having hong upon a bough on high 
Her bow and painted quiver, had unlaste 
Her silver buskins from her nimble thigh, 
And her lanck loynes ungirt, and brests 

unbraste. 
After her heat the breathing cold to taste : 
Her golden lockes, that late in tresses 

bright 
Embreaded were forhindring of her haste. 
Now loose about her shoulders hong un- 

dight, 
And were with sweet Ambrosia all be- 

sprinckled light. 



Soone as she Venus saw behinde her 
backe, 



She was asham'd to be so loose surpriz'd ; 
And woxe halfe wroth against her damzels 

slacke, 
That had not her thereof before aviz'd. 
But suffred her so carelesly disguiz'd 
Be overtaken. Soone her garments loose 
Upgath'ring, in her bosome she compriz'd 
Well as she might, and to the Goddesse 

rose ; 
Whiles all her Nymphes did like a girlond 

her enclose. 



Goodly she gan faire Cytherea greet. 
And shortly asked her, what cause her 

brought 
Into that wildernesse for her unmeet, 
From her sweete bowres, and beds with 

pleasures fraught? 
That suddein chaunge she straunge adven- 
ture thought. 
To whom halfe weeping she thus an- 
swered ; 
That she her dearest sonne Cupido sought, 
Who in his frowardnes from her was 

fled. 
That she repented sore to have him 
angered. 

XXI. 

Thereat Diana gan to smile, in scorne 
Of her vaine playnt, and to her scoffing 

sayd: 
' Great pitty sure that ye be so forlorne 
Of your gay sonne, that gives ye so good 

ayd 
To your disports : ill mote ye bene apayd.' 
But she was more engrieved, and replide ; 
' Faire sister, ill beseemes it to upbrayd 
A dolefull heart with so disdainfull pride : 
The like that mine may be your paine 

another tide. 

XXII. 

* As you in woods and wanton wilder- 
nesse 
Your glory sett to chace the salvage 

beasts, 
So my delight is all in joyfulnesse, 
In beds, in bowres, in banckets, and in 

feasts : 
And ill becomes you, with your lofty 

creasts, 
To scorne the joy that Jove is glad to 

seeke : 
We both are bownd to follow heavens 

beheasts. 
And tend our charges with obeisamice 

meeke. 
Spare, gentle sister, with reproch my 

paine to eeke ; 



240 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book III. 



'And tell me, if that ye my sonne have 
heard 
To lurke emongst your Nimphes in secret 

wize, 
Or keepe their cabins : much I am aff eard 
Least he like one of them him selfe dis- 
guize, 
And turne his arrowes to their exercize. 
So may he long him selfe full easie hide ; 
For he is faire and fresh in face and guize 
As any Nimphe ; (let not it be envide.') 
So saying, every Nimph full narrowly shee 
aide. 

XXIV. 

But Phoebe therewith sore was angered, 
And sharply saide : ' Goe, Dame ; goe, 

seeke your boy, 
Where you him lately lefte, in Mars his 

bed: 
He comes not here ; we scorne his foolish 

joy, 
Ne lend we leisure to his idle toy : 
But if I catch him in this company, 
By Stygian lake I vow, whose sad annoy 
The Gods doe dread, he dearly shall abye : 
He clip his wanton wings, that he no more 

shall flye.' 



Whom whenas Venus saw so sore dis- 

pleasd, 
Shee inly sory was, and gan relent 
What shee had said; so her she soone 

appeasd 
With sugred words and gentle blandish- 
ment, 
Which as a fountaine from her sweete lips 

went. 
And welled goodly forth, that in short 

space 
She was well pleasd, and forth her dam- 

zells sent 
Through all the woods, to search from 

place to place. 
If any tract of him or tidings they mote 

trace. 



To search the God of love her Nimphes 

she sent 
Throughout the wandring forest every 

where : 
And after them her selfe eke with her went 
To seeke the fvigitive both farre and nere. 
So long they sought, till they arrived were 
In that same shady covert whereas lay 
Faire Crysogone in slombry traunce 

whilere ; 
Who in her sleeps (a wondrous thing to 

say) 



Unwares had borne two babes, as faire as 
springing day. 



Unwares she them conceivd, unwares 

she bore: 
She bore withouten paine, that she con- 

ceiv'd 
Withouten pleasure ; ne her need implore 
Lucinaes aide: which when they both 

perceiv'd. 
They were through wonder nigh of sence 

berev'd. 
And gazing each on other nought bespake. 
At last they both agreed her seeming 

griev'd 
Out of her heavie swowne not to awake 
But from her loving side the tender babes 

to take. 

XXVIII. 

Up they them tooke ; each one a babe 

uptooke, 
And with them carried to be fostered. 
Dame Phoebe to a Nymphe her babe be- 

tooke 
To be upbrought in perfect Maydenhed, 
And, of her selfe, her name Belphoebe red : 
But Venus hers thence far awaj'^ convayd, 
To be upbrought in goodly womanhed ; 
And, in her litle loves stead, which was 

strayd, 
Her Amoretta cald, to comfort her dis- 
may d. 

XXIX. 

Shee brought her to her joyous Paradize, 
Wher most she wonnes when she on earth 

does dwell ; 
So faire a place as Nature can devize: 
Whether in Paphos, or Cytheron hill, 
Or it in Gnidus bee, I wote not well; 
But well I wote by triall, that this same 
All other pleasaunt places doth excell. 
And called is by her lost lovers name. 
The Gardin of Adonis, far renowmd by 

fame. 

XXX. 

In that same Gardin all the goodly 
flowres. 
Wherewith dame Nature doth her beau- 
tify, 
And decks the girlonds of her Paramoures, 
Are fetcbt: there is the first seminary 
Of all things that are borne to live and 

dye. 
According to their kynds. Long worke it 

were 
Here to account the endlesse progeny 
Of all the weeds that bud and blossome 
there ; 



CANTO VI.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



241 



But so much as doth need must ueeds be 
counted here. 



It sited was in fruitfull soyle of old, 
And girt in with two walls on either side ; 
The one of yron, the other of bright gold, 
That none might thorough breake, nor 

overstride : 
And double gates it had which opened 

wide, 
By which both in and out men moten pas ; 
Th' one faire and fresh, the other old and 

dride. 
Old Genius the porter of them was. 
Old Genius, the which a double nature has. 



He letteth in, he letteth out to wend 
All that to come into the world desire : 
A thousand thousand naked babes attend 
About him day and night, which doe re- 
quire 
That he with fleshly weeds would them 

attire : 
Such as him list, snch as eternall fate 
Ordained hath, he clothes with sinfull 

mire. 
And sendeth forth to live in mortall state. 
Till they agayn returne backe by the 
hinder gate. 

XXXIII. 

After that they againe retoumed beene, 
They in that Gardin planted bee agayne, 
And grow afresh, as they had never scene 
Fleshly corruption, nor mortall payne. 
Some thousand yeares so doen they there 

remayne, 
And then of him are clad with other hew. 
Or sent into the chaungefull world agayne, 
Till thither they retourne where first they 

grew : 
So, like a wheele, arownd they ronne from 

old to new. 



Ne needs there Gardiner to sett or sow, 
To plant or prune ; for of their owne 

accord 
All things, as they created were, doe grow, 
And yet remember well the mighty word 
Which first was spoken by th' Almighty 

Lord, 
That bad them to increase and multiply : 
Ne doe they need with water of the ford. 
Or of the clouds, to moysten their roots 

dry; 
For in themselves eternall moisture they 

imply. 



Infinite shapes of creatures there are 

bred, 
And uncouth formes, which none yet ever 

knew : 
And every sort is in a sondry bed 
Sett by it selfe, and ranckt in comely rew ; 
Some fitt for reasonable sowles t' indew ; 
Some made for beasts, some made for 

birds to weare ; 
And all the fruitfull spawne of fishes hew 
In endlesse rancks along enraunged were, 
That seemd the Ocean could not containe 

them there. 



Daily they grow, and daily forth are sent 
Into the world, it to replenish more ; 
Yet is the stocke not lessened nor spent, 
But still remaines in everlasting store. 
As it at first created was of yore : 
For in the wide wombe of the world there 

lyes, 
In hatefull darknes and in deepe horrore 
An huge eternall Chaos, which supplyes 
The substaunces of natures fruitfull pro- 

genyes. 

xxxvn. 

All things from thence doe their first 

being fetch, 
And borrow matter whereof they are 

made; 
Which, whenas forme and feature it does 

ketch. 
Becomes a body, and doth then invade 
The state of life out of the griesly shade. 
That substaunce is eterne, and bideth so ; 
Ne when the life decay es and forme does 

fade. 
Doth it consume and into nothing goe. 
But chaunged is, and often altred to and 

froe. 

xxxvin. 

The substaunce is not chaungd nor 

altered. 
But th' only forme and outward fashion ; 
For every substaunce is conditioned 
To chaunge her hew, and sondry formes 

to don. 
Meet for her temper and complexion : 
For formes are variable, and decay 
By course of kinde and by occasion ; 
And that faire flowre of beautie fades 

away. 
As doth the lilly fresh before the sunny 

ray. 

XXXIX. 

Great enimy to it, and to all the rest 
That in the Gardin of Adonis springs, 



242 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book III. 



Is wicked Tjniie ; who with his seyth 
addrest 

Does mow the flowring herbes and goodly- 
things, 

And all their glory to the ground downe 
flings, 

Where they do wither, and are fowly 
mard : 

He flyes about, and with his flaggy winges 

Beates downe both leaves and "buds with- 
out regard, 

Ne ever pitty may relent his malice hard. 



Yet pitty often did the gods relent. 
To see so faire thinges mard and spoiled 

quight ; 
And their great mother Venus did lament 
The losse of her deare brood, her deare 

delight : 
Her hart was pierst with pitty at the 

sight, 
When walking through the Gardin them 

she saw. 
Yet no'te she find redresse for such de- 

spight : 
For all that lives is subject to that law ; 
All things decay in time and to their end 

doe draw. 

XLI. 

But were it not that Time their troubler 

is, 
All that in this delightfull Gardin growes 
Should happy bee, and have immortall 

blis: 
For here all plenty and all pleasure 

flowes ; 
And sweete love gentle fitts emongst them 

throwes. 
Without fell rancor or fond gealosy. 
Franckly each Paramor his leman knowes, 
Each bird bis jnate ; ne any does envy 
Their goodly meriment and gay felicity. 

XLII. 

There is continuall Spring, and harvest 

there 
Continuall, both meeting at one tyme ; 
For both the boughes doe laughing blos- 
soms beare. 
And with fresh colours decke the wanton 

Pryme, 
And eke attonce the heavy trees they 

clyme, 
Which seeme to labour under their fruites 

lode: 
The whiles the joyous birdes make their 

pastynie 
Emongst the shady leaves, their sweet 

abode, 



And their trew loves without suspition tell 
abrode. 



Right in the middest of that Paradise 
There stood a stately Mount, on whose 

round top 
A gloomy grove of mirtle trees did rise, 
Whose shady boughes sharp Steele did 

never lop. 
Nor wicked beastes their tender buds did 

crop, 
But like a girlond compassed the hight ; 
And from their f ruitfull sydes sweet gum 

did drop. 
That all the ground, with pretious deaw 

bedight. 
Threw forth most dainty odours and most 

sweet delight. 



And in the thickest covert of that shade 
There was a pleasaunt Arber, not by art 
But of the trees owue inclination made, 
Which knitting their rancke braunches, 

part to part, 
With wanton yvie twine entrayld athwart, 
And Eglantine and Caprifole eraong, 
Fashiond above within their inmost part. 
That nether Phoebus beams could through 

them throng. 
Nor Aeolus sharp blast could worke them 

any wrong. 

XLV. 

And all about grew every sort of flowre. 
To which sad lovers were transformde of 

yore ; 
Fresh Hyacinthus, PhcEbus paramoure 
And dearest love ; 
Foolish Narcisse, that likes the watry 

shore ; 
Sad Amaranthus, made a flowre but late, 
Sad Amaranthus, in whose purple gore 
Me seemes I see Amintas wretched fate, 
To whom sweet Poets verse hath given 

endlesse date. 



There wont fayre Venus often to enjoy 
Her deare Adonis joyous company, 
And reape sweet pleasure of the wanton 

boy: 
There yet, some say, in secret he does ly, 
Lapped in flowres and pretious spycery. 
By her hid from the world, and from the 

skill 
Of Stygian Gods, which doe her love en'\'y ; 
But she her selfe, when ever that she will, 
Possesseth him, and of his sweetnesse 

takes her fill. 



CANTO VI.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



243 



And sooth, it seemes, they say; for he 

may not 
For ever dye, and ever buried bee 
In baleluli night where all thinges are 

forgot : 
All be he subject to mortalitie. 
Yet is eterne in mutabilitie. 
And by succession made perpetuall, 
Transformed oft, and chaunged diverslie ; 
For him the Father of all formes they 

call : 
Therfore needs mote he live, that living 

gives to all. 



There now he liveth in eternall blis, 
Joying his goddesse, and of her enjoyd ; 
Ne feareth he henceforth that foe of his, 
Which with his cruell tuske him deadly 

' cloyd: 
For that wilde Bore, the which him once 

annoyd. 
She firmely hath emprisoned for ay, 
That her sweet love his malice mote avoyd. 
In a strong rocky Cave, which is, they say, 
Hewen underneath that Mount, that none 

him losen may. 



There now he lives in everlasting joy, 
With many of the Gods in company 
Which thither haunt, and with the winged 

boy, 
Sporting him selfe in safe felicity: 
Who when he hath with spoiles and cruelty 
Ransackt the world, and in the wofuU 

harts 
Of many wretches set his triumphes hye. 
Thither resortes, and, laying his sad dartes 
Asyde, with faire Adonis playes his wan- 
ton partes. 

L. 

And his trew love faire Psyche with him 

playes, 
Fay re Psyche to him lately reconcyld. 
After long troubles and unmeet upbrayes 
With which his mother Venus her revyld, 
And eke himselfe her cruelly exyld : 
But now in stedfast love and happy state 
She with him lives, and hath him borne a 

chyld. 
Pleasure, that doth both gods and men 

aggrate. 
Pleasure, the daughter of Cupid and 

Psyche late. 



Hither great Venus brought this infant 
fay re. 
The youger daughter of Chrysogonee, 
And unto Psyche with great trust and 

care 
Committed her, yfostered to bee 
And trained up in trew feminitee : 
Who no lesse carefully her tendered 
Then her owne daughter Pleasure, to 

whom shee 
Made her companion, and her lessoned 
In all the lore of love, and goodly woman- 
head. 

LII. 

In which when she to perfect ripeues 

grew, 
Of grace and beautie noble Paragone, 
She brought her forth into the worldes 

vew. 
To be th' ensample of true love alone, 
And Lodestarre of all chaste affection 
To all fayre Ladies that doe live on 

grownd. 
To Faery court she came; where many 

one 
Admyrd her goodly haveour, and fownd 
His feeble hart wide launched with loves 

cruel wownd. 

LIII. . 

But she to none of them her love did 

cast. 
Save to the noble knight Sir Scudamore, 
To whom her loving hart she linked fast 
In f aithfull love, t' abide for evermore ; 
And for his dearest sake endured sore 
Sore trouble of an bainous enimy. 
Who her would forced have to have forlore 
Her former love and stedfast loialty. 
As ye may elswhere reade that rueful! 

history. 

LIV. 

But well I weene, ye first desire to learne 
What end unto that fearefull Damozell, 
Which fledd so fast from that same foster 

stearne 
Whom with his brethren Timias slew, 

befell : 
That was, to weet, the goodly Florimell ; 
Who wandering for to seeke her lover 

deare. 
Her lover deare, her dearest Marinell, 
Into misfortune fell, as ye did heare. 
And from Prince Arthure fled with wings 

of idle feare. 



244 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book III. 



CANTO VII. 

The witches sonne loves Florimell : 
She flyes ; he faines to dy. 

Satyrane saves the Squyre of Dames 
Fi"om Gyaunts tyranny. 



Like as an Hynd forth singled from the 

heard, 
That hath escaped from a ravenous beast, 
Yet flyes away of her owne feete afeard, 
And every leafe, that shaketh with the 

least 
Murmure of winde, her terror hath en- 

creast ; 
So fledd fayre Florimell from her vaine 

feare. 
Long after she from perill was releast : 
Each shade she saw, and each noyse she 

did heare, 
Did seenie to be the same which she escapt 

whileare. 

II. 
All that same evening she in flying 

spent. 
And all that night her course continewed ; 
Ne did she let dull sleepe once to relent, 
Nor wearinesse to slack her hast, but fled 
Ever alike, as if her former dred 
Were hard behind, her ready to arrest ; 
And her white Palfrey, having conquered 
The maistring raines out of her weary 

wrest. 
Perforce her carried where ever he thought 

best. 

III. 
So long as breath and hable puissaunce 
Did native corage untb him supply. 
His pace he freshly forward did advaunce, 
And carried her beyond all jeopardy ; 
But nought that wanteth rest can long 

aby: 
He, having through incessant traveill 

spent 
His force, at last perforce adowne did ly, 
Ne foot could further move. The Lady 

gent 
Thereat was suddein strook with great 

astonishment : 



IV. 

And, forst t' alight, on foot mote algates 

fare 
A traveller unwonted to such way : 
Need teach eth her this lesson hard and 

rare, 



That fortune all in equall launce doth 

sway, 
And mortall miseries doth make her play. 
So long she traveild, till at length she 

came 
To an hilles side, which did to her bewray 
A litle valley subject to the same, 
All coverd with thick woodes that quite 

it overcame. 



Through the tops of the high trees she 

did descry 
A litle smoke, whose vapour thin and 

light 
Keeking aloft uprolled to the sky : 
Which chearef nil signe did send unto her 

sight 
That in the same did wonne some living 

wight. 
Eftsoones her steps she thereunto applyd. 
And came at last in weary wretched 

plight 
Unto the place, to which her hope did 

guyde. 
To finde some refuge there, and rest her 

wearie syde. 



There in a gloomy hollow glen she 

found 
A little cottage, built of stickes and reedes 
In homely wize, and wald with sods 

around ; 
In which a witch did dwell, in loathly 

weedes 
And wilfuU want, all carelesse of her 

needes ; 
So choosing solitarie to abide 
Far from all neighbours, that her divelish 

deedes 
And hellish arts from people she might 

hide, 
And hurt far off unknowne whom ever 

she envide. 



The Damzell there arriving entred in ; 
Where sitting on the flore the Hag she 

found 
Busie (as seem'd) about some wicked gin : 



CANTQ VII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



245 



Who, sooue as she beheld that suddeiu 

stound, 
Lightly upstarted from the dustie ground, 
And with fell looke and hollow deadly 



Stared on her awhile, as one astound, 
Ne had one word to speake for great 

amaze, 
But shewd by outward sigues that dread 

her sence did daze. 



At last, turning her feare to foolish 
wrath, 

She askt, what devill had her thither 
brought, 

And who she was, and what unwonted 
path 

Had guided her, unwelcomed, unsought? 

To which the Damzell, full of doubtfull 
thought, 

Her mildly answer'd : * Beldame, be not 
wroth 

With silly Virgin, by adventure brought 

Unto your dwelling, ignorant and loth. 

That crave but row^nae to rest while tem- 
pest overblo'th.' 

rx. 

With that adowne out of her christall 

eyne 
Few trickling teares she softly forth let 

fall, 
That like to orient perles did purely shyne 
Upon her snowy cheeke ; and there withall 
She sighed soft, that none so bestiall 
Nor salvage hart, but ruth of her sad 



Would make to melt, or pitteously appall ; 
And that vile Hag, all were her whole 

delight 
In mischief e, was much moved at so pit- 

teous sight; 



And gan recomfort her in her rude 
wyse, 

With womanish compassion of her plaint. 

Wiping the teares from her suffused 
eyes, 

And bidding her sit downe, to rest her 
faint 

And wearie linibes awhile. She, nothing 
quaint 

Nor 'sdainfuU of so homely fashion, 

Sith brought she was now to so hard con- 
straint, 

Sate downe upon the dusty ground anon ; 

As glad of that small rest as Bird of 
tempest gon. 



Tho gan she gather up her garments 
rent, 
And her loose lockes to dight in order dew 
With golden wreath and gorgeous orna- 
ment; 
Whom such whenas the wicked Hag did 

vew. 
She was astonisht at her heavenly hew, 
And doubted her to deeme an earthly 

wight. 
But or some Goddesse, or of Dianes crew, 
And thought her to adore with humble 

spright : 
T' adore thing so divine as beauty w^ere 
but right. 

XII. 

This wicked woman had a wicked sonne, 
The comfort of her age and weary dayes, 
A laesy loord, for nothing good to donne, 
But stretched forth in ydlenesse alwayes, 
Ne ever cast his mind to covet prayse, 
Or ply himselfe to any honest trade, 
But all the day before the sunny rayes 
He us'd to slug, or sleepe in slothfull 

shade : 
Such laesinesse both lewd and poore 

attonce him made. 



He, comming home at undertime, there 

found 
The fayrest creature that he ever saw 
Sitting beside his mother on the ground ; 
The sight whereof did greatly him adaw. 
And his base thought with terrour and 

with aw 
So inly smot, that as one, which hath gaz'd 
On the bright Sunne unwares, doth soone 

withdraw 
His feeble eyne, with too much brightnes 

daz'd, 
So stared he on her, and stood long while 

amaz'd. 

xrv. 

Softly at last he gan his mother aske, 

What mister wight that was, and whence 

deriv'd. 
That in so straunge disguizement there did 

maske. 
And by what accident she there arriv'd ? 
But she, as one nigh of her wits depriv'd. 
With nought but ghastly lookes him 

answered ; 
Like to a ghost, that lately is reviv'd 
From Stygian shores where late it 

wandered : 
So both at her, and each at other 

wondered. 



246 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book III. 



But the fayre Virgin was so nieeke and 

myld, 
That she to them vouchsafed to enihrace 
Her goodly port, and to their senses vyld 
Her gentle speach apply de, that in short 

space 
She grew familiare in that desert place. 
During which time the Chorle, through 

lier so kind 
And courteise use, conceiv'd affection 

hace, 
And cast to love her in his brutish mind : 
No love, but brutish lust, that was so 

beastly tind. 



Closely the wicked flame his bowels 
brent, 
And shortly grew into outrageous fire; 
Yet had he not the hart, nor hardiment. 
As unto her to utter his desire ; 
His caytive thought durst not so high as- 
pire : 
But with soft siglies and lovely sem- 

blaunces 
He ween'd that his affection entire 
She should aread ; many resemblaunces 
To her he made, and many kinde remem- 
braunces. 

XVII. 

Oft from the forrest wildings he did 
bring, 
Whose sides empurpled were with smyling 

red ; 
And oft young birds, which he had taught 

to sing. 
His maistresse praises sweetly caroled : 
Girlonds of floweres sometimes for her 

faire bed 
He fine would dight ; sometimes the 

squirrell wild 
He brought to her in bands, as conquered 
To be her thrall, his fellow-servant vild : 
All which she of him tooke with counte- 
nance meeke and mild. 

XVIII. 

But, past a while, when she tit season 
saw 
To leave that desert mansion, she cast 
In secret wize herselfe thence to with- 
draw. 
For feare of mischiefe, which she did fore- 
cast 
Might by the witch or by her sonne com- 

past. 
Her wearie Palfrey, closely as she might, 
Now well recovered after long repast. 
In his proud furnitures she freshly dight. 



His late mis wand red wayes now to re- 
measure right. 



And earely, ere the dawning day 
appear 'd, 

She forth issewed, and on her journey 
went: 

She went in perill, of each noyse affeard. 

And of each shade that did it selfe pre- 
sent ; 

For still she feared to be overhent 

Of that vile hag, or her uncivile sonne ; 

Who when, too late awaking, well they 
kent 

That their fayre guest was gone, they 
both begonne 

To make exceeding mone, as they had 
been undonne. 



But that lewd lover did the most lament 
For her depart, that ever man did heare : 
He knockthis brest with desperate intent. 
And scratcht his face, and with his teeth 

did teare 
His rugged flesh, and rent his ragged 

heare ; 
That his sad mother, seeing his sore 

plight, 
Was greatly woe begon, and gan to feare 
Least his fraile senses were emperisht 

quight. 
And love to frenzy turnd, sith love is 

f ranticke hight. 



All wayes shee sought him to restore to 

plight. 
With herbs, with charms, with counsel, 

and with teares ; 
But tears, nor charms, nor herbs, nor 

couusell, might 
Asswage the fury which his entrails 

teares : 
So strong is passion that no reason heares. 
Tho when all other helpes she saw to faile, 
She turnd her selfe backe to her wicked 

leares ; 
And by her divelish arts thought to pre- 

vaile 
To bringe her backe againe, or worke her 

finall bale. 



Eftesoones out of her hidden cave she 

cald 
An hideous beast of horrible aspect, 
That could the stoutest corage have 

appald ; 



CANTO VII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



247 



Monstrous, inishapt, and all his backe 

was spect 
With thousand spots of colours queiut 

elect, 
Thereto so swifte that it all beasts did 

pas : 
Like never yet did living eie detect; 
But likest it to an Hyena was, 
That feeds on wemeus flesh as others f eede 

on gras. 

XXIII. 

It forth she cald, and gave it streight in 

charge 
Through thicke and thin her to poursew 

apace, 
Ne once to stay to rest, or breath at 

large. 
Till her he had attaiud and brought in 

place. 
Or quite devourd her beauties scornefull 

- grace. 
The Monster, swifte as word that from 

her went, 
Went forth in haste, and did her footing 

trace 
So sure and swiftly, through his perfect 

sent 
And passing speede, that shortly he her 

overhent. 

XXIV. 

Whom when the fearefull Damzell nigh 

espide. 
No need to bid her fast away to flie : 
That ugly shape so sore her terrifide. 
That it she shund no lesse then dread to 

die; 
And her flitt palfrey did so well apply 
His nimble feet to her conceived feare, 
That whilest his breath did strength to 

him supply, 
From peril free he away her did beare ; 
But when his force gan faile his pace gau 

wex areare. 

XXV. 

Which whenas she perceiv'd, she was 

dismayd 
At that same last extremity ful sore, 
And of her safety greatly grew afrayd. 
And now she gan approch to the sea 

shore. 
As it befell, that she could flie no more, 
But yield herselfe to spoile of greedinesse : 
Lightly she leaped, as a wight forlore, 
From her dull horse, in desperate dis- 

tresse. 
And to her feet betooke her doubtf ull sick- 

ernesse. 

XXVI. 

Not halfe so fast the wicked Myrrha 
fled 



From dread of her revenging fathers 

bond ; 
Nor halfe so fast to save her maydenhed 
Fled fearful! Daphne on th' iEgsean 

strond, 
As Florimell fled from that Monster 

yond, 
To reach the sea ere she of him were 

ranght : 
For in the sea to drowne herselfe she 

fond. 
Rather then of the tryant to be caught : 
Thereto fear gave her wings, and need her 

corage taught. 



It fortuned (high God did so ordaine) 
As shee arrived on the roriiig shore, 
In minde to leape into the mighty maine, 
A little bote lay hoving her before, 
In which there slept a fisher old and pore, 
The whiles his nets were drying on the 

sand. 
Into the same shee lept, and with the ore 
Did thrust the shallop from the floting 

strand : 
So safety fownd at sea which she fowud 

not at land. 



The Monster, ready on the pray to 

sease, 
Was of his forward hope deceived quight ; 
Ne durst assay to wade the perlous seas. 
But greedily long gaping at the sight, 
At last in vaine was forst to turne his 

flight, 
And tell the idle tidings to his Dame : 
Yet, to avenge his divelish despight, 
He sett upon" her Palfrey tired lame, 
And slew him cruelly ere any reskew 

came. 

XXIX. 

And, after having him embowelled 
To fill his hellish gorge, it chauust a knight 
To passe that way, as forth he travelled : 
Yt was a goodly Swaine, and of great 

might. 
As ever man that bloody field did fight ; 
But in vain sheows, that wont yong knights 

bewitch. 
And courtly services, tooke no delight ; 
But rather joyd to bee then seemen sich. 
For both to be and seeme to him was 

labor lich. 



It was to weete the p;ood Sir Satyrane, 
That raungd abrode to seeke adventures 

wilde, 
As was his wont, in forest and in plainer 



248 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book III. 



He was all armd in rugged Steele unfilde, 
As in the smoky forge it was compilde, 
And in his Scutchin bore a Satyres hedd. 
He comming present, where the Monster 

vilde 
Upon that milke-white Palfreyes carcas 

fedd, 
Unto his reskew ran, and greedily him 

spedd. 

XXXI. 

There well perceivd he that it was the 
horse 
Whereon faire Florimell was wont to ride, 
That of that feend was rent without re- 
morse : 
Much feared he least ought did ill betide 
To that faire Maide, the flowreof wemens 

pride ; 
For her he dearely loved, and in all 
His famous conquests highly maguifide : 
Besides, her golden girdle, which did fall 
From her in light, he fownd, that did him 
sore apall, 

XXXII. 

Full of sad feare and doubtfull agony 
Fiercely he flew upon that wicked feend, 
And Avith huge strokes and cruell battery 
Him forst to leave his pray, for to attend 
Him selfe from deadly daunger to defend : 
Full many wounds in his corrupted flesh 
He did engrave, and muchell blood did 

spend, 
Yet might not doe him die : but aie more 

fresh 
And fierce he still appeard, the more he 

did him thresh. 



He wist not how him to despoile of life, 
Ne how to win the wished victory, 
Sith him he saw still stronger grow 

through strife, 
And him selfe weaker through infirmity. 
Greatly he grew enrag'd, and furiously 
Hurling his sword away he lightly lept 
Upon the beast, that with great cruelty 
Rored and raged to be underkept ; 
Yet he perforce him held, and strokes 

upon him hept. 



As he that strives to stop a suddein 

flood, 
And in strong bancks his violence enclose, 
Forceth it swell above his w^onted mood. 
And largely overflow the fruitfull plaine, 
That ail the countrey seemes to be a 

Maine, 
And the rich furrowes flote, all quite for- 

donne : 



The wo full husbandman doth lowd com- 
plain e 

To see his whole yeares labor lost so 
soone. 

For which to God he made so many an 
idle boone: 



So him he held, and did through might 

amate. 
So long he held him, and him bett so long, 
That at the last his fiercenes gan abate. 
And meekely stoup unto the victor strong : 
Who, to avenge the implacable wrong 
Which he supposed donne to Florimell, 
Sought by allmeanes his dolor to prolong, 
Sith dint of Steele his carcas could not 

quell ; 
His maker with her charmes had framed 

him so well. 

XXXVI. 

The golden ribband, which that virgin 

wore 
About her sclender waste, he tooke in 

hand, 
And with it bownd the beast, that lowd 

did rore 
For great despight of that unwonted band. 
Yet dared not his victor to withstand, 
But trembled like a lambe fled from the 

pray; 
And all the way him followd on the 

strand, 
As he had long bene learned to obay ; 
Yet never learned he such service till that 

day. 

XXXVII. 

Thus as he led the Beast along the way. 
He spide far off a mighty Giauntesse 
Fast flying, on a Courser dapled gray. 
From a bold knight that with great 

hardinesse 
Her hard pursewd, and sought for to sup- 

presse. 
She bore before her lap a dolefull Squire, 
Lying athwart her horse in great dis- 

tresse, 
Fast bounden hand and foote with cords 

of wire. 
Whom she did meane to make the thrall 

of her desire. 

XXXVIII, 

Which whenas Satyrane beheld, in haste 
He lefte his captive Beast at liberty, 
And crost the nearest way, by which he 

cast 
Her to encounter ere she passed by ; 
But she the way shund nathemore forthy, 



CANTO VII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



249 



But forward gallopt fast ; which when he 

spyde, 
His mighty sj^eare he couched warily, 
And at her ran : she, having him descrydc. 
Her selfe to light addrest, and threw her 

lode aside. 



Like as a Goshauke, that in foote doth 

beare 
A trembling Culver, having spide on hight 
An Eagle that with plumy wings doth 

sheare 
The subtile ayre stouping with all his 

might, 
The quarry throwes to ground with fell 

despight. 
And to the batteill doth her selfe prepare : 
So ran the Geauntesse unto the fight. 
Her fyrie eyes with furious sparkes did 

stare, 
And with blasphemous bannes high God 

in peeces tare. 



She caught in hand an huge great yron 

mace, 
Wherewith she many had of life depriv'd ; 
But, ere the stroke could seize his aynied 

place. 
His speare amids her suu-brode shield 

arriv'd : 
Yet nathemore the Steele asonder riv'd, 
All were the bearae in bignes like a mast, 
Ne her out of the stedfast sadle driv'd ; 
But, glauncing on the tempred metall, 

brast 
In thousand shivers, and so forth beside 

her past. 

XLI. 

Her Steed did stagger with that puis- 

saunt strooke ;" 
But she no more was moved with that 

might 
Th(Mi it had lighted on an aged Oke, 
Or on the marble Pillour that is pight 
Upon the top of Mount Olympus hight, 
For the brave youthly Champions to assay 
With burning charel wheeles it nigh to 

smite ; 
But who that smites it mars his joyous 

play, 
And is the spectacle of ruinous decay. 



Yet, therewith sore enrag'd, with sterne 
regard 
Her dreadf nil weapon she to him addrest, 
Which on his helmet martelled so hard 
That made him low incline his lofty crest. 



And bowd his battrod visour to his brest: 
Wherewith he was so stund that he n'ote 

ryde. 
But reeled to and fro from east to west. 
Which when his cruell enimy espyde, 
She liglitly unto him adjoyned syde to 

syde ; 

XLIII. 

And, on his collar laying i>uissaunt hand, 
Out of his wavering seat him pluckt per- 

forse, 
Perforse him pluckt, unable to withstand 
Or helpe him selfe ; and laying thwart her 

horse, 
In loathly wise like to a carrion corse. 
She bore him fast away. Which when 

the knight 
That her pnrsewed saw, with great re- 
morse 
He nere was touched in his noble spright, 
And gan encrease his speed as she eucreast 
her flight. 



Whom when as nigh approaching she 

espyde. 
She threw away her burden angrily ; 
For she list not the batteill to abide, 
But made herselfe more light away to fly : 
Yet her the hardy knight pursewd so nye 
That almost in the backe he oft her strake ; 
But still, when him at hand she did espy, 
She turnd, and semblaunce of faire tight 

did make. 
But, when he stayd, to flight againe she 

did her take. 

XLV. 

By this the good Sir Satyrane gan 

awake 
Out of his dreame that did him long en- 

traunce. 
And, seeing none in place, he gan to make 
Exceeding mone, and curst that cruell 

chaunce 
AMiich reft from him so faire a chevis- 

aunce. 
At length he spyde whereas that wofull 

Squyre, 
Whom he had reskewed from captivaunce 
Of his strong foe, lay tombled in the my re, 
Unable to arise, or foote or hand to styre. 

XLVI. 

To whom approching, well he mote 

perceive 
In that fowle plight a comely personage 
And lovely face, made tit for to deceive 
Fraile Ladies hart with loves consuming 

rage, 



250 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book III. 



Now in the blossome of bis freshest age. 
He reard him up aud loosd his yron bands, 
And after gan inquire his parentage, 
And how he fell into the Gyaunts hands, 
Aud who that was which chaced her along 
the lands. 



Then trembling yet through feare the 

Squire bespake: 
' That Geauntesse Argante is behight, 
A daughter of the Titans which did make 
Warre against heven, and heaped hils on 

bight 
To scale the skyes and put Jove from his 

right : 
Her syre Typhoeus was; who, mad 

through merth, 
And dronke with blood of men slaine by 

his might. 
Through incest her of his owne mother 

Earth 
Whylome begot, being but halfe twin of 

that berth : 

XLVIII. 

* For at that berth another Babe she 

bore; 
To weet, the mightie Ollyphant, that 

wrought 
Great wreake to many errant knights of 

yore, 
And many hath to foule confusion 

brought. 
These twinnes, men say, (a thing far 

passing thought) 
While in their mothers wombe enclosd 

they were, 
Ere they into the lightsom world were 

brought, 
In fleshly lust were mingled both yfere. 
And in that monstrous wise did to the 

world appere. 



' So liv'd they ever after in like sin, 
Gainst natures law and good behaveoure ; 
But greatest shame was to that maiden 

twin. 
Who, not content so fowly to devoure 
Her native flesh and staine her brothers 

bowre. 
Did wallow in all other fleshly myre, 
And suffred beastes her body to deflowre, 
So whot she burned in that lustf nil fyre ; 
Yet all that might not slake her sensuall 

desyre : 

L. 

'But over all the coimtrie she did 
raunge 



To seeke young men to quench her flam- 
ing thrust. 
And feed her fancy with delightfull 

chaunge : 
Whom so she fittest Andes to serve her 

lust, 
Through her maine strength, in which 

she most doth trust, 
She with her bringes into a secret He, 
Where in eternall bondage dye he must. 
Or be the vassall of her pleasures vile. 
And in all shamefuU sort him selfe with 
her defile. 

LI. 

'Me, seely wretch, she so at vauntage 

caught, 
After she long in waite for me did lye. 
And meant unto her prison to have 

brought. 
Her lothsom pleasure there to satisfye ; 
That thousand deathes me lever were to 

dye 
Then breake the vow that to faire Colum- 

bell 
I plighted have, and yet keepe sted- 

fastly. 
As for my name, it mistreth not to tell : 
Call me the Squyre of Dames; that me 

beseemeth well. 



' But that bold knight, whom ye pursu- 
ing saw 
That Geauntesse, is not such as she 

seemd , 
But a faire virgin that in martiall law 
And deedes of armes above all Dames is 

deemd. 
And above many knightes is eke esteemd 
For her great worth: She Palladine is 

hight. 
She you from death, you me from dread, 

redeemd ; 
Ne any may that Monster match in fight. 
But she, or such as she, that is so chaste 
a wight.' 

LIII. 

* Her well beseemes that Quest,' (quoth 
Satyrane) 

' But read, thou Squyre of Dames, what 
vow is this. 

Which thou upon thy selfe hast lately 
ta'ne? ' 

'That shall I you recount,' (quoth he) 
'ywis, 

So be ye pleasd to pardon all amis. 

That gentle Lady whom I love and serve. 

After long suit and wearie servicis, 

Did aske me, how I could her love de- 
serve, 



CANTO VII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



251 



And how she might be sure that I would 
never swerve ? 



'I, glad by any meanes her grace to 

gaine, 
Badd her commaund my life to save or 

spill. 
Eftsoones she badd me, with incessamit 

paiiie 
To wander through the world abroad at 

will, 
And every where, where with my power 

or skill 
I might doe service unto gentle Dames, 
That I the same should faithfully fulfill ; 
And at the twelve monethes end should 

bring their names 
And pledges, as the spoiles of my vic- 
torious games. 



* So well I to faire Ladies service did, 
And found such favour in their loving 

hartes, 

That ere the yeare his course had com- 
passid, 

Thre hundred pledges for my good 
desartes, 

And thrice three hundred thanks for my 
good partes, 

I with me brought, and did to her pre- 
sent : 

Which when she saw, more bent to eke 
my smart es 

Then to reward my trusty true intent, 

She gan for me devise a grievous punish- 
ment; 

LVI. 

* To weet, that I my traveill should re- 

sume, 
And with like labour walke the world 

arownd, 
Ne ever to her presence should presume, 
Till I so many other Dames had fownd, 
The which, for all the suit I could pro- 

pownd, 
Would me refuse their pledges to afford, 
But did abide for ever chaste and sownd.' 
'Ah! gentle Squyre,' (quoth he) 'tell at 

one word, 
How many fownd'st thou such to put in 

thy record ? ' 

LVII. 

' Indeed, Sir knight,' (said he) * one word 

may tell 
All that I ever fownd so wisely stayd, 
For onely three they were disposd so 

well; 



And yet three yeares I now abrode have 

stray d. 
To fynd them out.' 'Mote I,' (then 

laughing sayd 
The knight) 'inquire of thee what were 

those three. 
The which thy proffred curtesie denayd ? 
Or ill they seemed sure avizd to bee. 
Or brutishly brought up, that nev'r did 

fashions see.' 

LVIII. 

'The first which then refused me,' 
(said hee) 
' Certes was but a common Courtisane ; 
Yet flat refusd to have adoe with mee. 
Because I could not give her many a 

Jane.' 
(Thereat full hartely laughed Satyrane.) 
' The second was an holy Nunne to chose. 
Which would not let me be her Chappel- 

laue. 
Because she knew, she said, I would dis- 
close 
Her counsell, if she should her trust in 
me repose. 

LIX. 

'The tliird a Damzell was of low de- 
gree. 

Whom I in countrey cottage fownd by 
chaunce : 

Full litle weened I that chastitee 

Had lodging in so meane a maintenaunce ; 

Yet was she fayre, and in her counte- 
naunce 

Dwelt simple truth in seemely fashion. 

Long thus I woo'd her with due observ- 
aunce, 

In hope unto my pleasure to have won ; 

But was as far at last, as when I first 
begon. 

LX. 

' Safe her, I never any woman found 
That chastity did for it selfe embrace, 
But were for other causes firme and 

sound ; 
Either for want of handsome time and 

place. 
Or else for feare of shame and fowle dis- 
grace. 
Thus am I hopelesse ever to attaine 
My Ladies love in such a desperate case, 
But all my dayes am like to waste in 

vaine, 
Seeking to match the chaste with th' un- 
chaste Ladies traine.' 



Perdy ' (sayd Satyrane) ' thou Squyre 
of Dames, 



252 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book III. 



Great labour fondly hast thou hent in 

hand, 
To get small thankes, and therewith 

many blames, 
That may emongst Alcides labours Stand.' 
Thence backe returning to the former 

land. 



Where late he left the Beast he over- 
came, 

He found him not ; for he had broke his 
band, 

And was returnd againe unto his Dame, 

To tell what tydings of fayre Florimell 
became. 



CANTO VIII. 

The "Witch creates a snowy La- 
dy like to Florimell ; 

Who wrong'd by Carle, by Proteus sav'd, 
Is sought by Paridell. 



So oft as I this history record, 
My heart doth melt with meere compas- 
sion. 
To thinke how causelesse, of her owne 

accord, 
This gentle Damzell, whom I write upon, 
Should plonged be in such affliction 
Without all hope of comfort or'reliefe ; 
That sure, 1 weene, the hardest hart of 

stone 
Would hardly finde to aggravate her 

griefe ; 
For misery craves rather mercy than 

repriefe. 

II- 
But that accursed Hag, her hostesse 

late. 
Had so enranckled her malitious hart. 
That she desyrd th' abridgement of her 

fate. 
Or long enlargement of her painefull 

smart. 
Now when the Beast, which by her 

wicked art 
Late foorth she sent, she backe retourn- 

ing spyde 
Tyde with her golden girdle ; it a part 
Of her rich spoyles whom he had earst 

destroyd 
She weend, and wondrous gladnes to her 

hart applyde. 



And, with it ronning hast'ly to her 

Sonne, 
Thought with that sight him much to 

have reliv'd 
Who, thereby deeming sure the thing as 

donne, 
His former griefe with f urie fresh reviv'd 
Much more then earst, and would have 

algates riv'd 
The hart out of his brest : for sith her dedd 



He surely dempt, himselfe he thought 

depriv'd 
Quite of all hope wherewith he long had 

fedd 
His foolish malady, and long time had 

misledd. 



With thought whereof exceeding mad 

he grew. 
And in his rage his mother would have 

slaine. 
Had she not fled into a secret mew. 
Where she was wont her Sprightes to 

entertaine, 
The maisters of her art: there was she 

faine 
To call them all in order to her ayde. 
And them conjure, upon eternall paine, 
To counsell her, so carefully dismayd. 
How she might heale her sonne whose 

senses were decayd. 



By their advice, and her owne wicked 

wit. 
She there deviz'd a wondrous worke to 

frame. 
Whose like on earth was never framed 

yit; 
That even Nature selfe envide the same. 
And grudg'd to see the counterfet should 

shame 
The thing it selfe: In hand she boldly 

tooke 
To make another like the former Dame, 
Another Florimell, in shape and looke 
So lively and so like, that many it mis- 

tooke. 

VI. 

The substance, "v^hereof she the body 
made, I 

Was purest snow in massy mould con- 
geald. 



CANTO VIII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



253 



Which she had gathered in a shady glade 

Of the Riphoean hils, to her reveald 

By errant Sprights, but from all men 

conceakl : 
The same she tempred with fine Mercury 
And virgin wex that never yet was seald, 
And mingled them with perfect vermily ; 
That like a lively sanguine it seemd to 

the eye. 

VII. 

Instead of eyes two burning lampes she 

set 
In silver sockets, shyning like the skyes, 
And a quicke moving Spirit did arret 
To stirre and roll them like to womens 

eyes : 
Instead of yellow lockes she did devyse 
With golden wyre to weave her curled 

head ; 
Yet golden wyre was not so yellow thryse 
As Florimells fayre heare: and, in the 

stead 
Of life, she put a Spright to rule the car- 

cas dead ; 

VIII. 

A wicked Spright, yfraught with fawn- 
ing guyle 
And fayre resemblance above all the rest. 
Which with the Prince of Darkenes fell 

somewhyle 
From heavens blis and everlasting rest : 
Him needed not instruct which way were 

best 
Him selfe to fashion likest Florimell, 
Ne how to speake, ne how to use his gest ; 
For he in counterfesaunce did excell, 
And all the wyles of wemens wits knew 
passing well. 



Him shaped thus she deckt in garments 

gay, 
Which Florimell had left behind her late ; 
That who so then her saw would surely 

say 
It was her selfe whom it did imitate, 
Or fayrer then her selfe, if ought algate 
Might fayrer be. And then she forth her 

brought 
Unto her sonne that lay in feeble state ; 
Who seeing her gan streight upstart, and 

thought 
She was the Lady selfe whom he so long 

had sought. 

X. 

Tho fast her clipping twixt his armes 
twayne, 
Extremely joyed in so happy sight, 
Andsoone forgot his former sickely payne : 



But she, the more to seeme such as she 
bight. 

Coyly rebutted his embracement light ; 

Yet still, with gentle countenaunce, re- 
tain 'd 

Enough to hold a foole in vaine delight. 

Him long she so with shadowes enter- 
tain'd. 

As her Creatresse had in charge to her 
ordain 'd. 



Till on a day, as he disposed was 
To walke the woodes with that his Idole 

faire. 
Her to disport and idle time to pas 
In th' open freshnes of the gentle aire, 
A knight that way there chaunced to 

repaire ; 
Yet knight he was not, but a boastful! 

swaine 
That deedes of armes had ever in despaire, 
Proud Braggadocchio, that in vaunting 

vaine 
His glory did repose, and credit did main- 

taine. 



He, seeing with that Chorle so faire a 
wight, 

Decked with many a costly ornament, 

Much merveiled thereat, as well he 
might. 

And thought that match a fowle dispar- 
agement : 

His bloody speare eftesoones, he boldly 
bent 

Against the silly clowne, who dead through 
feare 

Fell streight to ground in great astonish- 
ment. 

' Villein,' (sayd he) ' this Lady is my 
deare ; 

Dy, if thou it gainesay : I will away her 
beare.' 

XIII. 

The fearefull Chorle durst not gainesay 
nor dooe. 
But trembling stood, and yielded him the 



gray; 



Who, finding litle leasure her to wooe 
On Tromparts steed her mounted without 

stay. 
And without reskew led her quite away. 
Proud man himselfe then Braggadochio 

deem'd, 
And next to none after that happy day, 
Being possessed of that spoyle, which 

seem'd 
The fairest wight on ground, and most of 

men esteem'd. 



254 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book III. 



But, wheu hee saw him selfe free from 
poursute, 
He gan make gentle purpose to his Dame 
With termes of love aud lewdnesse disso- 
lute; 
For he could well his glozing speaches 

frame 
To such vaine uses that him best became : 
But she thereto would lend but light 

regard, 
As seeming sory that she ever came 
Into his powre, that used her so hard 
To reave her honor, which she more then 
life prefard, 

XV. 

Thus as they two of kindnes treated 

long. 
There them by chaunce encountred on the 

way 
An armed knight upon a courser strong, 
Whose trampling feete upon the hollow 

lay 
Seemed to thunder, and did nigh affray 
That Capons corage: yet he looked grim. 
And faynd to cheare his lady in dismay. 
Who seemd for feare to quake in every 

lim, 
And her to save from outrage meekely 

prayed him. 

XVI. 

Fiercely that straunger forward came : 

and, nigh 
Approching, with bold words and bitter 

threat 
Bad that same boaster, as he mote, on 

high. 
To leave to him that lady for excheat, 
Or bide him batteill without further 

treat. 
That challenge did too peremptory seeme. 
And fild his senses with abashment 

great ; 
Yet seeing n.igh him jeopardy extreme, 
He it dissembled well, and light seemd to 

esteeme 

XVII. 

Saying, 'Thou foolish knight, that 

weenst with words 
To steale away that I with blowes have 

wonne. 
And brought through points of many 

perilous swords : 
But if thee list to see thy Courser ronne. 
Or prove thy selfe, this sad encounter 

shonne. 
And seeke els without hazard of thy 

hedd.' 
At those prowd words that other knight 

begonne 



To wex exceeding wroth, and him aredd 
To turne his steede about, or sure he 
should be dedd. 

XVIII. 

' Sith then,' (said Braggadochio) ' needes 

thou wilt 
Thy daies abridge through proofe of puis- 

saunce, 
Turne we our steeds ; that both in equall 

tilt 
May meete againe, and each take happy 

chaunce.' 
This said, they both a furlongs mounten- 

aunce 
Retird their steeds, to ronne in even race ; 
But Braggadochio, with his bloody launce. 
Once having turnd, no more returnd his 

face. 
But lefte his love to losse, and fled him 

selfe apace. 

XIX. 

The knight, him seeing flie, had no re- 
gard 
Him to poursew, but to the lady rode ; 
And having her from Trompart lightly 

reard. 
Upon his Courser sett the lovely lode, 
And with her fled away without abode. 
Well weened he, that fairest Florimell 
It was with whom in company he yode. 
And so her selfe did alwaies to him tell ; 
So made him tliinke him selfe in heven 
that was in hell. 



But Florimell her selfe was far away. 
Driven to great distresse by fortune 

straunge. 
And taught the carefull Mariner to 

play, 
Sith late mischaunce had her compeld to 

chaunge 
The land for sea, at random there to 

raunge : 
Yett there that cruell Queene aven- 

geresse. 
Not satisfyde so far her to estraunge 
From courtly blis and wonted happinesse. 
Did heape on her new waves of weary 

wretchednesse. 

XXI. 

For being fled into the fishers bote 
For refuge from the Monsters cruelty, 
Long so she on the mighty maine did 

flote, 
And with the tide drove forward care- 

lesly ; 



CANTO VIII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



255 



For th' aj^re was milde and cleared was 

the skie, 
And all his windes Dan Aeolus did keepe 
From stirring up their stormy enmity, 
As pittying to see her waile and weepe : 
But air the while the fisher did securely 

sleepe. 

XXII. 

At last when droncke with drowsinesse 

he woke, 
And saw his drover drive along the 

streame, 
He was dismayd ; and thrise his brest he 

stroke, 
For marveill of that accident extreame : 
But when he saw that blazing beauties 

beame, 
Which with rare light his bote did beauti- 
fy e, 
He marveild more, and thought he yet did 

dreame 
Kot well awakte ; or that some extasye 
Assotted had his sence, or dazed was his 

eye. 

xxiii. 

But when her well avizing hee per- 

ceiv'd 
To be no vision nor fantasticke sight, 
Great comfort of her presence he con- 

ceiv'd, 
And felt in his old corage new delight 
To gin awake, and stir his frosen spright: 
Tho rudely askte her, how she thither 

came? 
' Ah ! ' (sayd she) ' father, I note read 

aright 
What hard misfortune brought me to this 

same ; 
Yet am I glad that here I now in safety 

ame. 

XXIV. 

* But thou, good man, sith far in sea we 

bee. 
And the great waters gin apace to swell, 
That now no more we can the mayn-land 

see. 
Have care, I pray, to guide the cock-bote 

well, 
Least worse on sea then us on land befell.' 
Thereat th' old man did nought but fondly 

grin. 
And saide his boat the way could wisely 

tell; 
But hisdeceiptfuU eyes did never lin 
To looke on her faire face and marke her 

snowj" skin. 

XXV. 

The sight whereof in his congealed flesh 
Infixt such secrete sting of greedy lust. 



That the drie withered stocke it gan re- 
fresh, 

And kindled heat that soone in flame 
forth brust : 

The driest wood is soonest burnt to dust. 

Rudely to her he lept, and his rough bond 

Where ill became him rashly would have 
thrust ; 

But she with angry scorne did him with- 
stond. 

And shamefully reproved for his rudenes 
fond. 

XXVI. 

But he, that never good nor maners 

knew, 
Her sharpe rebuke full litle did esteeme ; 
Hard is to teach an old herse amble trew: 
The inward smoke, that did before but 

steeme, 
Broke into open fire and rage extreme ; 
And now he strength gan adde unto his 

will, 
Forcyng to doe that did him fowle mis- 

seeme. 
Beastly he threwe her downe, ne car'd to 

spill 
Her garments gay with scales of fish that 

all did fill. 



The silly virgin strove him to withstand 
All that she might, and him in vaine 

revild : 
Shee strugled strongly both with foote and 

hand 
To save her honor from that villaine vilde. 
And cride to heven, from humane help 

exild. 
O! ye brave knights, that boast this 

Ladies love, 
Where be ye now, when she is nigh defild 
Of filthy wretch? well may she you re- 
prove 
Of falsehood or of slouth, when most it may 
behove. 

xxvni. 

But if that thou. Sir Satyran, didst 

weete, 
Or thou. Sir Peri dure, her sory state. 
How soone would yee assemble many a 

fleete, 
To fetch from sea that ye at land lost 

late ! 
Towres, citties, kingdoraes, ye would 

ruinate 
In your avengement and despiteous rage, 
Ne ought your burning fury mote abate ; 
But if Sir Calidore could it presage. 
No living creature could his cruelty 

ass wage. 



256 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book III. 



But sith that none of all her knights is 
nye, 
See how the heavens, of voluntary grace 
And soveraine favor towards chastity, 
Doe succor send to her distressed cace ; 
So much high God doth innocence em- 
brace. 
It fortuned, whilest thus she stifiy strove. 
And the wide sea importuned long space 
With shrilling shriekes, Proteus abrode 

did rove. 
Along the fomy waves driving his finny 
" drove. 

XXX. 

Proteus is Shepheard of the seas of yore. 
And hath the charge of Neptunes mighty 

heard ; 
An aged sire with head all frory hore, 
And "sprinckled frost upon his deawy 

beard : 
Who when those pittifull outcries he 

heard 
Through all the seas so ruefully resownd. 
His charett swifte in hast he thither 

steard. 
Which with a teeme of scaly Phocas 

bownd 
Was drawne upon the waves that fomed 

him arownd. 

XXXI. 

And comming to that Fishers waudring 

bote, 
That went at will withouten card or sayle, 
He therein saw that yrkesome sight, 

which smote 
Deepe indignation and compassion f rayle 
Into his hart attonce : streight did he 

hayle 
The greedy villein from his hoped pray. 
Of which he now did very litle fayle. 
And with his staffe, that drives his heard 

astray, 
Him bett so sore, that life and sence did 

much dismay. 

xxxn. 

The whiles the pitteous Lady up did 

ryse, 
Ruffled and fowly raid with filthy soyle, 
And blubbred face with teares of her faire 

eyes: 
Her heart nigh broken was with weary 

toyle, 
To save her selfe from that outrageous 

spoyle ; 
But when she looked up, to weet what 

wight 
Had her from so infamous fact assoyld, 



For shame, but more for f eare of his grirn 

sight, 
Downe in her lap she hid her face, and 

lowdly shright. 



Her selfe not saved yet from daunger 
dredd 
She thought, but chaung'd from one to 

other feare: 
Like as a fearefull partridge, that is fledd 
From the sharpe hauke which her at- 
tached neare, 
And fals to ground to seeks for succor 

theare, 
Whereas the hungry Spaniells she does 

spye 
With greedy jawes her ready for to teare : 
In such distresse and sad perplexity 
Was Florimell, when Proteus she did see 
her by. 



But he endevored with speaches milde 
Her to recomfort, and accourage bold, 
Bidding her feare no more her foeman 

vilde, 
Nor doubt himselfe ; and who he was her 

told: 
Yet all that could not from affright her 

hold, 
Ne to recomfort her at all prevayld ; 
For her faint hart was with the frosen 

cold 
Benumbd so inly, that her wits nigh 

fayld, 
And all her sences with abashment quite 

were quay Id. 



Her up betwixt his rugged hands he 

reard, 
And with his frory lips full softly kist. 
Whiles the cold ysickles from his rough 

beard 
Dropped adowne upon her yvory brest: 
Yet he him selfe so busily addrest, 
That her out of astonishment he wrought ; 
And out of that same fishers filthy nest 
Removing her, into his charet brought, 
And there with many gentle termes her 

faire besought. 



But that old leachour, which with bold 

assault 
That beautie durst presume to violate, 
He cast to punish for his hainous fault : 
Tnen tooke he him , yet trembling sith of 

late, 



CANTO VIII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



257 



And tyde behind bis charet, to aggrate 

The virgin whom he had abusdeso sore ; 

So di*ag"d him through the waves in scorn- 
full state, 

And after cast him up upon the shore ; 

But Florimell with him unto his bowre he 
bore. 

XXXVII. 

His bowre is in the bottom of the raaiue, 
Under a mightie rocke, gainst which doe 

rave 
The roring billowes in their proud dis- 

daine, 
That with the angry working of the wave 
Therein is eaten out an hollow cave, 
That seemes rough Masons hand with 

engines keene 
Had long while laboured it to engrave : 
There was his woiine; ne living wight 

was scene 
Save one old Nymph, hight Panope, to 

keepe it cleane. 



Thither he brought the sory Florimell, 
And entertained her the best he might. 
And Panope her entertaind eke well, 
As an immortall mote a mortall wight, 
To winue her liking unto his delight : 
With flattering wordes he sweetly wooed 

her. 
And offered faire guiftes t' allure her 

sight ; 
But she both offers and the offerer 
Despysde, and all the fawning of the 

flatterer. 

XXXIX. 

Dayly he tempted her with this or that. 
And never suffred her to be at rest ; 
But evermore she him refused flat, 
And all his fained kindnes did detest, 
So firmely she had sealed up her brest. 
Sometimes he boasted that a God he 

hight, 
But she a mortall creature loved best : 
Then he would make him selfe a mortall 

wight ; 
But then she said she lov'd none, but a 

Faery knight. 



Then like a Faerie knight him selfe he 

drest, 
For every shape on him he could endew ; 
Then like a king he was to her exprest, 
And offred kingdoms unto her in vew. 
To be his Leman and his Lady trew : 
But when all this he nothing saw prevaile, 
With harder meanes he cast her to 

subdew, 



And with sharpe threates her often did 

assayle ; - 
So thinking for to make her stubborne 

corage quayle. 



To dreadfull shapes he did him selfe 

transforme ; 
Now like a Gyaunt ; now like to a feend ; 
Then like a Centaure; then like to a 

storme 
Raging within the waves: thereby he 

weend 
Her will to win unto his wished eend ; 
But when with feare, nor favour, nor with 

all 
He els could doe, he saw him selfe es- 

teemd, 
Downe in a Dongeon deepe he let her fall, 
And threatned "there to make her his 

eternall thrall. 



Eternal] thraldome was to her more 

liefe 
Then losse of chastitie, or chaunge of 

love : 
Dj^e had she rather in tormenting griefe 
Then any should of falsenesse her reprove. 
Or loosenes, that she lightly did remove. 
Most vertuous virgin ! glory be thy meed, 
And crowne of heavenly prayse with 

Saintes above, 
Where most sweet hymmes of this thy 

famous deed 
Are still emongst them song, that far my 

rymes exceed. 



Fit song of Angels caroled to bee ! 
But yet whatso my feeble Muse can frame 
Shalbe t' advance thy goodly chastitee 
And to enroll thj^ memorable name 
In th' heart of everj'^ honourable Dame, 
That they thy vertuous deedes may imi- 
tate. 
And be partakers of thy eudlesse fame. 
Yt yrkes me leave thee in this wofuU 

state, 
To tell of Satyrane where I him left of 
late. 

XLIV. 

Who having ended with that Squyre of 
Dames 
A long discourse of his adventures vayne, 
The which himselfe then Ladies more de- 
fames, 
And finding not th' Hyena to be slayne. 
With that "same Squyre retourned back 
againe 



258 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book III. 



To his first way. And, as they forward 

Aveut, 
They spyde a kniglit fayre pricking on the 

playue, 
As if he were on some adventure heut, 
And in liis port appeared manly hardi- 

ment. 

XLV. 

Sir Satyrane him towardesdid addresse, 
To weet what wiglit he was, and what his 

quest, 
And, comming nigh, eftsoones he gan to 

gesse, 
Both by the burning hart which on his 

brest 
He bare, and by the colours in his crest, 
That Paridell it was. Tho to him yode, 
And him saluting as beseemed best, 
Gan first inquire of tydinges farre abrode, 
And afterwardes on wliat adventure now 

he rode. 

XLVI. 

Who thereto answering said : ' The ty- 
dinges bad, 
Which now in Faery court all men doe tell, 
Which turned hath great mirth to mourn- 
ing sad, 
Is the late ruine of proud Marinell, 
And suddein parture of faire Florimell 
To find him forth : and after her are gone 
All the brave knightes that doen in armes 

excell 
To savegard her ywandred all alone : 
Emongst the rest my lott (unworthy') is 
to be one.' 

XL VII. 

'Ah! gentle knight,' (said then Sir 

Satyrane) 
' Thy labour all is lost, I greatly dread, 
That hast a thanklesse service on thee ta'ne, 
And off rest sacrifice unto the dead : % 

For dead, I surely doubt, thou maist aread 
Henceforth for ever Florimell to bee ; 
That all the noble knights of Maydenhead, 
AVhich her ador'd, may sore repent with 

mee, 
And all faire Ladies may for ever sory bee . ' 

XLVIII. 

Which wordes when Paridell had heard, 

his hew 
Gan greatly chaunge and seemd dismaid 

to bee ; 
Then said : ' Fayre Sir^ how may I weene 

it trew, 
That ye doe tell in such uncerteintee ? 
Or speake ye of report, or did ye see 
Just cause of dread, that makes ye doubt so 

sore? 
For, perdie, elles how mote it ever bee. 



That ever hand should dare for to engore 
Her noble blood ? The hevens such cruel- 
tie abhore.' 

XLIX. 

* These eyes did see that they will ever 

rew 
T' have scene,' (quoth he) 'when as a 

monstrous beast 
The Palfrey whereon she did travell slew, 
And of his bowels made his bloody feast : 
Which speaking token sheweth at the least 
Her certeine losse, if not her sure decay : 
Besides, that more suspicion encreast, 
I found her golden girdle cast astray, 
Distaynd with durt and blood, as relique 

of the pray.' 

L. 

* Ay me ! ' (said Paridell) ' the signes be 

sadd; 
And, but God turne the same to good 

sooth-say, 
That Ladies safetie is sore to be dradd. 
Yet will I not forsake my forward way, 
Till triall doe more certeine truth bewray.' 
' Faire Sir,' (quoth he) ' well may it you 

succeed ! 
Ne long shall Satyrane behind you stay, 
Butto the rest, which in this Quest proceed, 
My labour adde, and be partaker of their 

speed.' 

LI. 

' Ye noble knights,' (said then the Squyre 

of Dames) 
' Well may yee speede in so praiseworthy 

payne ! 
But sith the Sunne now ginnes to slake 

his beames 
In deawy vapours of the westerne mayne, 
And lose the teme out of his weary wayne, 
Mote not mislike you also to abate 
Your zealous hast, till morrow next againe 
Both light of heven and strength of men 

relate : 
Which if ye please, to yonder castle turne 

your gate.' 

LII. 

That counsell pleased well : so all yfere 
Forth marched to a Castle them before ; 
Where soone arryving they restrained 

were 
Of ready entraunce, which ought evermore 
To errant knights be commune : wondrous 

sore 
Thereat displeasd they were, till that 

young Squyre 
Gan them informe the cause, why that 

same dore 
Was shut to all which lodging did desyre : 
The which to let you weet will further 

time requyre. 



CANTO IX.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



259 



CANTO IX. 

Malbecco wU no straunge knights host, 

For peevish gealosy. 
Paridell giusts with Britomait : 

Both show their auncestry. 



Redoubted knights, and honorable 

Dames, 
To whom I levell all my labours end, 
Right sore I feare, least with unworthie 

blames 
This odious argument my rymes should 

shend. 
Or ought your goodly patience offend, 
Whiles of a wantou Lady I doe write, 
Which with her loose incontinence doth 

blend 
The shyuing glory of your soveraine light ; 
And knighthood fowle defaced by a faith- 

lesse knight. 

n. 

But never let th' ensample of the bad 
Offend the good ; for good, by paragone 
Of evill, may more notably he rad, 
As white seemes fayrer macht with blacke 

attoue ; 
Ne all are shamed by the fault of one : 
For lo ! in heveu, whereas all goodnes is, 
Emongst the Angels, a whole legione 
Of Avioked Sprightes did fall from happy 

blis; 
What wonder then if one, of women all, 

did mis ? 



Then listen, Lordings, if ye list to weet 
The cause why Satyrane and Paridell 
INIote not be entertaynd, as seemed meet, 
Into that Castle, (as that Squyre does tell.) 
' Therein a cancred crabbed Carle does 

dwell, 
That has no skill of Court nor courtesie, 
Ne cares what men say of him, ill or well ; 
For all his dayes he drownes in privitie, 
Yet has full' large to live and spend at 

libertie. 

IV. 

' But all his minde is set on mucky pelfe, 
To hoord up heapes of evill gotten masse, 
For which he others wrongs, and wreckes 

himselfe : 
Yet is he lincked to a lovely lasse, 
Whose beauty doth her bounty far sur- 

passe ; 
The which to him both far unequall yeares, 



And also far unlike conditions has ; 

For she does joy to play emongst her 

peares. 
And to be free from hard restrajTit and 

gealous feares. 



' But he is old, and withered like hay. 
Unfit faire Ladies service to supply ; 
The privie guilt Avhereof makes him alway 
Suspect her truth, and keepecontiuuall spy 
I^pon her witb*his other blineked eye; 
Ne suffreth he resort of living wight 
Approch to her, ne keepe her company, 
But in close bowre her mewes from all 

mens sight, 
Depriv" d of kindly j oy and naturall delight. 



'Malbecco he, and Hellenore she hight; 
Unfitly yokt together in one teenie. 
That is the cause why ue-ver any knight 
Is suffred here to enter, but he seeme 
Such as no doubt of him he neede mis- 

deeme.' 
Thereat Sir Satyrane gan smyle, and say; 
' Extremely mad the man I surely deeme, 
That weenes with watch and hard re- 

strajmt to stay 
A womans will, which is disposd to go 

astray. 

VII. 

* In vaine he feares that which he cannot 

shouue ; 
For who wotes not, that womans subtiltyes 
Canguylen Argus, when she list misdonne ? 
It is not yron bandes, nor hundred eyes, 
Nor brasen walls, nor many wakeful] 

spyes. 
That can withliold her wilfull wandring 

feet ; 
But fast goodwill, with gentle courtesyes, 
And timely service to her pleasures meet, 
May her perhaps containe, that else would 

algates fleet.' 



' Then is he not more mad,' (sayd Pari- 
dell) 
That hath himselfe unto such service sold, 



26o 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book III. 



In dolefull thraldome all his dayes to 

dwell? 
For sure a foole I doe him firmely hold, 
That loves his fetters, though they were 

of gold. 
But why doe wee devise of others ill, 
Whyles thus we suffer this same dotard 

old 
To keepe us out in scorne of his owne will, 
And rather do not ransack all, and him 

selfe kill?' 

rx. 

' Nay, let us first ' (sayd Satyrane) ' en- 
treat 
The man by gentle meanes to let us in. 
And af terwardes affray with cruell threat. 
Ere that we to efforce it doe begin : 
Then, if all fayle, we will by force it win. 
And eke reward the wretch for his me- 

sprise, 
As may be worthy of his haynous sin.' 
That counsell pleasd : then Paridell did 

rise 
And to the Castle gate approcht in quiet 
wise. 

X. 

Whereat soft knocking entrance he de- 
syrd. 
The good man selfe, which then the Por- 
ter playd. 
Him answered, that all were now retyrd 
Unto their rest, and all the keyes convayd 
Unto their maister, who in bed was layd. 
That none him durst awake out of his 

dreme ; 
And therefore them of patience gently 

prayd. 
Then Paridell began to chaunge his theme. 
And threatned him with force and punish- 
ment extreme : 



But all in vaine, for nought mote him 

relent. 
And now so long before the wicket fast 
They way ted, that the night was forward 

spent, 
And the faire welkin fowly overcast 
Gan blowen up a bitter stormy blast. 
With showre and hayle so horrible and 

dred, 
That this faire many were compeld at last 
To fly for succour to a little shed, 
The which beside the gate for swyne was 

ordered. 



It fortuned, soone after they were 
gone, 
Another knight, whom tempest thither 
brought. 



Came to that Castle, and with earnest 
mone, 

Like as the rest, late entrance deare be- 
sought : 

But, like so as the rest, he prayd for 
nought ; 

For flatly he of entrance was refusd. 

Sorely thereat he was displeased, and 
thought 

How to avenge himselfe so sore abusd, 

And evermore the Carle of courtesie ac- 
cusd. 

xin. 

But, to avoyde th' intollerable stowre. 
He was compeld to seeke some refuge 

neare, 
And to that shed, to shrowd him from the 

showre, 
He came, which full of guests he found 

whyleare, 
So as he was not let to enter there : 
Whereat he gan to wex exceeding wroth. 
And swore that he would lodge with them 

yfere. 
Or them dislodge, all were they liefe or 

loth; 
And so defyde them each, and so defyde 

them both. 

XIV. 

Both were full loth to leave that need- 
full tent, 
And both full loth in darkenesse to debate ; 
Yet both full liefe him lodging to have lent. 
And both full liefe his boasting to abate : 
But chiefely Paridell his hart did grate 
To heare him threaten so despightf ully. 
As if he did a dogge in kenell rate 
That durst not barke; and rather had 

he dy 
Then, when he was defyde, in coward 
corner ly. 

XV. 

Tho hastily remounting to his steed 
He forth issew'd : like as a boystrous 

winde, 
Which in th' earthes hollow caves hath 

long ben hid 
And shut up fast within her prisons blind, 
Makes the huge element, against her 

kinde, 
To move and tremble as it were aghast, 
Untill that it an issew forth may finde : 
Then forth it breakes, and with his furi- 
ous blast 
Confounds both land and seas, and skyes 
doth overcast. 



Their steel-hed speares they strongly 
coucht, and met 



CANTO IX.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



261 



Together with impetuous rage and forse, 
That with the terrour of their fiercie alfret 
They rudely drove to ground both num 

and horse, 
That each awliile lay like a sencelesse corse. 
But Paridell sore brused with the blow 
Could not arise the couuterchaunge to 

scorse, 
Till that young Squyre him reared from 

below ; 
Then drew he his bright sword, and gan 

about him throw. 



But Satyrane forth stepping did them 
stay, 

And with faire treaty pacifide their yre. 

Then, when they were accorded from the 
fray, 

Against that Castles Lord they gan con- 
spire, 

To heape on him dew vengeaunce for his 
hire. 

They beene agreed ; and to the gates they 
goe 

To burn the same with unquenchable fire, 

And that uncurteous Carle, their com- 
mune foe, 

To doe fowle death to die, or wrap in 
grievous woe. 

XVIII. 

Malbecco, seeing them resolvd indeed 
To flame the gates, and hearing them to 

call 
For fire in earnest, ran with fearfull speed. 
And to them calling from the castle wall. 
Besought them humbly him to beare 

withall. 
As ignorant of servants bad abuse 
And slacke attendaunce unto straungers 

call. 
The knights were willing all things to ex- 
cuse, 
Though nought belev'd, and entraunce 
late did not refuse. 

XIX. 

They beene ybrought into a comely 

bowre. 
And servd of all things that mote needf ull 

bee; 
Yet secretly their hoste did on them lowre, 
And welcomde more for feare then char- 

itee; 
But they dissembled what they did not 

see, 
And welcomed themselves. Each gan 

undiglit 
Their garments wett, and weary armour 

free. 



To dry them selves by Vulcanes flaming 

light. 
And eke their lately bruzed parts to 

bring in plight. 



And eke that straunger knight emongst 
the rest 
Was for like need cuforst to disaray : 
Tho, Miienas vailed was her lofty crest. 
Her golden locks, that w^ere in trammells 

gay 

Upbounden, did them selves adowne dis- 
play 

And raught unto her heeles ; like suiniy 
beames, 

That in a cloud their light did long time 
stay. 

Their vapour vaded, shewe their golden 
gleames, 

And through the persant aire shoote forth 
their azure streaines. 



Shee also dofte her heavy haberjeon. 
Which the faire feature of her limbs did 

hyde ; 
And her well-plighted frock, which she 

did won 
To tucke about her short when she did 

ryde, 
Shee low let fall, that flowd from her 

lanck syde 
Downe to her foot with carelesse modestee. 
Then of them all she plainly was espyde 
To be a womau-wiglit, unwist to bee. 
The fairest woman-wight that ever eie 

did see. 

XXII. 

Like as Bellona (being late returud 
From slaughter of the Giaunts conquered ; 
Where proud Encelade, whose wide nose- 

thrils burnd 
With breathed flames, like to a furnace 

redd. 
Transfixed with her speare downe tombled 

dedd 
From top of Hemus by him heaped hye ;) 
Hath loosd her helmet from her lofty 

hedd, 
And her Gorgonian shield gins to untye 
From her lefte arme, to rest in glorious 

victorye. 

XXIII. 

Which whenas they beheld, they smit- 
ten were 
With great amazement of so wondrous 

sight ; 
And each on other, and they all on her, 
Stood gazing, as if suddein great affright 



262 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book III. 



Had them surprizd. At last, avizing right 
Her gt)odly personage aud gh)rious hew, 
Which they so much mistuoke, they tooke 

delight 
In their tirst error, and yett still anew 
With wonder of her beauty fed their 

hongry vew. 



Yet note their hougry vew be satisfide, 
But seeing still the more desir'd to see, 
And ever tirmely fixed did abide 
In contemplation of divinitee : 
But most they mervaild at her chevalree 
And noble prowesse, which they had 

approv'd, 
That much they fapid to know who she 

mote bee ; 
Yet none of all them her thereof amov'd 
Yet every one her likte, and every one 

her lov'd. 

XXV. 

And Paridell, though partly discontent 
With his late fall and fowle indignity. 
Yet was sooue wonne his malice to relent, 
Through gratious regard of her faire eye, 
Aud knightly worth which he too late did 

try, 
Yet tried did adore. Supper was dight; 
Then they Malbecco prayd of courtesy, 
That of his lady they might have the sight 
And company at meat, to doe them more 

delight. 

XXVI. 

But he, to shifte their curious request, 
Gan causeu why she could not come in 

place ; 
Her erased helth, her late recourse to rest. 
And humid evening ill for sicke folkes 

cace; 
But none of those excuses could take place, 
Ne would they eate till she in presence 

came. 
Shee came in presence with right comely 

grace, 
And fairely them saluted, as became, 
And shewd her self e in all a gentle courte- 
ous Dame. 

xxvn. 

They sate to meat; and Satyrane his 

chaunce 
Was her before, and Paridell beside ; 
But he him selfe sate looking still 

askaunce 
Gainst Britomart, and ever closely eide 
Sir Satyrane, that glaunces might not 

glide : 
But bis blinde eie, that sided Paridell, 
All his demeasnure from his sight did 

hide : ' 



On her faire face so did he feede his till. 
And sent close messages of love to her at 
will. 

XXVIII. 

And ever and anone, when none was 
ware. 
With speaking lookes, that close em- 
bassage bore, 
He rov'd at her, and told his secret care 
For all that art he learned had of yore ; 
Ne was she ignoraunt of that lend lore. 
But in his eye his meaning wisely redd. 
And with the like him aunswerd ever- 
more. 
Shee sent at him one fyrie dart, whose 

hedd 
Empoisoned was with privy lust and 
gealous dredd. 

XXIX. 

He from that deadly throw made no 

defence, 
But to the wound his weake heart opened 

wyde: 
The wicked engine through false influence 
Past through his eies, aud secretly did 

glyde 
Into his heart, which it did sorely gryde. 
But nothing new to him was that same 

paine, 
Ne paine at all ; for he so ofte had tryde 
The powre thereof, and lov'd so oft m 

vaine, 
That thing of course he counted love to 

enter taine. 

XXX. 

Thenceforth to her he sought to inti- 
mate 
His inward grief e, by meanes to him well 

knowne: 
Now Bacchus fruit out of the silver plate 
He on the table dasht, as overthrowne, 
Or of the fruitfull liquor overflowne ; 
And by the dauncing bubbles did divine, 
Or therein write to lett his love be 

shown e ; 
Which well she redd out of the learned 

line: 
A sacrament prophane in mistery of 
wine. 

XXXI. 

And, when so of his hand the pledge 

she raught, 
The guilty cup she fained to mistake, 
And in her lap did shed her idle draught. 
Shewing desire her inward flame to slake. 
But such close signes they secret way did 

make 
Unto their wils, and one eies watch 

escape : 



CANTO IX.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



263 



Two eies him needetli, for to watch and 

wake, 
Who lovers will deceive. Thus was the 

ape, 
By their faire handling, put into Mal- 

beccoes cape. 

xxxii. 

Now, when of meats and drinks they 

had their till, 
Purpose was moved by that gentle Dame 
Unto those knights adventurous, to tell 
Of deeds of armes which unto them 

became, 
And every one his kindred and his name. 
Then Paridell, in whom a kindly pride 
Of gratious speach and skill his words to 

frame 
Abounded, being glad of so fitte tide 
Him to commend to lier, thus simke, of 

al well eide. 

xxxin. 
' Troy, that art now nought but an idle 

name, 
And in thme ashes buried low dost lie. 
Though whilome far much greater then 

thy fame. 
Before that angry Gods and cruell skie 
Upon thee heapt a direfull destinie ; 
AV'hat boots it boast thy glorious descent. 
And fetch from heven tlij^ great genealogie, 
Sith all thy worthie prayses being blent 
Their of spring hath embaste, and later 

glory shent ? 

XXXIV. 

' Most famous AVorthy of the world, by 

whome 
That warre was kindled which did Troy 

inflame, 
And stately towres of Ilion whilome 
Brought unto balefull ruiue, was byname 
Sir Paris far renowmd through noble 

fame ; 
A\lio, through great prowesse and bold 

hardinesse. 
From Laced semon fetcht the fay rest 

Dame 
That ever Greece did boast, or knight 

possesse, 
"Whom Venus to him gave for meed of 

worthinesse ; 

XXXV. 

' Fayre Helene, flowre of beautie excel- 
lent, 
And girlond of the mighty Conquerours, 
That madest many Ladies deare lament 
The heavie losse of their brave Para- 



Which they far off beheld from Trojan 

toures. 
And saw the fieldes of faire Scamander 

strowne 
With carcases of noble warrioures 
AMiose fruitlesse lives were under furrow 

sowne, 
And Xanthus sandy bankes with blood 

all overtlowne. 



' From him my linage I derive aright, 
Who long before the ten yeares siege of 

Troy, 
Whiles yet on Ida he a shepeheard hight, 
On faire Oenone got a lovely boy, 
Whom, for remembrance of her passed 

joy. 
She, of his Father, Parius did name ; 
Who, after Greekes did Priam s realme 

destroy, 
Gathred the Trojan reliques sav'd from 

flame. 
And with them say ling thence to th' isle 

of Paros carne. 

xxxvn. 

'That was by him cald Paros, which 

before 
Hight Nausa : there he many yeares did 

raine. 
And built Nausicle by the Pontick shore ; 
The which he dying lefte next in remaiue 
To Paridas his sonne, 
From whom I Paridell by kin descend : 
But, for faire ladies love and glories 

gaine. 
My native soile have lefte, my dayes to 

spend 
In seewing deeds of armes, my lives and 

labors end.' 

XXXVIII. 

Whenas the noble Britomart heard tell 
Of Trojan warres and Priam s citie sackt. 
The ruefull story of Sir Paridell, 
She was empassioned at that piteous act, 
With zelous envy of Greekes cruell fact 
Against that nation, from whose race of 

old 
She heard that she was lineally extract ; 
For noble Britons sprong from Trojans 

bold. 
And Troynovant was built of old Troyes 

ashes cold. 

XXXIX. 

Then, sighing soft awhile, at last she 
thus : 
' O lamentable fall of famous towne ! 



264 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book III. 



Which raignd so mauy yeares victorious, 
And of all Asie bore the soveraine crowne, 
lu oue sad uight cousumd and throwen 

downs : 
What stony hart, that heares thy haplesse 

fate, 
Is not empierst with deepe compassiowne, 
And makes ensample of mans wretched 

state. 
That floures so fresh at morue, and fades 

at evening late ? 



* Behold, Sir, how your pitifull com- 

plaint 

Hath f o wnd another partner of your pay ne ; 

For nothing may impresse so deare con- 
straint 

As countries cause, and commune foes 
disdayne. 

But if it should not grieve you backe 
agayne 

To turne your course, I would to heare 
desyre 

What to Aeneas fell ; sith that men sayne 

He was not in the cities wofull fyre 

Consum'd, but did him selfe to safety 
retyre.' 

XLI. 

* Anchyses sonne,begottof Venus fayre,' 
Said he, 'out of the flames for safegard 

fled, 
And with a remnant did to sea repayre ; 
Where he through fatall errour long was 

led 
Full many yeares, and weetlesse wandered 
From shore to shore emongst the Lybick 

sandes, 
Ere rest he fownd. Much there he 

suffered. 
And many perilles past in forreine landes. 
To save his people sad from victours 

vengefuU handes. 



' At last in Latium he did arryve, 
Where he with cruell warre was enter- 

taind 
Of th' inland folke, which sought him 

backe to drive. 
Till he with old Latinus was constraind 
To contract wedlock, (so the fates ordaind) 
Wedlocks contract in blood, and eke in 

blood 
Accomplished, that many deare com- 

plaind : 
The rivall slaine, the victour, through the 

flood 
Escaped hardly, hardly praisd his wed- 
lock good. 



* Yet, after all, he victour did survive, 
And with Latinus did the kingdom part ; 
But after, when both nations gau to 

strive 
Into their names the title to convart. 
His Sonne liilus did from thence depart 
With all the warlike youth of Trojans 

bloud. 
And in long Alba plast his throne apart ; 
Where faire it florished and long time 

stoud. 
Till Romulus, renewing it, to Rome 

remoud.' 



* There ; there,' (said Britomart) ' afresh 

appeard 
The glory of the later world to spring. 
And Troy againe out of her dust was reard 
To sitt in second seat of soveraine king 
Of all the world, under her governing. 
But a third kingdom yet is to arise 
Out of the Trojans scattered of spring, 
That in all glory and great enterprise, 
Both first and second Troy shall dare to 

equalise. 

XLV. 

* It Troynovant is hight, that with the 

waves 
Of wealthy Thamis washed is along. 
Upon whose stubborne neck, (whereat he 

raves 
With roring rage, and sore him selfe 

does throng) 
That all men f eare to tempt his billowes 

strong. 
She f astned hath her foot ; which stands 

so hy, 
That it a wonder of the world is song 
In forreine landes ; and all which passen by, 
Beholding it from farre, doe thinke it 

threates the skye, 

XLVI. 

'The Trojan Brute did first that citie 
fownd. 
And Hygate made the meare thereof by 

West, 
And Overt gate by North: that is the 

bownd 
Toward the land ; two rivers bownd the 

rest. 
So huge a scope at first him seemed best, 
To be the compasse of his kingdomes seat : 
So huge a mind could not in lesser rest, 
Ne in small meares containe his glory 

great, 
That Albion had conquered first by war- 
like feat.' 



CANTO IX.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



265 



* Ah! fairest Lady knight,' (said Pari- 

dell) 
' Pardon, I pray, my heedlesse oversight, 
Who had forgot that whylorae I heard tell 
From aged Muemon; for my wits beene 

light. 
Indeed he said, (if I remember right) 
That of the antique Trojan stocke there 

grew 
Another plant, that raught to wondrous 

hight. 
And far abroad his mightie braunches 

threw 
Into the utmost Angle of the world he 

knew. 

XLVIII. 

* For that same Brute, whom much he 

did advaunce 
In all his speach, was Sylvius his sonne. 
Whom having slain through luckles 

arrowes glaunce. 
He fled for feare of that he had mis- 

donue, 
Or els for shame, so fowle reproch to 

shonne. 
And with him ledd to sea an youthly 

trayne ; 
Where wearie wandring they long time 

did wonne. 
And many fortunes prov'd in th' Ocean 

mayne. 
And great adventures found, that now 

were long to sayne. 

XLIX. 

'At last by fatall course they driven 

were 
Into an Island spatious and brode. 
The furthest North that did to them 

appeare : 
Which, after rest, they, seeking farre 

abrode, 
Found it the fittest soyle for their abode, 
Fruitfull of all thinges fitt for living foode, 
But wholy waste and void of peoples trode. 
Save an huge nation of the Geaunts broode 
That fed on living flesh, and dronck mens 

vitall blood. 



'Whom he, through wearie wars and 
labours long, 
Subdewd with losse of many Britons bold : 



In which the great Goemagot of strong 
Corineus, and Coulin of Debon old. 
Were overthrowne and laide on th' earth 

full cold, 
Which quaked under their so hideous 

masse ; 
A famous history to bee enrold 
In everlasting moniments of brasse. 
That all the antique Worthies merits far 

did passe. 

LI. 

* His worke great Troynovant, his worke 

is eke 
Faire Lincolne, both renowmed far away ; 
That who from East to West will endlong 

seeke. 
Cannot two fairer Cities find this day. 
Except Cleopolis : so heard I say 
Old Mnemon. Therefore, Sir, I greet you 

well 
Your countrey kin ; and you entyrely pray 
Of pardon for the strife,' which late befell 
Betwixt us both unknowne.' So ended 

Paridell. 



But all the while that he these speeches 

spent. 
Upon his lips hong faire Dame Hellenore 
With vigilant regard and dew attent. 
Fashioning worldes of fancies evermore 
In her fraile witt, that now her quite for- 

lore : 
The whiles unwares away her wondring 

eye 
And greedy eares her weake hart from 

her bore ; 
Which he perceiving, ever privily, 
In speaking many false belgardes at her 

let fly. 

LIII. 

So long these knights discoursed diversly 
Of straunge affaires, and noble hardiment. 
Which they had past with mickle jeopardy. 
That now the humid night was farforth 

spent, 
And hevenly lampes were halfendeale 

ybrent : 
Which th' old man seeing wel, who too 

long thought 
Every discourse, and every argument. 
Which by the houres he measured, be- 
sought 
Them go to rest. So all unto their bowres 
were brought. 



266 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book III. 



CANTO X. 

Paridell rapeth Hellenore : 

Malbecco her jxiursewes ; 
Fynds emongst Sat\-res, whence with, him 

To turne she doth refuse. 



. The morow next, so soone as Phoebus 

Lamp 
Bewraj ed had the world with early light, 
And fresh Aurora had the shady damp 
Out of the goodly heven amoved quight. 
Fairs Britomart and that same Faery 

knight 
Uprose, forth on their journey for to 

wend : 
Bat Paridell complaynd, that his late 

fight 
With Britomart so sore did him offend, 
That ryde he could not, till his hurts he 

did amend. 

II. 

So foorth they far'd; but he behind 

them stayd, 
T.Iaulgre his host, who grudged grievously 
To house a guest that would be needes 

obayd. 
And of his owne him lefte not liberty : 
Might wanting measure movetlisurquedry. 
Two things he feared, but the third was 

death ; 
That fiers youngmans unruly maystery ; 
His money, which he lov'd as living 

breath ; 
And his faire wife, whom honest long he 

kept uneath. 



But patience perforce, he must abie 
What fortune and his fate on him will 

lay; 
Fond is the f eare that fiudes no remedie : 
Yet warily he watcheth every way. 
By which he feareth evill happen may ; 
So th' evill thiukes by watching to prevent : 
Ne doth he suffer her, nor night nor day. 
Out of his sight her selfe once to absent : 
So doth he punish her, and eke him selfe 

torment. 

IV. 

But Paridell kept better watch then hee, 
A fit occasion for his tvirne to finde. 
False love! why do men say thou canst 

not see, 
And in their foolish fancy feigne thee 

blinde. 



That with thy charmes the sharpest sight 

doest binde. 
And to thy will abuse? Thou walkest 

free. 
And seest every secret of the minde ; 
Thou seest all, yet none at all sees thee: 
All that is by the working of thy Dei tee. 



So perfect in that art was Paridell, 
That he Malbeccoes halfen eye did wyle ; 
His halfen eye he wiled wondrous well. 
And Hellenors both eyes did eke beguyie. 
Both eyes and hart attonce, during the 

whyle 
That he there sojourned his woundes to 

heale ; 
That Cupid selfe, it seeing, close did smyle 
To weet how he her love away did steale, 
And bad that none their joyous treason 

should reveale. 



The learned lover lost no time nor tyde 
That least avantage mote to him aft'ord, 
Yet bore so faire a sayle, that none espyde 
His secret drift, till he her layd abord. 
When so in open place and commune bord 
He fortuu'd her to meet, with commune 

speach 
He courted her; yet bayted every word, 
That his ungentle" hoste n'ote him appeach 
Of vile ungentlenesse, or hospitagesbreach. 



But when apart (if ever her apart) 
He found, then his false engins fast he 

plyde. 
And all the sleights unbosomd in his hart : 
He sigh'd, he sobd, he swownd, he perdy 

dyde. 
And cast himselfe on ground her fast 

besyde : 
Tho, when againe he him bethought to 

live, 
He wept, and wayld, and false laments 

belyde. 
Saying, but if she Mercie would hira give. 
That "he mote algates dye, yet did his 

death forgive. 



CANTO X.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



267 



VIII. 

And otherwhyles with amorous delights 
Aud pleasing toyes he would her enter- 

taiiie ; 
Now siugiug sweetly to surprize her 

sprights, 
Now making layes of love aud lovers 

paine, 
Brausles, Ballads, virelayes, and verses 

vaine ; 
Oft purposes, oft riddles, he devysd, 
And thousands like which flowed in his 

hraiue, 
With which he fed her fancj^ and entysd 
To take to his new love, and leave her 

old despysd. 

IX. 

And every where he might, and everie 

while, 
He did her service dewtifuU, and sewd 
At hand with humble pride and pleasing 

guile ; 
So closely yet, that none but she it vewd, 
Who well perceived all, and all indewd. 
Thus finely did he his false nets dispred, 
With which he many weake harts had 

subdewd 
Of yore, and many had ylike misled : 
What wonder then, if she were likewise 

carried ? 



No fort so fensible, no wals so strong. 
But that continuall battery will rive. 
Or daily siege, through dispurvayaunce 

long 
And lacke of reskewes, will to parley 

drive ; 
And Peece, that unto parley eare will 

give. 
Will shortly yield it selfe, and will be 

made 
The vassall of the victors will bylive : 
That stratageme had oftentimes assayd 
This crafty Paramoure, and now it piaine 

display'd : 

XI. 

For through his traines he her mtrapped 

hath, 
That she her love and hart hath wholy sold 
To him, without regard of gaine or scath. 
Or care of credite, or of husband old. 
Whom she hath vow'd to dub a fayre 

Cucquold. 
Nought wants but time and place, which 

shortly shee 
Devized hath, and to her lover told. 
It pleased well : So well they both agree : 
So readie rype to ill ill weniens counsels 

bee! 



Darke was the Evening, fit for lovers 

stealth. 
When chaunst Malbecco busie be else- 
where, 
She to his closet went, where all his 

wealth 
Lay hid ; thereof she countlesse summes 

did reare. 
The which she meant away with her to 

beare ; 
The rest she fyr'd, for sport, or for de- 

spight : 
As Hellene, when she saw aloft appeare 
The Trojane flames and reach to hevens 

hight, 
Did clap her hands, and joyed at that 

dolefull sight. 



This second Helene, fayre Dame Hel- 

lenore. 
The whiles her husband ran with sory 

haste 
To quench the flames which she had 

tyn'd before, 
Laught at his foolish labour spent in 

waste, 
And ran into her lovers amies right fast ; 
AVhere streight embraced she to him did 

cry 
And call alowd for helpe, ere helpe were 

past ; 
For lo ! that Guest did beare her forcibly, 
And meant to ravish her, that rather had 

to dy. 

XIV. 

The wretched man hearing her call for 

ayd, 
And ready seeing him with her to fly, 
In his disquiet mind was much dismayd : 
But when againe he backeward cast his 

eye, 
And saw the wicked fire so furiously 
Consume his hart, and scorch his Idoles 

face, 
He was therewith distressed diversely, 
Ne wist he how to turne, nor to what 

place : 
Was never wretched man in such a wof uU 

cace. 



Ay when to him she cryde, to her he 
turnd. 
And left the fire ; love money overcame : 
But, when he marked how his money 

burnd, 
He left his wife; money did love dis- 
clame : 



268 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book III. 



Both was he loth to loose his loved Dame, 
And loth to leave his liefest pelfe be- 

hinde; 
Yet, sith he n'ote save both, he sav'd that 

same 
Which was the dearest to his dounghill 

minde, 
The God of his desire, the joy of misers 

blinde. 



Thus whilest all things in troublous up- 

rore were, 
And all men busle to suppresse the flame, 
The loving couple neede no reskew feare. 
But leasure had and liberty to frame 
Their purpost flight, free from all mens 

reclame ; 
And Night, the patronesse of love-stealth 

fay re, 
Gave them safe conduct, till to end they 

came. 
So beene they gone yfere, a wanton pay re 
Of lovers loosely knit, where list them to 

repay re. 

XVII. 

Soone as the cruell flames yslaked 

were, 
Malbecco, seeing how his losse did lye, 
Out of the flames which he had quencht 

whylere, 
Into huge waves of griefe and gealosye 
Full deepe emplonged was, and drowned 

nye 
Twixt inward doole and felonous de- 

spight : 
He rav'd, he wept, he stampt, he lowd did 

cry. 
And all the passions that in man may 

light 
Did him attonce oppresse, and vex his 

caytive spright. 

XVIII, 

Long thus he chawd the cud of inward 
griefe, 

And did consume his gall with anguish 
sore : 

Still when he mused on his late mischiefe, 

Then still the smart thereof increased 
more, 

And seemd more grievous then it was 
before. 

At last when sorrow he saw booted 
nought, 

Ne griefe might not his love to him re- 
store. 

He gan devise how her he reskew mought : 

Ten thousand wayes he cast in his con- 
fused thought. 



At last resolving, like a Pilgrim pore, 
To search her forth where so she might 

be fond, 
And bearing with him treasure in close 

store, 
The rest he leaves in ground : So takes in 

hond 
To seeke her endlong both by sea and 

loud. 
Long he her sought, he sought her far 

and nere. 
And every where that he mote under- 

stond 
Of knights and ladies any meetings 

were ; 
And of each one he mett he tidings did 

inquere. 

XX. 

But all in vaine: his woman was too 

wise 
Ever to come into his clouch againe. 
And bee too simple ever to surprise 
The jolly Paridell, for all his paine. 
One day, as bee forpassed by the plaine 
With weary pace, he far away espide 
A couple, seeming well to be his twaine, 
Which hoved close under a forest side, • 
As if they lay in wait, or els them selves 

did hide. 

XXI. 

Well weened bee that those the same 

mote bee ; 
And as he better did their shape avize, 
Him seemed more their maner did 

agree ; 
For th' one was armed all in warlike 

wize, 
Whom to be Paridell he did devize ; 
An th' other, al yclad in garments light 
Discolourd like to womanish disguise, 
He did resemble to his lady bright ; 
And ever his faint hart much earned at 

the sight : 



And ever faine he towards them would 
goe. 
But yet durst not for dread approchen 

nie, 
But stood aloof e, unweetiug what to doe ; 
Till that prickt forth with loves ex- 
tremity 
That is the father of fowle gealosy, 
He closely nearer crept the truth to weet : 
But, as he nigher drew, he easily 
Might scerne that it was not his sweetest 

sweet, 
Ne yet her Belamour, the partner of his 
sheet : 



CANTO X.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



269 



I XXIII. 

I But it was scornefull Braggadochio, 

That with his servant Trompart hoverd 

there, 
Sith late he fled from his too earnest foe : 
Whom such whenas Malbecco spyed 

clere, 
He turned backe, and would have fled 

arere, 
Till Trompart, ronning hastely, him did 

stay, 
And bad before his soveraine Lord ap- 

pere. 
That was him loth, yet durst he not 

gainesay, 
And comming him before low louted on 

the lay. 

XXIV. 

The Boaster at him sternely bent his 

browe, 
As if he could have kild him with his 

looke. 
That to the ground him meekely made to 

bowe, 
And awfull terror deepe into him strooke, 
That every member of his body quooke. 
Said he, 'Thou man of nought, what 

doest thou here 
Unfitly furnisht with thy bag and booke, 
Where I expected one with shield and 

spere 
To prove some deeds of armes upon an 

equall pere ? ' 



The wretched man at his imperious 

speach 
Was all abasht, and low prostrating said : 
'Good Sir, let not my rudenes be no 

breach 
Unto your patience, ne be ill ypaid ; 
For I unwares this way by fortune straid, 
A silly Pilgrim driven to distresse, 
That seeke a Lady' — There he suddein 

staid, 
And did the rest with grievous sighes 

suppresse, 
While teares stood in his eies, few drops 

of bitternesse. 



'What Lady, man ?' (said Trompart) 

* take good hart, 
And tell thy grief e, if any hidden lye : 
Was never better time to shew thy smart 
Then now that noble succor is thee by. 
That is the whole worlds commune 

remedy.' 
That chearful word his weak heart much 

did cheare, 



And with vaine hope his spirits faint 

supply, 
That bold he sayd ; ' O most redoubted 

Pere! 
Vouchsafe with mild regard a wretches 

cace toheare.' 



Then sighing sore, * It is not long,' 

(saide bee) 
' Sith I enjoyd the gentlest Dame alive ; 
Of whom a knight, no knight at all 

perdee. 
But shame of all that doe for honor 

strive, 
By treacherous deceipt did me deprive : 
Through open outrage he her bore away, 
And with fowle force unto his will did 

drive ; 
Which al good knights, that armes doe 

bear this day, 
Are bownd for to revenge, and punish if 

they may. 



'And you, most noble Lord, that can 

and dare 
Redresse the wrong of miserable wight. 
Cannot employ your most victorious 

speare 
In better quarell then defence of right. 
And for a Lady gainst a faithlesse 

knight : 
So shall your glory bee advaunced much, 
And all faire Ladies magnify your might, 
And eke my selfe, albee I simple such. 
Your worthy paine shall wel reward with 

guerdon rich.' 



With that out of his bouget forth he 
drew 
Great store of treasure, therewith him to 

tempt ; 
But he on it lookt scornefully askew, 
As much disdeigning to be so misdempt. 
Or a war-monger to be basely nempt ; 
And sayd ; ' Thy offers base I greatly 

loth, 
And eke thy words uncourteous and un- 
kempt: 
I tread in dust thee and thy money both, 
That, were it not for shame ' — So turned 
from him wroth. 



But Trompart, that his maistres humor 
knew 
In lofty looks to hide an humble minde, 
Was inly tickled with that golden vew. 



270 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book III. 



And iu his eare him rownded close be- 

hinde : 
Yet stoupt he not, but lay still in the 

wiude, 
Waiting advauutage on the pray to sease, 
Till Trompart, lowly to the grownd in- 

clinde, 
Besought him his great corage to appease, 
And pardon simple man that rash did him 

displease. 

XXXI. 

Big looking like a doughty Doucepere, 

At last he thus ; ' Thou clod of vilest 
clay, 

I pardon yield, and with thy rudenes 
beare ; 

But weete henceforth, that all that golden 
pray. 

And all that els the vaine world vaunten 
may, 

I loath as doung, ne deeme my dew re- 
ward : 

Fame is my meed, and glory vertues pay : 

But minds of mortall men are muchell 
mard 

And mov'd amisse with massy mucks un- 
meet regard. 



'And more: I graunt to thy great 

misery 
Gratious respect ; thy wife shall backe be 

sent: 
And that vile knight, who ever that he 

bee, 
Which hath thy lady reft and knighthood 

shent. 
By Sangl amort my sword, whose deadly 

dent 
The blood hath of so many thousands 

shedd, 
I sweare, ere long shall dearely it repent ; 
Ne he twixt heven and earth shall hide 

his hedd, 
But soone he shal be fownd, and shortly 

doen be dedd.' 

XXXIII. 

The foolish man thereat woxe wondrous 

blith. 
As if the word so spoken were halfe donne, 
And humbly thanked hima thousand sith 
That had from death to life him newly 

wonne, 
Tho forth the Boaster marching brave 

begonne 
His stolen steed to thunder furiously, 
As if he heaven and hell would over-ronne, 
And all the world confound with cruelty ; 
That much Malbecco joyed in his jollity. 



Thus long they three together travelled. 

Through many a wood and many an un- 
couth way. 

To seeke his wife that was far wandered : 

But those two sought nought but the 
present pray, 

To weete, the treasure which he did be- 
wray, 

On which their eies and harts were wholly 
sett, 

With purpose how they might it best be- 
tray ; 

For, sith the howre that first he did 
them lett 

The same behold, therwith their keene 
desires were whett. 



It fortuned, as they together far'd, 
They spide where Paridell came pricking 

fast 
Upon the plaine ; the which him selfe 

prepar'd 
To guist with that brave straunger knight 

a cast. 
As on adventure by the way he past. 
Alone he rode without his Paragone ; 
For, having filcht her bells, her up he cast 
To the wide world, and lett her fly alone : 
He nould be clogd. So had he served 

many one. 

XXXVI. 

The gentle Lady, loose at randon lefte. 
The greene-wood long did walke, and 

wander wide 
At wilde adventure, like a forlome wefte ; 
Till on a day the Satyres her espide 
Straying alone withouten groome or 

guide : 
Her up they tooke, and with them home 

her ledd, 
With them as housewife ever to abide. 
To milk their gotes and make them cheese 

and bredd ; 
And every one as commune good her 

handeled : 

XXXVII. 

That shortly she Malbecco has forgott, 
And eke Sir Paridell, all were he deare ; 
Who from her went to seeke another lott. 
And now by fortune was arrived here. 
Where those two guilers with Malbecco 

were. 
Soone as the old man saw Sir Paridell, 
He fainted, and was almost dead with 

feare, 
Ne word he had to speake his griefe to 

tell, 



CANTO X.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



271 



But to him louted low, aud greeted goodly 
well; 

XXXVIII. 

And, after, asked him for Hellenore : 
' I take 110 keepe of her,' (sayd Paridell) 
* She woimeth iu the forrest there before.' 
So forth he rode as his adventure fell ; 
The whiles the Boaster from his lof tie sell 
Faynd to alight, something amisse to 

mend; 
But the fresh Swayne would not his lea- 
sure dAvell, 
But went his way : whom when he passed 

kend, 
He up remounted light, and after faind to 
wend. 

XXXIX. 

'Perdy, nay,' (said Malbecco) 'shall ye 

not; 
But let him passe as lightly as he came : 
For litle good of him is to be got. 
And mickle perill to bee put to shame. 
But let us goe to seeke my dearest Dame, 
"Wliom he hath left in yonder forest wyld ; 
For of her safety in great doubt I ame. 
Least salvage beastes her person have de- 

spoyld : 
Then all the world is lost, and we in vaine 

have toyld.' 

XL. 

They all agree, and forward them ad- 

dresse : 
*Ah! but,' (said crafty Trompart) ' weete 

ye well , 
That yonder in that wastefull wildemesse 
Huge monsters haunt, and many dangers 

dwell : 
Dragons, aud Minotaures, and feendes of 

hell, 
And many wilde woodmen which robbe 

and rend 
All travellers : therefore advise ye well 
Before ye euterprise that way to wend : 
One may his journey bring too sooue to 

evill end.' 

XLI. 

Malbecco stopt in great astonishmeut, 
Aud with pale eyes fast fixed on the rest, 
Their counsell crav'd in daunger immi- 
nent. 
Said Trompart; 'You, that are the most 

opprest 
With burdein of great treasure, I thinke 

best 
Here for to stay in safetie behynd : 
My Lord aud I will search the wide forest. ' 
That counsell pleased not Malbeccoes 

mynd, 
For he was much afraid him selfe alone 
to fynd. 



' Then is it best,' (said he) ' that ye doe 

leave 
Your treasure here in some security. 
Either fast closed in some hollow greave, 
Or buried in the ground from jeopardy, 
Till we returue againe in safety : 
As for us two, least doubt of us ye have. 
Hence farre away we will blyndi'olded ly, 
Ne privy bee uuto your treasures grave.' 
It pleased; so he did. Then they march 

forward brave. 



Now, when amid the thickest woodes 

they were, 
They heard a noyse of many bagpipes 

shrill. 
And shrieking Hububs them approching 

nere. 
Which all the forest did with horrour fill. 
That dreadfull sound the bosters hart did 

thrill 
With such amazement, that in hast he 

fledd, 
Ne CA^er looked back for good or ill ; 
And after him eke fearefull Trompart 

spedd : 
The old man could not fly, but fell to 

ground half dedd. 

XLIV. 

Yet afterwardes, close creeping as he 

might, 
He in a bush did hyde his fearefull hedd. 
The jolly Satyres, full of fresh delight, 
Came dauncing forth, and with" them 

nimbly ledd 
Faire Helenore with girlonds all bespredd , 
Whom their May-lady they had newly 

made: 
She, proude of that new honour which 

they redd, 
And of their lovely fellowship full glade, 
Daunst lively, and her face did with a 

Lawrell shade. 



The silly man that in the thickett lay 

Saw all this goodly sport, and grieved 
sore; 

Yet durst he not against it doe or say. 

But did his hart with bitter thoughts en- 
gore, 

To see th' unkindnes of his Hellenore. 

All day they daunced with great lusty- 
hedd. 

And with their horned feet the greene 
gras wore. 

The whiles their Gotes upon the bronzes 
fedd, 



272 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book III. 



Till drouping Phoebus gan to hyde his 
golden hedd. 



Tho up they gan their mery pypes to 

trusse, 
And all their goodly heardes did gather 

rownd ; 
But every Satyre first did give a busse 
To Hellenore ; so busses did abound. 
Now gan the humid vapour shed the 

grownd 
With perly deaw, and th' Earthes gloomy 

shade 
Did dim the brightuesse of the welkin 

rownd, 
That every bird and beast awarned made 
To shrowd themselves, whiles sleepe their 

sences did invade. 



Which when Malbecco saw, out of the 

bush 
Upon his handes and feete he crept full 

light, 
And like a Gote emongst the Gotes did 

rush; 
That, through the helpe of his faire homes 

on bight, 
And misty dampe of misconceyving night. 
And eke through likenesse of his gotish 

beard, 
He did the better counterfeite aright : 
So home he marcht emongst the horned 

heard, 
That none of all the Satyres him espyde 

or heard. 

XL VIII. 

At night, when all they went to sleepe, 

he vewd 
Whereas his lovely wife emongst them lay. 
Embraced of a Satyre rough and rude, 
Who all the night did minde his joyous 

play : 
Nine times he heard him come aloft ere 

day. 
That all his hart with gealosy did swell ; 
But yet that nights ensample did bewray 
That not for nought his wife them loved 

so well, 
When one so oft a night did ring his 

matins bell. 



So closely as he could he to them crept. 
When wearie of their sport to sleepe they 

fell. 
And to his wife, that now full soundly 

slept, 
He whispered in her eare, and did her tell 



That it was he which by her side did 

dwell ; 
And therefore prayd her wake to heare 

him plaine. 
As one out of a dreame not waked well 
She turnd her, and returned backe 

againe ; 
Yet her for to awake he did the more con- 

straine. 

L. 

At last with irkesom trouble she 

abrayd ; 
And then perceiving that it was indeed 
Her old Malbecco, which did her upbrayd 
With loosenesse of her love and loathly 

deed. 
She was astonisht with exceeding dreed. 
And would have wakt the Satyre by her 

syde; 
But he her prayd, for mercy or for meed, 
To save his life, ne let him be descryde. 
But hearken to his lore, and all his coun- 

sell hyde. 

LI. 

Tho gan he her perswade to leave that 

lewd 
And loathsom life, of God and man ab- 

hord. 
And home returne, where all should be 

renewd 
With perfect peace and bandes of fresh 

accord. 
And she receivd againe to bed and bord, 
As if no trespas ever had beene donne : 
But she it all refused at one word. 
And by no meanes would to his will be 

wonne. 
But chose emongst the jolly Satyres still 

to wonne. 

LII. 

He wooed her till day-spring he espyde, 
But all in vaine ; and then turnd to the 

heard, 
Who butted him with homes on every 

syde, 
And trode downe in the durt, where his 

hore beard 
Was fowly dight, and he of death afeard. 
Early, before the heavens fairest light 
Out of the ruddy East was fully reard. 
The heardes out of their foldes were 

loosed quight, 
And he emongst the rest crept forth in 

sory plight. 

LJTI. 

So soone as he the Prison-dore did pas, 
H3 ran as fast as both his feet could 

beare, 
And never looked who behind him was, 



CANTO X.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



273 



Ne searsely who before : like as a Beare, 
That creeping close amougst the hives to 

reare 
An hony-combe. the wakefull dogs espy, 
And him assayliug sore his carkas teare, 
That hardly lie with life away does fly, 
Ne stayes, till safe him selfe he see from 

jeopardy. 

LIV. 

Ne stayd he. till he came unto the place 
"VMiere late his treasure he entombed had ; 
Where when he found it not, (for Trom- 

part bace 
Had it purloyned for his maister bad) 
With extreme fury he became quite mad, 
And ran away, ran with him selfe away; 
That who so' straungely had him scene 

bestadd, 
With upstart haire and staring eyes dis- 
may, 
From Limbo lake him late escaped sure 
would say. 

LV. 

High overhilles and over dales he fledd. 
As if the wind him on his wiuges had 

borne ; 
Ne banck nor bush could stay him, when 

he spedd 
His nimble feet, as treading still on 

thorne : 
Griefe, and despight, and gealosy, and 

SCO rue, 
Did all the way him follow hard behynd ; 
And he himselfe himselfe loath'd so for- 

lorue. 
So shamefully forlorne of womankynd, 
That, as a Snake, still lurked in his 

wounded myud. 



Still fled he forward, looking backward 

still : 
Ne stayd his flight nor fearefull agony. 
Till that he came unto a rocky hill 
Over the sea suspended dreadfully. 
That living creature it would terrify 
To looke adowne. or upward to the hight: 
From thence he threw him selfe despite- 

ously, 
All desperate of his fore-damned spright, 
That seemd no help for him was left in 

living sight. 



But through long anguish and selfe- 
murdring thought, 
He was so wasted and forpined quight, 



That all his substance was consum'd to 
nought. 

And nothing left but like an aery Spright, 

That on the rockes he fell so flit and 
light, ^ 

That he thereby receiv'd no hurt at all ; 

But chauuced on a craggy cliff to light, 

Whence he Mith crooked clawes so long 
did crall, 

That at last ho fomid a cave with en- 
trance small. 

LVIII. 

Into the same he creepes, and thence- 
forth there 
Resolv'd to build his balcfuU mansion 
In dreary durkenes and continuall feare 
Of that rocks fall, which ever and anon 
Threates with huge mine him to fall 

iipou, 
That he dare never sleepe, but that one 

eye 
Still ope he keepes for that occasion ; 
Ne ever rests he in tranquillity, 
The roring billowes beat his bowre so 
boystrously. 



Ne ever is he wont on ought to feed 
But todes and frogs, his pasture poyson- 

ous. 
Which in his cold complexion doe breed 
A tilthy blood, or humour rancorous, 
Matter of doubt and dread suspitious, 
That doth with curelesse care consume 

the hart, 
Corrupts the stomacke with gall vitious, 
Cros-cuts the liver with internall smart, 
And doth transfixe the soule with deathes 

eternall dart. 



LX. 

Yet can he never dye, but dying lives, 
And doth himselfe with sorrow new sus- 

taiiie. 
That death and life attonce unto him 

gives. 
And paiiief uU pleasure turnes to pleasing 

paine. 
There dwels he ever, miserable swaine, 
Hatefull both to him selfe and every 

wight ; 
AMiere he, through pri^^ griefe and hor- 

rour vaiiie. 
Is woxen so deforra'd that he has quight 
Forgot ho was a man, and Gelosy is 

hight. 



2 74 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book hi. 



CANTO XI. 

Britomart chaceth Ollyphant ; 
Findes Scudamour distrest : 
Assayes the house of Busyrane, 
Where loves spoyles are exprest. 



O HATEFULL hellish Snake ! what f urie 

furst 
Brought thee from balefull house of Pros- 
erpine, 
Where in her hosome she thee long had 

nurst, 
And fostred up with bitter milke of tine, 
Fowle Gealosy ! that turnest love divine 
To joylesse dread, and mak'st the loving 

hart 
With hatefull thoughts to languish and to 

pine. 
And feed it selfe with selfe-consuniing 

smart ? 
Of all the passions in the mind thou 

vilest art! 

II. 

O ! let him far he banished away, 
And in his stead let Love for ever dwell ; 
Sweete Love, that doth his golden wings 

embay 
In blessed Nectar and pure Pleasures 

well. 
Untroubled of vile feare or bitter fell. 
And ye, faire Ladies, that your kingdomes 

make 
In th' harts of men, them governe wisely 

well, 
And of faire Britomart ensample take, 
That was as trew in love as Turtle to her 

make. 

III. 

Who with Sir Satyrane, as earst ye red, 
Forth rydiug from Malbeccoes hostlesse 

hous. 
Far off aspyde a young man, the which 

fled 
From an huge Geaunt, that with hideous 
And hatefull outrage long him chaced 

thus ; 
It was that Ollyphant, the brother deare 
Of that Argante vile and vitious. 
From whom the Squyre of Dames was 

reft whylere ; 
This all as bad as she, and worse, if worse 

ought were. 



For as the sister did in feminine 
And filthy lust exceede all womankinde, 



So he surpassed his sex masculine. 
In beastly use, all that I ever finde: 
Whom when as Britomart beheld behinde 
The fearefull boy so greedily poursew, 
She was emmoved in her noble miude, 
T' employ her puissaunce to his reskew, 
And pricked fiercely forward where she 
did him vew. 



Ne was Sir Satyrane her far behinde. 
But with like fiercenesse did ensew the 

chace. 
Whom when the Gyaunt saw, he soone 

resinde 
His former suit, and from them fled 

apace : 
They after both, and boldly bad him bace, 
And each did strive the other to outgoe ; 
But he them both outran a wondrous 



For he was long, and swift as any Roe, 
And now made better speed t' escape his 
feared foe. 

VI. 

It was not Satyrane, whom he did feare, 
Biit Britomart the flowre of chastity ; 
For he the powre of chaste hands might 

not beare, 
But alwayes did their dread encounter 

fly: 
And now so fast his feet he did apply, 
That he has gotten to a forrest neare, 
Where he is shrowded in security. 
The wood they enter, and search everie 

where ; 
They searched diversely, so both divided 

were. 

VII. 

Fayre Britomart so long him followed, 
That she at last came" to a fountaine 

sheare, 
By which there lay a knight all wallowed 
Upon the grassy ground, and by him 

neare 
His haberjeon, his helmet, and his speare : 
A little off his shield was rudely throwne, 
On which the winged boy in colours cleare 
Depeincted was, full easie to be kiiowne, 
And he thereby, where ever it in field was 

showne. 



CANTO XI.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



275 



His face upon the grownd did groveliug 

ly. 

As if he had beeue slonibriug in the 

shade ; 
That the brave Mayd would not for 

courtesy 
Out of his quiet slomber him abrade, 
Nor seeme too suddeuily him to invade. 
Still as she stood, she heard with grievous 

throb 
Him grone, as if his hart were peeces 

made. 
And with most painefull pangs to sigh 

and sob, 
Thatpitty did the Virgins hart of patience 

rob. 

IX. 

At last forth breaking into bitter 

plaintes 
He sayd ; ' O soverayne Lord ! that sit'st 

on hye 
And raignst in blis emongst thy blessed 

Saintes, 
How suffrest thou such shamefull cruelty 
So long unwreaked of thine enimy ? 
Or hast thou, Lord, of good mens cause 

no heed? 
Or doth thy justice sleepe and silent ly ? 
What boot^th then the good and righteous 

deed, 
If goodnesse find no grace, nor righteous- 

nes no meed ? 



' If good find grace, and righteousnes 

reward, 
Why then is Amoret in caytive band, 
Sith that more bounteous creature never 

far'd 
On foot upon the face of living land ? 
Or if that hevenly justice may withstand 
The wrongful! outrage of unrighteous 

men. 
Why then is Busirane with wicked hand 
Suftred, these seven monethes day, in 

secret den 
My Lady and my love so cruelly to pen ! 



' My Lady and my love is cruelly pend 
In dolefuli darkelies from the vew of 

day, 
Whilest deadly torments doe her chast 

brest rend, 
And the sharpe Steele doth rive her hart 

in tway. 
All for she Scudamore will not denay. 
Yet thou, vile man, vile Scudamore, art 

sound, 



Ne canst her ayde, ne canst her foe dismay ; 
Unworthy wretch to tread upon the 

ground. 
For whom so faire a Lady feeles so sore 

a wound ! ' 

XII. 

There an huge hcape of siugults did 

oppresse 
His strugling soule, and swelling throbs 

enipeach 
His foltring toung with pangs of dreri- 

nesse, 
Choking the remnant of his plaintife 

speaoh, 
As if his dayes were come to their last 

reach : 
Which when she heard, and saw the 

ghastly fit 
Threatuing into his life to make a breach, 
Both withgreat ruth and terrour she was 

smit, 
Fearing least from her cage the wearie 

soule would tlit. 



Tho stouping downe she him amoved 

light ; 
Who, therewith somewhat starting, up 

gan looke, 
And seeing him behind a stranger knight. 
Whereas no living creature he mistooke, 
With great indignaunce he that sight for- 

sooke, 
And, downe againe himself e disdainfully 
Abjecting, th' earth with his faire forhead 

strooke : 
Which the bold Virgin seeing gan apply 
Fit medcine to his griefe, and spake thus 

courtesly : — 



' Ah gentle knight ! whose deepe con- 
ceived griefe 

Well seemes t' exceede the powre of pa- 
tience. 

Yet, if that hevenly grace some goode 
reliefe 

You send, submit you to high providence ; 

And ever in your noble hart prepense. 

That all the sorrow in the world is lesse 

Then vertues might and values confi- 
dence : 

For who nill bide the burden of distresse, 

Must not here thinke to live ; for life is 
wretchednesse. 



' Therefore, faire Sir, doe comfort to you 
take. 
And freely read what wicked felon so 



276 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book III. 



Hath outrag'd you, and thrald your gentle 

make. 
Perhaps this hand may helpe to ease your 

woe, 
And wreake your sorrow on your cruell 

foe ; 
At least it faire eudevour will apply.' 
Those fe%ling words so neare the quicke 

dfd goe, 
That up his head he reared easily, 
And, leaning on his elbowe, these few 

words lett fly. 



* What boots it plaine that cannot be 

redrest, 
And sow vaine sorrow in a fruitlesse eare, 
Sith powre of hand, nor skill of learned 

brest, 
Ne worldly price, cannot redeeme my 

deare 
Out of her thraldome and continuall f eare : 
For he, the tyrant which her hath in ward 
By strong enchauntmeuts and blacke 

Magicke leare. 
Hath in a dungeon deepe her close embard. 
And many dreadfull feends hath pointed 

to her gard. 



* There he tormenteth her most terribly 
And day and night afflicts with mortall 

paine, 
Because to yield him love she doth deny, 
Once to me yold, not to be yolde againe : 
But yet by torture he would her con- 

straine 
Love to conceive in her disdainfull brest ; 
Till so she doe, she must in doole remaine, 
Ne may by living meanes be thence relest : 
What boots it then to plaine that cannot 

be redrest ? ' 



With this sad hersall of his heavy stresse 
The warlike Damzell was empassiond 

sore. 
And sayd ; ' Sir knight, your cause is 

nothing lesse 
Then is your sorrow certes, if not more ; 
For nothing so much pitty doth implore 
As gentle Ladyes helplesse misery : 
But yet, if please ye listen to my lore, 
I will, with proofe of last extremity. 
Deliver her fro thence, or with her for 

you dy. 

XIX. 



*Ah! gentlest knight alive,' 

Scudamore) 
What huge heroicke magnanimity 



(sayd 



Dwells in thy bounteous brest! what 

couldst thou more. 
If shee were thine, and thou as now am I? 
O! spare thy happy dales, and them 

apply 
To better boot ; but let me die that ought : 
More is more losse ; one is enough to dy.' 
' Life is not lost,' (said she) * for which is 

bought 
Endlesse renowm, that, more then death, 

is to be sought.' 

XX. 

Thus shee at length persuaded him to 

rise. 
And with her wend to see what new suc- 

cesse 
Mote him befall upon new enterprise. 
His armes, which he had vowed to dis- 

professe. 
She gathered up and did about him dresse, 
And his f orwandred steed unto him gott : 
So forth they forth yfere make their pro- 

gresse. 
And march not past the mountenaunce of 

a shott. 
Till they arriv'd whereas their purpose 

they did plott. 

XXI. 

There they dismounting drew their 
weapons bold. 
And stoutly came unto the Castle gate. 
Whereas no gate they found them to with- 
hold. 
Nor ward to waittf at morne and evening 

late; 
But in the Porch, that did them sore amate, 
A flaming fire , ymixt with smouldry smoke 
And stinking sulphure, that with griesly 

hate 
And dreadfull horror did all entraunce 

choke. 
Enforced them their forward footing to 
revoke. 

XXII. 

Greatly thereat was Britomart dismayd, 
Ne in that stownd wist how her selfe to 

beare ; 
For daunger vaine it were to have assay d 
That cruell element, which all things f eare, 
Ne none can suffer to approchen neare : 
And, turning backe to Scudamour, thus 

sayd: 
' What monstrous enmity provoke we 

heare ? 
Foolhardy as th' Earthes children, the 

which made 
Batteill against the Gods, so we a God 

invade. 



CANTO XI. J 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



277 



' Daunger without discretion to attempt 
Inglorious, beastlike is: therefore, Sir 

knight, 
Aread what course of you is safest dempt, 
And how he with our foe may come to 

fight.' 
• This is ' (quoth he) ' the dolorous de- 

spight, 
Which earst to you I playnd : for neither 

may 
This fire be quencht by any witt or might, 
Ne yet by any meaues remov'd away ; 
So mighty be th' euchauntments which 

the same do stay. 



' What is there ells but cease these f ruit- 

lesse paines. 
And leave me to my former languishing ? 
Faire Amorett must dwell in wicked 

chaines. 
And Scudamore here die with sorrowing.' 
' Perdy not so,' (saide shee) ' for shameful 

thing 
Yt were t' abandon noble chevisaunce 
For she we of perill, without venturing : 
Rather let try extremities of chaunce, 
Then enterprised praise for dread to dis- 

avaunce.' 

XXV. 

Therewith, resolv'd to prove her utmost 

might. 
Her ample shield she threw before her 

face. 
And her swords point directing forward 

right 
Assay Id the flame; the which eftesoones 

gave place. 
And did it selfe divide with equall space. 
That through she passed, as a thonder 

bolt 
Perceth the yielding ay re, and doth dis- 
place 
The soring clouds into sad showres ymolt ; 
So to her yold the flames, and did their 

force revolt. 



Whom whenas Scudamour saw past the 

fire 
Safe and untoucht, he likewise gan assay 
With greedy will and envious desire, 
And bad the stubborn flames to yield him 

way: 
But cruell Mulciber would not obay 
His threatfull pride, but did the more 

augment 
His mighty rage, and with imperious sway 
Him f orst, (maulgre) his fercenes to relent. 



And backe retire, all scorcht and pittif ally 
brent. 



With huge impatience he inly swelt. 
More for great sorrow that he could not pas 
Then for the burning torment which he 

felt; 
That with fell woodnes he eflierced was. 
And wilfully hiin throwing on the gras 
Did beat and bounse his head and brest 

ful sore: 
The whiles the Championesse now entred 

has 
The utmost rowme, and past the foremost 

dore; 
The utmost rowme abounding with all 

precious store: 



For round about the walls yclothed were 
With goodly arras of great majesty, 
Woven with gold and silke, so close and 

nere 
That the rich metall lurked privily, 
As fainiug to be liidd from envious eye ; 
Yet here, and there, and every where, un- 

wares 
It shewd it selfe and shone unwillingly ; 
Like a discolourd Snake, whose hidden 

snares 
Through the green e gras his long bright 

burnisht back declares. 



And in those Tapets weren fashioned 
Many faire pourtraicts, and many a faire 

f eate ; 
And all of love, and al of lusty-hed, 
As seemed by their semblaunt, did en- 
treat : 
And eke all Cupids warres they did re- 

peate. 
And cruell battailes, which he whilome 

fought 
Gainst all the Gods to make his empire 

great ; 
Besides the huge massacres, which he 

wrought 
On mighty kings and kesars into thral- 

dome brought. 

XXX. 

Therein was writt how often thondring 

Jove 
Had felt the point of his hart -percing dart. 
And, leaving heavens kingdome, here did 

rove 
In straunge disguize, to slake his scalding 

smart ; 
Now, like a Ram, faire Helle to pervart. 



278 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book III. 



Now, like a Bull, Europa to withdraw: 
Ah ! how the fearefull Ladies tender hart 
Did lively seem to tremble, Avhcu she saw 
The huge seas under her t' obay her ser- 
vauuts law. 

XXXI. 

Soone after that, into a golden showre 
Him selfe he chaung'd, faire Danae to 

vew; 
And through the roofe of her strong brasen 

towre 
Did raine into her lap an hony dew ; 
The whiles her foolish garde, that litle 

knew 
Of such deceipt, kept th' yron dore fast 

bard. 
And watcht that none should enter nor 

issew : 
Vaine was the watoh, and bootlesse all 

the ward, 
Whenas the God to golden hew him selfe 

transfard. 

XXXII. 

Then was he turnd into a snowy Swan, 
To win faire Leda to his lovely trade : 
O wondrous skill! and sweet wit of the 

man. 
That her in daffadillies sleeping made 
From scorching heat her daintie limbes to 

shade ; 
Whiles the proud Bird, ruffing his fethers 

wyde 
And brushing his faire brest, did her in- 
vade : 
She slept; yet twixt her eielids closely 

spyde 
How towards her he rusht, and smiled at 
his pryde. 

XXXIII. 

Then shewd it how the Thebane 

Semelee, 
Deceivd of gealous Juno, did require 
To see him in his soverayne majestee 
Armd with his thunderbolts and lightning 

fire, 
Whens dearely she with death bought her 

desire. 
But faire Alcmena better match did 

make. 
Joying his love in likenes more entire : 
Three nights in one, they say, that for her 

sake 
He then did put, her pleasures lenger to 

partake. 

xxxrv. 
Twise was he scene in soaring Eagles 

shape. 



And with wide winges to beat the buxome 

ayre : 
Once, when he with Asterie did scape; 
Againe, when as the Trojane boy so 

fayre 
He snatcht from Ida hill, and with him 

bare : 
Wondrous delight it was there to behould 
How the rude Shepheards after him did 

stare. 
Trembling through feare least down he 

fallen should. 
And often to him calling to take surer 

hould. 

XXXV. 

In Satyres shape Antiopa he snatcht ; 
And like a fire, when he Aegin' assayd : 
A shepeheard, when Mnemosyne he 

catch t ; 
And like a Serpent to the Thracian mayd. 
Whyles thus on earth great Jove these 

pageaunts playd, 
The winged boy did thrust into his throne. 
And scoffing thus unto his mother sayd : 
' Lo ! now the hevens obey to me alone. 
And take me for their Jove, whiles Jove 

to earth is gone.' 

XXXVI. 

And thou, faire Phoebus, in thy colours 

bright 
Wast there enwoven, and the sad distresse 
In which that boy thee plonged, for de- 

spight 
That thou bewray 'dst his mothers wanton- 

nesse. 
When she with Mars was meynt in joyful- 



Forthy he thrild thee with a leaden dart 
To love faire Daphne, which thee loved 

lesse ; 
Lesse she thee lov'd then was thy just 

desart. 
Yet was thy love her death, and her death 

was thy smart. 



So lovedst thou the lusty Hyacinct ; 
So lovedst thou the faire Coronis deare ; 
Yet both are of thy haplesse hand extinct. 
Yet both in flowres doe live, and love thee 

beare, 
The one a Paunce, the other a sweet- 

breare : 
For griefe whereof, ye mote have lively 

seene 
The God himselfe rending his golden 

heare, 
And breaking quite his garlond ever 

greene. 



CANTO XI.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



279 



With other signes of sorrow aud impatient 
teeue. 

. XXXVIII. 

Both for those two, aud for his owiie 

deare soiine, 
The soune of Climene, he did repent ; 
Who, hold to guide the charet of the 

Sunne, 
Himselfe in thousand peeces fondly rent, 
Aud all the world with flashing tire 

hreut ; 
So like, that all the walles did seeme to 

flame : 
Yet cruell Cupid, not herewith content, 
Forst him eftsoones to follow other game, 
And love a Shephards daughter for his 

dearest Dame. 

XXXIX, 

.He loved Isse for his dearest Dame, 
And for her sake her cattell fedd awhile. 
And for her sake a cowheard vile became 
The servant of Admetus, cowheard vile. 
Whiles that from heaven he suffered 

exile. 
Long were to tell each other lovely fitt ; 
Now, like a Lyon hunting after spoile ; 
Now, like a stag ; now, like a faulcou flit : 
All which in that faire arras was most 

lively writ. 

XL. 

Next unto him was Neptune pictured, 
In his divine resemblance wondrous lyke : 
His face was rugged, and his hoarie hed 
Dropped with brackish deaw : his three- 

forkt Pyke 
He stearnly shooke, and therewith fierce 

did stryke 
The raging billowes, that on every syde 
They trembling stood, and made a long 

broad dyke, 
That his swift charet might have passage 

wyde 
Which foure great Hippodames did draw 

in temewise tyde. 

XLI. 

His seahorses did seeme to snort 

amayne. 
And from their nosethrilles blow the 

brynie streame. 
That made the sparckling waves to smoke 

agayne, 
And flame with gold ; but the white fomy 

cream e * 

Did shine with silver, and shoot forth his 

beame. 
The God himselfe did pensive seeme and 

sad, 



And hong adowne his head as he did 

dreaine ; 
For privy love his brest empierced had, 
Ne ought but deare Bisaltis ay could make 

him glad. 

XLII. 

He loved eke Iphimedia deare. 
And Aeolus faire daughter, Arne hight, 
For whom he turnd' him selfe into a 

Steare, 
Aud fedd on fodder to beguile her sight. 
Also to whi Deucalions daughter bright, 
He turnd him selfe into a Dolphin f ayre ; 
Aud like a winged horse he tooke his 

flight 
To snaky-locke Medusa to repayre, 
On whom he got faire Pegasus that fiitteth 

in the ayre. 

XLIII. 

Next Saturne was, (but who would ever 
weene 

That sullein Saturne ever weend to love? 

Yet love is sullein, and Saturnlike scene, 

As he did for Erigone it prove) 

That to a Centaure did him selfe trans- 
move. 

So proov'd it eke that gratious God of 
wine. 

When for to compasse Philliras hard love. 

He turnd himselfe into a fruitfull vine, 

And into her faire bosome made his grapes 
decline. 

XLIV. 

Long were to tell the amorous assayes, 
And gentle pangues, with which he maked 

meeke 
The mightie Mars, to learne his wanton 

playes ; 
How oft for Venus, and how often eek 
For many other Nymphes, he sore did 

shreek, 
With womanish teares, and with un war- 
like smarts. 
Privily moystening his horrid cheeke : 
There was he painted full of burning 

dartes. 
And many wide woundes launched 
through his inner partes. 

XLV. 

Ne did he spare (so cruell was the Elfe) 

His owne deare mother, (ah ! why should 
he so ?) 

Ne did he spare sometime to pricke him- 
selfe, 

That he might taste the sweet consuming 
woe. 

Which he had wrought to many others 
moe. 



28o 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book III. 



But, to declare the mournfull Tragedyes 
And spoiles wherewith he all the ground 

did strow, 
More eath to number with how many eyes 
High heven beholdes sad lovers nightly 

theeveryes. 



Kings, Queenes, Lords, Ladies, knights, 

and Damsels gent. 
Were heap'd together with the vulgar 

sort, 
And mingled with the raskall rablement, 
Without respect of person or of port, 
To shew Dan Cupids powre and great 

effort : 
And round about a border was entrayld 
Of broken bowes and arrowes shivered 

short ; 
And a long bloody river through them 

ray Id, 
So lively and so like that living sence it 

fay Id. 

XLVII. 

And at the upper end of that faire 

rowme 
There was an Altar built of pretious stone 
Of passing valew and of great renowme. 
On which there stood an Image all alone 
Of massy gold, which with his owne light 

shone ; 
And winges it had with sondry colours 

dight, 
More sondry colours then the proud 

Pavone 
Beares in his boasted fan, or Iris bright, 
When her discolourd bow she spreds 

through hevens hight. 

XLVIIT. 

Blyndfold he was ; and in his cruell fist 
A mortall bow and arrowes keene did 

hold. 
With which he shot at randon, when him 

list, 
Some headed with >sad lead, some with 

pure gold ; 
(Ah man ! beware how thou those dartes 

behold.) 
A wounded Dragon under him did ly. 
Whose hideous tayle his lefte foot did 

enfold, 
And with a shaft was shot through either 

eye. 
That no man forth might draw, ne no 

man remedye. 

XLIX. 

And underneath his feet was written 
thus, 



Unto the Victor of the Gods this bee : 
And all the people in that ample hous 
Did to that image bowe .their humble 

knee. 
And oft committed fowle Idolatree. 
That wondrous sight faire Britomart 

amazd, 
Ne seeing could her wonder satisfie, 
But ever more and more upon it gazd, 
The whiles the passing brightnes her 

fraile sences dazd. 



Tho, as she backward cast her busie 

eye 
To search each secrete of that goodly 

sted. 
Over the dore thus written she did spye, 
Bee bold : she oft and oft it over-red, 
Yet could not find what sence it figured : 
But what so were therein or writ or 

ment. 
She was no whit thereby discouraged 
From prosecuting of her first intent, 
But forward with bold steps into the 

next roome went. 



Much fayrer then the former was that 

roome. 
And richlier by many partes arayd ; 
For not with arras made in painefull 

loome, 
But with pure gold it all was overlayd. 
Wrought with wilde Antickes, which 

their follies playd 
In the rich metall as they living were. 
A thousand monstrous formes therein 

were made, 
Such as false love doth oft upon him 

weare ; 
For love in thousand monstrous formes 

doth oft appeare. 



And all about the glistring walles were 

hong 
With warlike spoiles and with victorious 

prayes 
Of raightie Conquerours and Captaines 

strong, 
Which were whilome captived in their 

dayes 
To cruell love, and wrought their owne 

decayes. 
Their swerds and speres were broke, and 

hauberques rent. 
And their proud girlonds of tryumphant 



Troden in dust with fury insolent. 



CANTO XI.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



281 



To shew the victors might and mercilesse 
intent. 

LIII. 

The warlike Mayd, beholding earnestly 
The goodly ordinaunce of this rich 

Place, 
Did greatly wonder ; ne could satisfy 
Her greedy eyes with gazing a long 

space : 
But more she mervaild that no footings 

trace 
Nor wight appeard, but wasteful! efhpti- 

nesse 
And solemne silence over all that place : 
Straunge thing it seem'd, that none was 

to possesse 
So rich purveyaunce, ne them keepe with 

carefulnesse. 

LIV. 

- And, as she lookt about, she did be- 
hold 

How over that same dore was likewise 
writ, 

Be bolde, be bolde, and every where, Be 
bold : 



That much she muz'd, yet could not con- 
strue it 

By any ridling skill, or commune wit. 

At last she spyde at that rowmes upper 
end 

Another yron dore, on which was writ, 

Be 7iot too bold; whereto though she did 
bend 

Her earnest minde, yet wist not what it 
might intend. 



Thus she there wayted untill eventyde. 
Yet living creature none she saw appeare. 
And now sad shadowes gan the world to 

hyde 
From mortall vew, and wrap in darkenes 

dreare ; 
Yet nould she d'off her weary armes, for 

feare 
Of secret daunger, ne let sleepe oppresse 
Her heavy eyes with natures burdein 

deare, 
But drew her selfe aside in sickernesse. 
And her wel-pointed wepons did about 

her dresse. 



CANTO xn. 

The maske of Cupid, and th' enchant- 
ed Chamber are di splay d ; 

Whence Britomart redeemes faire A- 
moret through charmes decayd. 



Tho, whenas chearelesse Night ycov- 

ered had 
Fayre heaven with an universall clowd , 
That every wight dismayd with darkenes 

sad 
In silence and in sleepe themselves did 

shrowd, 
She heard a shrilling Trompet sound alowd, 
Signe of nigh battaill, or got victory : 
Nought therewith daunted was her cour- 
age prowd, 
But rather stird to cruell enmity. 
Expecting ever when some foe she might 

descry. 

II. 
With that an hideous storme of winde 

arose. 
With dreadfull 

atwixt, 
And an earthquake, as 

would lose 
The worlds foundations from his centre 

fixt: 
A direfull stench of smoke and sulphure 

mixt 



thunder and lightning 
if it streight 



Ensewd, whose noyaunce fild the feare- 

full sted 
From the fourth howre of night untill the 

sixt ; 
Yet the bold Britonesse was nought 

ydred, 
Though much emmov'd, but stedfast still 

persevered. 

III. 

All suddeinly a stormy whirlwind blew 
Throughout the house, that clapped every 

dore. 
With which that yron wicket open flew. 
As it with mighty levers had bene tore ; 
And forth yssewd, as on the readieflore 
Of some Theatre, a grave personage 
That in his hand a braunch of laurell bore, 
With comely haveour and count'nance 



Yclad in costly garments fit for tragicke 
Stage. 

IV. 

Proceeding to the midst he stil did 
stand. 
As if in minde he somewhat had to say ; 
And to the vulgare beckning with his hand, 



282 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book III. 



In signe of silence, as to heare a play, 
By lively actions he gan bewray 
Some argument of matter passioned : 
Which cloen, he backe retyred soft away, 
And, passing by, his name discov^ered. 
Ease, on his robe in golden letters cy- 
phered. 

V. 

The noble Mayd still standing all this 
vewd. 
And merveild at his straunge intendi- 

ment. 
"With that a joyous fellowship issewd 
Of Minstrales making goodly meriment, 
With wanton Bardes, and Rymers impu- 
dent ; 
All which together song full chearefully 
A lay of loves delight with sweet concent : 
After whom marcht a jolly company, 
In manner of a maske, enranged orderly. 



The whiles a most delitious harmony 
In full straunge notes was sweetly heard 

to sound, 
That the rare sweetnesse of the melody 
The feeble sences wholy did confound, 
And the f rayle soule in deepe delight nigh 

drownd : 
And, when it ceast, shrill tronipets lowd 

did bray. 
That their report did far away rebound ; 
And, when they ceast, it gan againe to 

play, 
The whiles the maskers marched forth in 

trim aray. 

VII. 

The first was Fansy, like a lovely Boy 
Of rare aspect, and beautie without peare, 
Matchable ether to that ympe of Troy, 
Whom Jove did love and chose his cup to 

beare ; 
Or that same daintie lad, which was so 

deare 
To great Alcides, that, when as he dyde. 
He wailed womanlike with many a teare, 
And every wood and every valley wyde 
He filld with Hylas name ; the Nymphes 

eke Hylas cryde. 



His garment nether was of silke nor 

say, 
But pavnted plumes in goodly order 

dight, 
Like as the sunburnt Indians do aray 
Their tawney bodies in their proudest 

plight: 
As those same plumes so seemd he vaine 

and light. 



That by his gate might easily appeare ; 
For still lie far'd as dauncing in delight. 
And in his hand a windy fan did beare. 
That in the ydle ay re he mov'd still here 
and theare. 

IX. 

And him beside marcht amorous Desyre, 
Who seemd of ryper yeares then th' other 

Swayne, 
Yet was that other swayne this elders 

, syre, 
And gave him being, commune to them 

twayne : 
His garment was disguysed very vayne, 
And his embrodered Bonet sat awry : 
Twixt both his hands few sparks he close 

did stray ne, 
Which still he blew and kindled busily. 
That soone they life conceiv'd, and forth 

in flames did fly. 



Next after him went Doubt, who was 

yclad 
In a discolour'd cote of straunge dis- 

guyse, 
That at his backe a brode Capuccio had, 
And sleeves dependaunt Albauese-wyse : 
He lookt askew with his mistrustful! 

eyes. 
And nycely trode, as thornes lay in his 

way. 
Or that the flore to shrinke he did a%^^se ; 
And on a broken reed he still did stay 
His feeble steps, which shrunck when 

hard thereon he lay. 



With him went Daunger, cloth'd in 
ragged weed 

Made of Beares skin, that him more 
dreadf ull made ; 

Yet his owne face was dreadf ull, ne did 
need 

Straunge horrour to deforme his griesly 
shade : 

A net in th' one hand, and a rusty blade 

In th' other was ; this Mischiefe, that 
Mishap : 

With th' one his foes he threatned to in- 
vade, 

With th' other he his friends ment to en- 
wrap ; 

For whom he could not kill he practizd to 
entrap. 

xn. 

Next him was Feare, all arm'd from 
top to toe. 
Yet thought himselfe not safe enough 
thereby. 



CANTO XII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



283 



But feard each shadow moviug too or 

froe; 
And, his owne arines when glittermg he 

did spy 
Or clashing heard, he fast away did fly, 
As ashes pale of hew, and winged heeld. 
And evermore on Daunger lixt his eye, 
Gainst whom he alwayes bent a hrasen 

shield. 
Which his right hand unarmed fearef ally 

did wield. 

XIII. 

With him went Hope in rancke, a hand- 
some Mayd, 
Of chearefull looke and lovely to behold : 
In silken samite she was light ai'ayd. 
And her fay re lockes were woven up in 

gold : 
She alway smyld, and in her hand did 

hold 
An holy-water-sprinckle, dipt in deowe. 
With which she spriuckled favours mani- 
fold 
On whom she list, and did great liking 

slieowe. 
Great liking unto many, but true love to 
feowe. 

XIV. 

And after them Dissemblaunce and Sus- 
pect 
Marcht in one rancke, yet an unequall 

paire ; 
For she was gentle and of milde aspect. 
Courteous to'all and seeming debonaire. 
Goodly adorned and exceeding faire : 
Yet was that all but paynted and pour- 

loynd, 
And her bright browes were deckt with 

borrowed haire ; 
Her deeds were forged, and her words 

false coynd, 
And alwaies in her hand two clewes of 
silke she twynd. 

XV. 

But he was fowle, ill favoured, and 

grim. 
Under his eiebrowes looking still 

askaunce ; 
And ever, as Dissemblaunce laught on 

him, 
He lowrd on her with daungerous eye- 

glaunce, 
Shewing his nature in his couutenaunce : 
His tolling eies did never rest in place, 
But walkte each where for feare of hid 

mischaunce, 
Holding a lattis still before his face, 
Through which he stil did peep as forward 

he did pace. 



Next him went Griefe and Fury, matcht 

yfere; 
Griefe all in sable sorrowfully clad, 
Downe hanging his dull head with heavy 

chere. 
Yet inly being more then seeming sad : 
A paire of Pincers in his hand he had. 
With which he pinched people to the hart, 
That from thenceforth a wretched life 

they ladd. 
In wilf ull languor and consuming smart, 
Djdng each day with inward wounds of 

dolours dart. 



But Fury was full ill appareiled 
In rags, that naked nigh she did appeare, 
With ghastly looks and dreadful! dreri- 

hed; 
And from her backe her garments she 

did teare, 
And from her head ofte rente her snarled 

heare : 
In her right hand a firebrand shee did 

tosse 
About her head, still roming here and 

there ; 
As a dismayed Deare in chace embost, 
Forgetfull of his safety, hath his right 

way lost. 

XVIII. 

After them went Displeasure and Pleas- 
aunce. 

He looking lompish and full sullein sad. 

And hanging downe his heavy couute- 
naunce ; 

She chearfull, fresh, and full of joyaunce 
glad, 

As if no sorrow she ne felt ne drad ; 

That evill matched paire they seemd to 
bee: 

An angry Waspe th' one in a viall had, 

Th' other in hers an hony-laden Bee. 

Thus marched these six couples forth in 
faire degree. 



After all these there marcht a most 

faire Dame, 
Led of two grysie Villeins, th' one De- 

spight, • 

The other cleped Cruelty by name : 
She, dolefuU Lady, like a dreary Spright 
Cald by strong charmes out of eternall 

night. 
Had Deathes owne ymage figurd in her 

face, 
Full of sad signes, fearfull to living 

sight ; 



284 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book III. 



Yet in that horror shewd a seemely 

grace, 
And with her feeble feete did move a 

comely pace. 



Her brest all naked, as nett y very 
Without adorne of gold or silver bright, 
Wherewith the Craftesman wonts it 

beautify, 
Of her dew honour was despoyled quight ; 
And a wide wound therein (O ruefull 

sight!) 
Entrenched deep with knyfe accursed 

keene, 
Yet freshly bleeding forth her fainting 

spright, 
(The worke of cruell hand) was to be 

scene, 
That dyde in sanguine red her skin all 

snowy cleene. 



At that wide orifice her trembling hart 
Was drawne forth, and in silver basin 

layd. 
Quite through transfixed with a deadly 

dart, 
And in her blood yet steeming fresh em- 

bayd: 
And those two villeins, which her steps 

upstayd, 
When her weake feete could scarcely her 

sustaine. 
And fading vitall powres gan to fade. 
Her forward still with torture did con- 

straine. 
And evermore encreased her consuming 

paine. 

XXII. 

Next after her, the winged God him 
selfe 
Came riding on a Lion ravenous, 
Taught to obay the menage of that Elfe 
That man and beast with powre imperi- 
ous 
Subdeweth to his kingdome tyrannous. 
His blindfold eies he bad awhile unbinde, 
That his proud spoile of that same dolo- 
rous 
Faire Dame he might behold in perfect 

kinds ; • 

Which seene, he much rejoyced in his 
cruell minde. 

XXIII. 

Of which ful pro wd, him selfe up rear- 
ing bye 
He looked round about with sterne dis- 
dayne. 



And did survay his goodly company ; 
And, marshalling the evill-ordered trayne, 
With that the darts which his right hand 

did straine 
Full dreadfully he shooke, that all did 

quake, 
And clapt on bye his coulourd winges 

twain e, 
That all his many it affraide did make : 
Tho, blinding him againe, his way he 

forth did take. 

xxrv. 

Behinde him was Reproch, Repentaunce, 

Shame ; 
Reproch the first, Shame next. Repent 

behinde : 
Rei)entaunce feeble, sorrowfuU, and 

lame; 
Reproch despightfull, carelesse, and un- 

kinde ; 
Shame most ill-favourd, bestiall, and 

bliude : 
Shame lowrd, Repentaunce sighd, Reproch 

did scould ; 
Reproch sharpe stings, Repentaunce 

whips entwinde. 
Shame burning brond-yrons in her hand 

did hold : 
All three to each unlike, yet all made in 

one mould. 



And after them a rude confused rout 
Of persons flockt, whose names is hard to 

read: 
Emongst them was sterne Strife, and 

Anger stout ; 
Unquiet Care, and fond Unthrifty head ; 
Lewd Losse of Time, and Sorrow seeming 

dead; 
Inconstant Chaunge, and false Disloyalty ; 
Consuming Riotise, and guilty Dread 
Of heavenly vengeaunce ; faint Infirmity ; 
Vile Poverty; and, lastly, Death with 

infamy. 

XXVI. 

There were full many moe like mala- 
dies, 

Whose names and natures I note readen 
well ; 

So many moe, as there be phantasies 

In wavering wemens witt, that none can 
tell. 

Or paines in love, or punishments in hell : 

All which disguized marcht in masking 
wise 

About the chamber by the Damozell ; 

And then returned, having marched 
thrise, 



CANTO XII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEEXE. 



285 



Into the inner rownie from whence they 
first did rise. 



So soone as they were in, the dore 

streightway 
Fast locked, driven with that stormy 

blast 
WTiich first it opened, and bore all away. 
Then the brave j\Iaid, which al this while 

was plast 
In secret shade, and saw both first and 

last, 
Issewed forth, and went unto the dore 
To enter in, but fownd it locked fast : 
It vaine she thought with rigorous uprore 
For to efEorce, when charmes had closed 

it afore. 

xxvrn. 

Where force might not availe, there 

sleights and art 
She cast to use, both fitt for hard em- 
prize : 
Forthy from that same rowme not to 

depart 
Till morrow next shee did her selfe avize, 
When that same Maske againe should 

forth arize. 
The morrowe next appeard with joyous 

cheare. 
Calling men to their daily exercize : 
Then she, as morrow fresh, her selfe did 

reare 
Out of her secret stand that day for to 

outweare. 

XXIX. 

All that day she outwore in wandering 
And gazing on that Chambers ornament, 
Till that againe the second evening 
Her covered with her sable vestiment, 
Wherewith the worlds faire beautie she 

hath blent : 
Then, when the second watch was almost 

past, 
That brasen dore flew open, and in went 
Bold Britomart, as she had late forecast, 
Nether of ydle showes, nor of false 

charmes aghast. 

XXX. 

So soone as she was entred, rownd 
about 

Shee cast her eies to see what was 
become 

Of all those persons which she saw with- 
out: 

But lo! they streight were vanisht all 
and some ; 

Ne living wight she saw in all that 
roome, 



Save that same woefull Lady, both whose 

hands 
Were bounden fast, that did her ill 

become, 
And her small waste girt ro^vnd with 

yron bands 
Upon a brasen pillour, by the which she 

stands. 

XXXI. 

And her before the vile Enchaunter sate, 
Figuring straange characters of his art : 
With living blood he those characters 

wrate, 
Dreadfully dropping from her dying hart, 
Seeming transfixed with a cruell dart ; 
And all perforce to make her him to love. 
Ah! who can love the worker of her 

smart ? 
A thousand charmes he formerly did 

prove, 
Yet thousand charmes could not her sted- 

fast hart remove. 



Soone as that virgin knight he saw in 

place. 
His wicked bookes in hast he overthrew, 
Xot caring his long labours to deface ; 
And, fiercely running to that Lady trew, 
A murdrous' knife out of his pocket drew. 
The which he thought, for villeinous de- 

spight, 
In her tormented bodie to embrew: 
But the stout Damzell, to him leaping 

light. 
His cursed hand withheld, and maistered 

his might. 

xxxni. 

From her, to whom his fury first he 
ment, 
The wicked weapon rashly he did wrest, ' 
And, turning to herselfe, his fell intent, 
Unwares it strooke into her snowie chest, 
That litle drops empurpled her faire brest. 
Exceeding wroth therewith the virgin 

grew, 
Albe the wound were nothing deepe im- 
prest. 
And fiercely forth her mortall blade she 

drew. 
To give him the reward for such vile out- 
rage dew. 

xxxrv. 

So mightily she smote him, that to 

ground 
He fell half e dead : next stroke him should 

have slaine. 
Had not the Lady, which by him stood 

bound, 



286 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book III. 



Dernly unto her called to abstains 
From doing him to dy. For else her 

paiue 
Should be remedilesse ; sith none but hee 
AVhich wrought it could the same recure 

againe. 
Therewith she stayd her hand, loth stayd 

to bee ; 
For life she him envyde, and long'd re- 
venge to see : 

XXXV. 

And to him said : ' Thou wicked man, 
whose meed 
For so huge mischiefe and vile villany 
Is death, or if that ought doe death ex- 
ceed; 
Be sure that nought may save thee from 

to dy 
But if that thou this Dame do presently 
Restore unto her health and former 

state : 
This doe, and live, els dye undoubtedly.' 
He, glad of life, that lookt for death but 

late, 
Did yield him selfe right willing to pro- 
long his date : 

XXXVI. 

And, rising up, gan streight to over- 

looke 
Those cursed leaves, his charmes back 

to reverse. 
Full dreadfull thinges out of that balefull 

booke 
He red, and measur'd many a sad verse. 
That horrour gan the virgins hart to perse. 
And her faire locks up stared stiffe on end. 
Hearing him those same bloody lynes re- 

herse ; 
And, all the while he red, she did extend 
Her sword high over him, if ought he did 

offend. 

XXXVII. 

Anon she gan perceive the house to 

quake. 
And all the dores to rattle round aboiit : 
Yet all that did not her dismaied make. 
Nor slack her threatf ull hand for daungers 

dout: 
But still with stedfast eye and courage 

stout 
Abode, to weet what end would come to 

all. 
At last that mightie chaine, which round 

about 
Her tender waste was wound, adowne gan 

fall, 
And that great brasen pillour broke in 

peeces small. 



The cruel 1 Steele, which thrild her dy- 
ing hart. 

Fell softly forth, as of his owne accord, 

And the wyde wound, which lately did 
dispart 

Her bleeding brest, and riven bowels 
gor'd. 

Was closed up, as it had not beene bor'd ; 

And every part to safety full sownd. 

As she were never hurt, was sooue i-e- 
stord. 

Tho, when she felt her selfe to be un- 
bownd 

And perfect hole, prostrate she fell unto 
the grownd. 

XXXIX. 

Before faire Britomart she fell prostrate, 
Saying ; ' Ah noble knight ! what worthy 

"meede 
Can wretched Lady, quitt from wofull 

state. 
Yield you in lieu of this your gracious 

deed? 
Your vertue selfe her owne reward shall 

breed. 
Even immortal prayse and glory wyde, 
Which I your vassall, by your prowesse 

freed. 
Shall through the world make to be noti- 

fyde, 
And goodly well advaunce that goodly 

well was tryde.' 



But Britomart, uprearing her from 

grownd, 
Said : ' Gentle Dame, reward enough I 

w^eene, 
For many labours more then I have 

found, 
This, that in safetie now I have you 

scene, 
And meane of your deliverance have 

beene. 
Henceforth, faire Lady, comfort to you 

take, 
And put away remembrance of late 

teene ; 
Insted thereof, know that your loving 

Make 
Hath no lesse griefe endured for your 

gentle sake.' 



She much was cheard to heare liim 
meiitiond, 
Whom of all living wightes she loved 
best. 



CANTO XII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



287 



Then laid the noble Champiouesse strong 

bond 
Upon th' enchauuter which had her dis- 

trest 
So sore, and with foule outrages opprest. 
With that great chaine, wherewith not 

long ygoe 
He bound that pitteous Lady prisoner, 

now relest, 
Himself 6 she bound, more worthy to be 

so, 
And captive with her led to wretched- 

nesse and wo. 

XLII. 

Returning back, those goodly rowmes, 

which erst 
She saw so rich and royally arayd, 
Now vanisht utterly and cleane subverst 
She found, and all their glory quite 

decayd ; 
That sight of such a chaunge her much 

dismayd 
Thence forth descending to that perlous 

porch 
Those dreadfull flames she also found 

delayd 
And quenched quite like a consumed 

torch, 
That erst all entrers wont so cruelly to 

scorch. 

XLIII. 

More easie issew now then entrance 

late 
She found ; for now that fained dreadfull 

flame, 
Which chokt the porch of that enchaunted 

gate 
And passage bard to all that thither came. 
Was vanisht quite, as it were not the 

same, 



And gave her leave at pleasure forth to 

passe. 
Th' Enchauuter selfe, which all that fraud 

did frame 
To have efforst the love of that faire lasse, 
Seeing his worke now wasted, deeps 

engrieved was. 

XLIV. 

But when the Victoresse arrived there 
Where late she left the pensife Scudamore 
With her own trusty Squire, both full of 

feare. 
Neither of them she found where she them 

lore: 
Thereat her noble hart was stonisht sore ; 
But most faire Amoret, whose gentle 

spright 
Now gan to feede on hope, which she 

before 
Conceived had, to see her own deare 

knight. 
Being thereof beguyld, was fild with new 

affright. 

XLV. 

But he, sad man, when he had long in 

drede 
Awayted there for Britoraarts returne, 
Yet saw her not, nor signe of her good 

speed, 
His expectation to despaire did turne. 
Misdeeming sure that her those flames did 

burne ; 
And therefore gan advize with her old 

Squire, 
Who her deare nourslings losse no lesse 

did mourne, 
Thence to depart for further aide t'en- 

quire : 
Where let them wend at will, whilest here 

I doe respire. 



THE FOURTH BOOKE 

OF 

THE FAERIE QUEENE 

CONTAINING THE LEGEND OF CAMBEL AND TRIAMOND, OR OF FRIENDSHIP. 



The rugged forhead, that with grave 

foresight 
Welds kingdomes causes and affaires of 

state, 
My looser rimes (I wote) doth sharply 

wite 
For praising love as I have done of late, 
And magnifying lovers deare debate ; 
By which fraile youth is oft to follie led, 
Through false allurement of that pleasing 

haite, 
That better were in vertues discipled, 
Then with vaine poemes weeds to have 

their fancies fed. 



Such ones ill judge of love that cannot 

love, 
Ne in their frosen hearts feele kindly 

flame: 
Forthy they ought not thing unknowne 

reprove, 
Ne naturall affection faultlesse blame 
For fault of few that have abusd the 

same ; 
For it of honor and all vertue is 
The roote, and brings forth glorious 

flowres of fame. 
That crowne true lovers with immortall 

Wis, 
The meed of them that love, and do not 

live amisse. 

III. 

Which who so list looke backe to former 

ages. 
And call to count the things that then 

were donne. 
Shall find that all the workes of those 

wise sages, 



And brave exploits which great Heroes 

wonne. 
In love were either ended or begunne : 
Witnesse the father of Philosophic, 
Which to his Critias, shaded oft from 

sunne. 
Of love full manie lessons did apply, 
The which these Stoicke censours cannot 

well deny. 

IV, 

To such therefore I do not sing at all ; 
But to that sacred Saint my soveraigne 

Queene, 
In whose chast brest all bountie naturall 
And treasures of true love enlocked beene, 
Bove all her sexe that ever yet was scene. 
To her I sing of love, that loveth best, 
And best is lov'd of all alive, I weene. 
To her this song most fitly is addrest. 
The Queene of love, and Prince of peace 

from heaven blest. 



Which that she may the better deigne 

to heare. 
Do thou, dred infant, Venus dearling 

dove, 
From her high spirit chase imperious 

feare, 
And use of awfull Majestic remove. 
Insted thereof with drops of melting 

love, 
Deawd with ambrosiall kisses, by thee 

gotten 
From thy sweete smyling mother from 

above, 
Sprinckle her heart, and haughtie courage 

soften. 
That she may hearke to love, and reade 

this lesson often. 



288 



CANTO I.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



289 



CANTO I. 

FajTe Britomart saves Amoret : 

Duessa discord breedes 
Twixt Scudamour and Blandamour : 

Their fight and warlike deedes. 



Of lovers sad calamities of old 
Full many piteous stories doe remaine, 
But noue more piteous ever was ytold 
Then that of Amorets hart-binding chaine, 
And this of Florimels unwortbie paine 
The deare compassion of whose bitter fit 
My softened heart so sorely doth con- 

straine, 
That I with teares full oft doe pittie it, 
And oftentimes doe wish it never had 

bene writ. 

n. 
For from the time that Scudamour her 

bought 
In perilous fight she never joyed day ; 
A perilous fight, when he with force her 

brought 
From twentie Knights that did him all 

assay ; 
Yet fairely well he did them all dismay, 
And with great glorie both the shield of 

love 
And eke the Ladie selfe he brought away, 
Whom having wedded, as did him be- 
hove, 
A new unknowen mischiefe did from him 



For that same vile Enchauntour Busy- 
ran, 
The very selfe same day that she was 

wedded, 
Amidst the bridale feast, whilest every 

man, 
Surcharg'd with wine, were heedlesse and 

ill-hedded , 
All bent to mirth before the bride was 

bedded, 
Brought in that mask of love which late 

was showen ; 
And there the Ladie, ill of friends be- 

stedded, 
By way of sport, as oft in maskes is 

knowen, 
Conveyed quite away to living wight 

unknowen. 

IV. 

Seven moneths he so her kept in bitter 
smart. 



Because his sinfull lust she would not 

serve, 
Untill such time as noble Britomart 
Released her, that else was like to sterve 
Through cruell knife that her deare heart 

did kerve : 
And now she is with her upon the way 
Marching in lovely wise, that could de- 
serve 
No spot of blame, though spite did oft 



To blot her with dishonor of so faire a 
pray. 

V. 

Yet should it be a pleasant tale, to tell 
The diverse usage, and demeanure daint, 
That each to other made, as oft befell : 
For Amoret right fearefull was and faint 
Lest she with blame her honor should 

attaint, 
That everie word did tremble as she 

spake, 
And everie looke was coy and wondrous 

quaint. 
And everie limbe that touched her did 

quake ; 
Yet could she not but curteous counte- 
nance to her make. 



For well she wist, as true it was indeed, 
That her lives Lord and patrone of her 

health 
Right well deserved, as his duefull meed, 
Her love, her service, and her utmost 

wealth : 
All is his justly that all freely dealth. 
Nathlesse her honor, dearer than her 

life, 
She sought to save, as thing reserv'd from 

stealth. 
Die had she lever with Enchanters knife 
Then to be false in love, prof est a virgine 

wife. 

vn. 

Thereto her feare was made so much 

the greater 
Through fine abusion of that Briton 

mayd ; 
Who, for to hide her fained sex the better 



290 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book IV. 



Aud raaske her wouuded mind, both did 

and sayd 
Full mauy things so doubtfull to be wayd, 
That well she Vist not what by them to 

gesse : 
For other-whiles to her she purpos made 
Of love, and other-whiles of Instfulnesse, 
That much she feard his mind would 

grow to some excesse. 

VIII. 

His will she feard ; for him she surely 

thought 
To be a man, such as indeed he seemed ; 
And much the more by that he lately 

wrought, 
When her from deadly thraldome he 

redeemed, 
For which no service she too much 

esteemed : 
Yet dread of shame and doubt of fowle 

dishonor 
Made her not yeeld so much as due she 

deemed. 
Yet Britomart attended duly on her, 
As well became a knight, aud did to her 

all honor. 

IX. 

It so befell one evening, that they came 

Unto a Castell, lodged there to bee. 

Where many a knight, and many a lovely 
Dame, 

Was then assembled deeds of armes to 
see: 

Amongst all which was none more faire 
then shee. 

That many of them mov'd to eye her sore. 

The custome of that place was such, 
that bee, 

Which had no love nor lemman there in 
store. 

Should either winne him one, or lye with- 
out the dore. 

X. 

Amongst the rest there was a jolly 

knight, 
Who, being asked for his love, avow'd 
That fairest Amoret was his by right, 
And offred that to justifie alowd. 
The warlike virgine, seeing his so prowd 
And boastfull chalenge, wexed inlie 

wroth ; 
But for the present did her anger shrowd, 
And sayd, her love to lose she was full 

loth, 
But either he should neither of them have, 

or both. 

XI. 

So foorth they went, and both together 
giusted ; 



But that same younker soone was over- 

throwne, 
And made repent that he had rashly 

lusted 
For thing unlawfull, that was not his 

owne : 
Yet since he seemed valiant, though un- 
known e. 
She, that no lesse was courteous then 

stout, 
Cast how to salve, that both the custome 

showne 
Were kept, and yet that Knight not locked 

out ; 
That seem'd full hard t' accord two things 

so far in dout. 

XII. 

The Seneschall was cal'd to deeme the 
right : 

Whom she requir'd, that first fayre Am- 
oret 

Might be to her allow'd, as to a Knight 

That did her win and free from chalenge 
set: 

Which straight to her was yeelded with- 
out let. 

Then, since that strange Knights love 
from him was quitted, 

She claim'd that to her selfe, as Ladies 
det, 

He as a Knight might justly be admitted ; 

So none should be out shut, sith all of 
loves were fitted. 

XIII. 

With that, her glistring helmet she un- 
laced ; 
Which doft, her golden lockes, that were 

upbound 
Still in a knot, unto her heeles downe 

traced. 
And like a silken veile in com passe round 
About her backe and all her bodie wound : 
Like as the shining skie in summers night. 
What time the dayes with scorching heat 

abound, 
Is creasted all with lines of firie light, 
That it prodigious seemes in common peo- 
ples sight. 

XIV. 

Such when those Knights and Ladies all 

about 
Beheld her, all were with amazement 

smit, 
And every one gan grow in secret dout 
Of this and that, according to each wit : 
Some thought that some enchantment 

faygned it ; 
Some, that Bellona in that warlike wise 



CANTO I.l 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



291 



To them appear'd, with shield and armour 
fit: 

Some, that it was a maske of strange dis- 
guise : 

So diversely each one did sundrie douhts 
devise. 

XV. 

But that young Knight, which through 

her gentle deed 
Was to that goodly fellowship restor'd, 
Ten thousand thaukes did yeeld her for 

her meed, 
And, doubly overcommen, her ador'd. 
So did they all their former strife accord : 
And eke fayre Amoret, uow freed from 

feare, 
More franke affection did to her afford, 
And to her bed, which she was wout for- 

beare, 
Now freely drew, and found right safe 

assurance theare. 

XVI. 

"Where all that night they of their loves 

did treat. 
And hard adventures, twixt themselves 

alone. 
That each the other gan with passion 

great 
And grief ull pittie privately bemone. 
The morow next, so soone as Titan shone, 
They both uprose and to their waies them 

dight : 
Long wandred they, yet never met with 

none 
That to their willes could them direct 

aright, 
Or to them tydings tell that mote their 

harts delight. 

XVII. 

Lo ! thus they rode, till at the last they 

spide 
Two armed Knights that toward tliem did 

pace. 
And ech of them had ryding by his side 
A Ladie, seeming in so farre a space : 
But Ladies none they were, albee in face 
And outward shew faire semblance they 

did beare ; 
For under maske of beautie and good 

grace 
Yile treason and fowle falshood hidden 

were. 
That mote to none but to the warie wise 

appeare. 

XVIII. 

The one of them the false Duessa hight. 
That now had chaug'd her former wonted 
hew: 



For she could d'on so mauie shapes in 
sight. 

As ever could Cameleon colours new; 

So could she forge all colours, save the 
trew. 

The other no whit better was then shee. 

But that such as she was she plaine did 
shew: 

Yet otherwise much worse, if worse might 
bee, 

And dayly more offensive unto each de- 
gree. 

xrx. 

Her name was Ate. mother of debate 
And all disseution which doth dayly grow 
Amongst fraile men, that many a publike 

state. 
And manx a private oft doth overthrow. 
Her false Duessa, who full well did know 
To be most tit to trouble noble knights 
Which hunt for honor, raised from below 
Out of the dwellings of the damned 

sp rights, 
Where she in darknes wastes her cursed 

dales and nights. 

XX. 

Hard by the gates of hell her dwelling 

is; 
There, whereas all the plagues and harmes 

abound 
Which punish wicked men that walke 

amisse : 
It is a darksome delve farre under ground. 
With thornes and barren brakes environd 

round, 
That none the same may easily out-win : 
Yet many waies to enter may be found, 
But none to issue forth when one is in ; 
For discord harder is to end then to begin. 

XXI. 

And all within, the riven walls were hung 
With ragged monuments of times fore- 
past. 
All which the sad effects of discord sung: 
There were rent robes and broken scep- 
ters plast ; 
Altars defy Id, and holy things defast ; 
Disshivered speares, and shields ytome 

in twaiue; 
Great ciiies ransackt, and strong castles 

rast; 
Nations captived, and huge armies sl^ine : 
Of aU which mines there some relicks did 
remaine. 

xxn. 

There was the signe of antique Babylon : 
Of fatall Thebes; of Rome that raigned 
long; 



292 



THE FAERIE" QUEENE. 



[book IV. 



Of sacred Salem ; and sad Ilion, 
For memorie of which on high there hong 
The golden Apple, cause of all their wrong, 
For which the three faire Goddesses did 

strive : 
There also was the name of Nimrod 

strong ; 
Of Alexander, and his Princes five 
Which shar'd to them the spoiles that he 

had got alive. 



And there the relicks of the drunken 

fray, - 

The which amongst the Lapithees befell ; 
And of the bloodie feast, which sent away 
So many Ceiitaures drunken soules to hell, 
That under great Alcides furie fell ; 
And of Ihe dreadfull discord, which did 

drive 
The noble Argonauts to outrage fell ; 
That each of life sought others to deprive, 
All mindlesse of the Golden fleece, which 

made them strive. 

XXIV. 

And eke of private persons many moe, 
That were too long a worke to count them 

all; 
Some, of sworne friends that did their 

faith forgoe ; 
Some, of borne brethren prov'd unnatu- 

rall; 
Some, of deare lovers foes perpetuall : 
Witnesse their broken bandes there to be 

scene. 
Their girlonds rent, their bowres de- 

spoyled all ; 
The moniments whereof there byding 

beene. 
As plaine as at the first when they were 

fresh and greene. 



Such was her house within; but all 

without, 
The barren ground was full of wicked 

weedes, 
Which she her selfe had sowen all about. 
Now growen great, at first of little seedes, 
The seedes of evill wordes and factious 

deedes ; 
Which, when to ripenesse due they 

growen arre. 
Bring foorth an infinite increase, that 

breedes 
Tumultuous trouble, and contentious 

Jarre, 
The which most often end in bloudshed 

and in warre. 



XXVI. 

And those same cursed seedes doe also 

serve 
To her for b ead, and yeeld her living 

food : 
For life it is to her, when others sterve 
Through mischievous debate and deadly 

feood, 
That she may sucke their life, and drinke 

their blood, 
With which she from her childhood had 

bene fed ; 
For she at first was borne of hellish brood, 
And by infernall furies nourished ; 
That by her monstrous shape might easily 

be red. 

XXVII. 

Her face most fowle and filthy was to 
see, 

With squinted eyes contrarie wayes in- 
tended. 

And loathly mouth, unmeete a mouth to 
bee. 

That nought but gall and venim compre- 
hended, 

And wicked wordes that God and man 
offended. 

Her lying tongue was in two parts divided, 

And both the parts did speake, and both 
contended ; 

And as her tongue so was her hart dis- 
cided, 

That never thoght one thing, but doubly 
stil was guided. 

XXVIII. 

Als as she double spake, so heard she 

double. 
With matchlesse eares deformed and dis- 
tort, 
Fild with false rumors and seditious 

trouble. 
Bred in assemblies of the vulgar sort. 
That still are led with every light report : 
And as her eares, so eke her feet were 

odde, 
And much unlike ; th' one long, the other 

short. 
And both misplast; that, when th' one 

forward yode, 
The other backe retired and contrarie 

trode. 

XXIX. 

Likewise unequall were her handes 

twain e ; 
That one did reach the other pusht away ; 
That one did make the other mard againe, 
And sought to bring all things unto decay ; 
V/hereby great riches, gathered manie a 

day. 



CANTO I.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



293 



She in short space did often bring to 

nought, 
And their possessours often did dismay : 
For all her stiidie was and all her thouo;ht 
How she might overthrow the things that 

Concord wrought. 



So much her malice did her might sur- 
pas, 
That even th' Almightie selfe she did 

maligne, 
Because to man so mercifull he was, 
And unto all his creatures so benigne, 
Sith she her selfe was of his grace in- 

digne ; 
For all this worlds faire workmanship 

she tride 
Unto his last confusion to bring, 
And that great golden chaine quite to 

divide. 
With which it blessed Concord hath to- 
gether tide. 



Such was that hag which with Duessa 

roade ; 
And, serving her in her raalitious use 
To hurt good knights, was, as it were, her 

baude 
To sell her borrowed beautie to abuse : 
For though, like withered tree that 

wanteth juyce, 
She old and crooked were, yet now of late 
As fresh and fragrant as the tioure-deluce 
She was become, by chaunge of her 

estate. 
And made full goodly joyance to her 

new-found mate. 



Her mate, he was a jollie youthfull 

knight 
That bore great sway in armes and 

chivalrie. 
And was indeed a man of mickle might ; 
His name was Blandamour, that did de- 

scrie 
His fickle mind full of inconstancie : 
And now himselfe he fitted had right well 
"With two companions of like qualitie, 
Faithlesse Duessa, and false Paridell, 
That whether were more false full hard it 

is to tell. 

xxxin. 

Now when this gallant with his goodly 

crew 
From farre espide the famous Britomart, 
Like knight adventurous in outward 

vew, 



With his faire paragon, his conquests part, 
Approching nigh, eftsoones his wanton 

hart 
Was tickled with delight, and jesting 

sayd ; 
' Lo! there. Sir Paridel, for your desart 
Good lucke presents you with yond lovely 

mayd. 
For pitie that ye want a fellow for j'our 

ayd.' 

XXXIV. 

By that the lovely paire drew nigh to 
bond: 
Whom when as Paridel more plaine be- 
held, 
Albee in heart he like affection fond. 
Yet mindfull how he late bj- one was feld 
That did those armes and that same 

scutchion weld, 
He had small lust to buy his love so 

deare, 
But answered ; * Sir, him wise I never 

held, 
That, having once escaped perill neare, 
Would afterwards afresh the sleeping 
evill reare. 



' This knight too late his manhood and 

his might 
I did assay, that me right dearely cost ; 
Ne list I for revenge provoke new fight, 
Ne for light Ladles love that sooue is 

lost.' 
The hot-spurre youth so scorning to be 

crost, 
'Take then to you this Dame of mine,' 

(quoth bee) 
' And I, without your perill or your cost, 
Will chalenge yond same other for my 

fee.' 
So forth he fiercely prickt that one him 

scarce could see. 



The warlike Britonesse her soone ad- 

drest, 
And with such uncouth welcome did 

receave 
Her fayued Paramour, her forced guest, 
That being forst his saddle soone to leave, 
Him selfehe did of his new love deceave ; 
And made him selfe thensample of his 

follie. 
Which done, she passed forth, not taking 

leave. 
And left him now as sad, as whilome 

jollie. 
Well warned to beware with whom he 

dar'd to dallie. 



294 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book IVc 



XXXVII. 

Which when liis other companie heheld, 
They to his succour ran with readie ayd ; 
And, finding liini unable once to weld, 
They reared him on horsebacke and up- 

stayd. 
Till on his way they had him forth con- 

vayd : 
And all the way, with wondrous griefe of 

mynd 
And shame, he shewd him selfe to be dis- 

mayd 
More for the love which he had left be- 

hynd, 
Then that which he had to Sir Paridel 

resynd. 

XXXVIII. 

Nathlesse he forth did march, well as 
he might. 
And made good semblance to his com- 
panie, 
Dissembling his disease and evill plight ; 
Till that ere long they chaunced to esj)ie 
Two other knights, that towards them did 

ply 

With speedie course, as bent to charge 

them new : 
Whom when as Blandamour approching 

nie 
Perceiv'd to be such as they seemd in 

vew, 
He was full wo, and gan his former grief e 

renew. 

XXXIX. 

For th' one of them he perfectly de- 

scride 
To be Sir Scudamour, by that he bore 
The God of love with wings displayed 

wide 
Whom mortally he hated evermore, 
Both for his worth, that all men did 

adore. 
And eke because his love he wonne by 

right : 
Which when he thought, it grieved him 

full sore, 
That, through the bruses of his former 

fight, 
He now unable was to wreake his old 

despight. 

XL. 

Forthy he thus to Paridel bespake : 
' Faire Sir, of friendshij) let me now you 

pray, 
That as I late adventured for your sake. 
The hurts whereof me now from battell 

stay, 
Ye will me now with like good turne 

repay, 
And justifi'e my cause on yonder knight.' 



' Ah! Sir,' (said Paridell) ' do not dismay 
Your selfe for this ; my selfe will for you 

fight. 
As ye have done for me : the left hand 

rubs the riyht.' 



With that he put his spurres unto his 

steed, 
With speare in rest, and toward him did 

fare. 
Like shaft out of a bow preventing speed : 
But Scudamour was shortly well aware 
Of his approch, and gan him selfe prepare 
Him to receive with entertainment meete. 
So furiously they met, that either bare 
The other downe under their horses 

feete. 
That what of them became themselves 

did scarsly weete. 



As when two billowes in the Irish 

sowndes. 
Forcibly driven with contrarie tydes, 
Do meete together, each abacke re- 

bowndes 
With roaring rage ; and dashing on all 

sides. 
That filleth all the sea with fome, divydes 
The doubtfull current into divers wayes. 
So fell those two in spight of both their 

prydes ; 
But Scudamour himselfe did soone up- 

rayse, 
And, mounting light, his foe for lying 

long upbrayes : 



Who, rolled on an heape, lay still in 
swound 

All carelesse of his taunt and bitter rayle ; 

Till that the rest him seeing lie on ground 

Ran hastily, to weete what did him ayle. 

Where finding that the breath gan him to 
fayle, 

With busie care they strove him to 
awake, 

And dof t his helmet, and undid his mayle : 

So much they did, that at the last they 
brake 

His slomber, yet so mazed that he noth- 
ing spake. 

XLIV. 

Which when as Blandamour beheld, he 

sayd ; 
* False faitour Scudamour, that hast by 

slight 
And foule advantage this good Knight 

dismayd, 



CANTO I.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



295 



A Knight luiich better then thy selfe 

behight, 
Well falles it thee that I am not in plight 
This day to wreake the dammage by thee 

douue. 
Such is thy wont, that still when any 

Knight 
Is weakued, then thou doest him over- 

ronue : 
So hast thou to thy selfe false honour 

often wouue.' 



He little answer 'd, but in manly heart 
His mightie indignation did forbeare ; 
Which was not yet so secret, but some 

part 
Thereof did in his frouning face appeare : 
Like as a gloomie cloud, the which doth 

beare 
An hideous storme, is by the Northerne 

blast 
Quite overblowne, yet doth not passe so 

cleare, 
But that it all the skie doth overcast 
With darknes dred, and threatens all the 

world to wast. 

XLVI. 

* Ah gentle knight! ' then false Duessa 
sayd, 

' Why do ye strive for Ladies love so sore, 

Whose chiefe desire is love and friendly 
aid 

Mongst gentle Knights to nourish ever- 
more? 

Ne be ye wroth, Sir Scudamour, there- 
fore 

That she, your love, list love another 
knight, 

Ne do your selfe dislike a whit the more ; 

For Love is free, and led with selfe 
delight, 

Ne will enforced be with maisterdome or 
might.' 

XLVII. 

So false Duessa ; but vile Ate thus : 

' Both foolish knights ! I can but laugh 
at both. 

That strive and storme with stirre out- 
rageous 

For her,"that each of you alike doth loth, 

And loves another, with whom now she 
goth 

In lovely wise, and sleepes, and sports, 
and playes ; 

Whilest both you here with many a 
cursed oth 

Sweare she is yours, and stirre up bloudie 
frayes, 



To win a willow bough, whilest other 
weares the bayes. 

XLVIII. 

'Vile hag!' (sayd Scudamour) 'why 

dost thou lye, 
And falsly seekst a vertuous wight to 

shame ? ' 
' Fond knight,' (sayd she) ' the thing that 

with this eye 
I saw, why should I doubt to tell the 

same ? ' 
'Then tell,' (quoth Blandamour) 'and 

feare no blame : 
Tell what thou saw'st, maulgre who so it 

heares.' 
' I saw ' (quoth she) ' a stranger knight, 

whose name 
I wote not well, but in his shield he 

beares 
(That well I wote) the heads of many 
. broken speares ; 

XLIX. 

' I saw him have your Amoret at will ; 
I saw him kisse ; I saw him her embrace ; 
I saw him sleepe with her all night his 

fill; 
All mauie nights ; and manie by in place 
That present were to testifie the case.' 
Which when as Scudamour did heare, his 

heart 
Was thrild with inward griefe : as when 

in chace 
The Parthian strikes a stag with shivering 

dart. 
The beast astonisht stands in middest of 

his smart. 

L. 

So stood Sir Scudamour when this he 
heard, 

Ne word had he to speake for great dis- 
may, 

But lookt on Glance grim; who woxe 
afeard 

Of outrage for the words which she heard 
say, 

Albee untrue she wist them by assay. 

But Blandamour, when as he did espie 

His chaunge of cheere that anguish did 
bewray. 

He woxe full blithe, as he had got there- 
by, 

And^gan thereat to triumph without vie- 
to rie. 

LI. 

' Lo ! recreant,' (sayd he) * the fruitlesse 
end 
Of thy vaine boast, and spoile of love mis- 
gotten, 



296 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book IV. 



Whereby the name of knight-hood thou 

dust sheud, 
And all true lovers with dishonor blotten : 
All things not rooted well will soone be 

rotten.' 
' Fy, fy ! false knight,' (then false Duessa 

cryde) 
' Unworthy life, that love with guile hast 

gotten ; 
Be thou, where ever thou do go or 

ryde, 
Loathed of ladies all, and of all knights 

defyde ! ' 



But Scudamour, for passing great de- 

spight, 
Staid not to answer ; scarcely did ref raine 
But that in all those knights and ladies 

sight 
He for revenge had guiltlesse Glance 

slaine : 
But, being past, he thus began amaine : 
' False traitour squire! false squire of 

falsest knight ! 
Why doth mine hand from thine avenge 

abstaine, 
Whose Lord hath done my love this foule 

despight ? 
Why do I not it wreake on thee, now in 

my might ? 



' Discourteous, disloyall Britomart, 
Untrue to God, and unto man unjust! 
What vengeance due can equall thy de- 

sart, 
That hast with shamefull spot of sinfull 

lust 
Defil'd the pledge committed to thy trust? 
Let ugly shame and endlesse infamy 
Colour thy name with foule reproaches 

rust! 
Yet thou, false Squire, his fault shalt 

deare aby, 
And with thy punishment his penance 

shalt supply.' 



The aged Dame, him seeing so enraged. 
Was dead with feare ; nathlesse, as ueede 

required. 
His flaming furie sought to have assuaged 
With sober words, that sufferance desired, 
Till time the tryall of her truth expyred ; 
And evermore sought Britomart to cleare : 
But he the more with furioas rage was 

fyred. 
And thrise his hand to kill her did up- 

reare, 
And thrise he drew it backe; so did at 

last forbeare. 



CANTO n. 

Blandamour winnes false Florimell 

Paridell for her strives : 
They are accorded : Agape 

Doth lengthen her sonnes lives. 



Firebrand of hell, first tynd in Phlege- 

ton, 
By thousand furies, and from thence out 

throwen 
Into this world to worke confusion, 
And set it all on fire by force unknowen. 
Is wicked discord ; whose small sparkes 

once blowen 
None but a God or godlike man can slake ; 
Such as was Orpheus, that, when strife 

was growen 
Amongst those famous ympes of Greece, 

did take 
His silver Harpe in hand and shortly 

friends them make : 



Or such as that celestiall Psalmist was, 
That, when the wicked feend his Lord 
tormented, 



With heavenly notes, that did all other 
pas 

The outrage of his furious fit relented. 

Such Musicke is wise words, with time 
concented, 

To moderate stiffe mindes disposd to 
strive : 

Such as that prudent Romane well in- 
vented. 

What time his people into partes did rive. 

Them reconcyld againe, and to their homes 
did drive. 



Such us'd wise Glance to that wrathfull 
knight, 

To calme the tempest of his troubled 
thought : 

Yet Blandamour with termes of foule de- 
spight, 

And Paridell her scornd, and set at nought, 

As old and crooked and not good for ought. 



CANTO II.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



297 



Both they unwise, and warelesse of the 

evill 
That by themselves unto themselves is 

wrought 
Through that false witch, and that foule 

aged drevill ; 
The one a feend, the other an incarnate 

devill. 

IV. 

With whom as they thus rode accom- 
panide, 
They were encountred of a lustie Knight 
That had a goodly Ladie by his side. 
To whom he made great dalliance and de- 
light: 
It was to weete the bold Sir Ferraugh 

hight, 
He that from Braggadocchio whilome reft 
The snowy Florimell, whose beautie bright 
Made him seeme happie for so glorious 

theft ; 
Yet was it in due triall but a wandring 
weft. 

V. 

Which when as Glandamour, whose 

fancie light 
Was alwaies flitting as the wavering wind 
After each beautie that appeard in sight. 
Beheld, eftsoones it prickt his wanton 

mind 
With sting of lust that reasons eye did 

blind, 
Tbat to Sir Paridell these words he sent: 

* Sir knight, why ride ye dumpish thus 

behind, 
Since so good fortune doth to you present 
So fayre a spoyle, to make you joyous 

meriment? ' 

VI. 

But Paridell, that had too late a try all 
Of the bad issue of his counsell vaine. 
List not to hearke, but made this faire 
denyall : 

* Last turne was mine, well proved to my 

paine ; 
This now be yours ; God send you better 

gaine ! ' 
Whose scoffed words he taking halfe in 

scorne, 
Fiercely forth prickt his steed as in dis- 

daine 
Against that Elnight, ere he him well could 

torne ; 
By means whereof he hath him lightly 

overborne. 

VII. 

Who, with the sudden stroke astonisht 
sore, 
Upon the ground awhile in slomber lay ; 
The whiles his love away the other bore, 



And, shewing her, did Paridell upbray ; 
' Lo ! sluggisli Knight, the victors happie 

pray ! 
So fortune friends the bold : ' whom Pari- 
dell 
Seeing so faire indeede, as he did say, 
His hart with secret envie gan to swell. 
And inly grudge at him that he had sped 
so well. 

VIII. 

Nathlesse proud man himself e tlie other 

deemed, 
Having so peerelesse paragon ygot : 
For sure the fayrest Florimell him seemed 
To him was fallen for his happie lot, 
Whose like alive on earth he weened not: 
Therefore he her did court, did serve, didi 

wooe. 
With humblest suit that he imagine mot, 
And all things did devise, and all things 

dooe, 
That might her love prepare, and liking 

win theretoo. 



She, in regard thereof, him recompenst 
With golden words and goodly counte- 
nance. 
And such fond favours sparingly dispenst : 
Sometimes him blessing with a light eye- 
glance, 
And coy lookes tempring with loose dal- 
liance; 
Sometimes estranging him in sterner wise ; 
That having oast him in a foolish trance, 
He seemed brought to bed in Paradise, 
And prov'd hiraselfe most foole in what 
he seem'd most wise. 



So great a mistresse of her art she was, 
And perfectly practiz'd in womans craft. 
That though therein himselfe he thought 

to pas, 
And by his false allurements wylie draft 
Had thousand women of their love beraft, 
Yet now he was surpriz'd : for that false 

spright. 
Which that same witch had in this forme 

engraft. 
Was so expert in every subtile slight. 
That it could overreach the wisest earthly 

wight. 

XI. 

Yet he to her did dayly service more. 
And dayly more deceived was thereby ; 
Yet Paridell him envied therefore, 
As seeming plast in sole felicity: 
So blind is lust false colours to descry. 
But Ate soone discovering his desire, 



298 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book IV. 



And findiug now fit oj>portunity 

To stirre up strife twixt love and spight 

and ire, 
Did privily put coles unto his secret fire. 



By sundry meanes thereto she prickt 

him forth ; 
Now with remembrance of those spightfull 

speaches, 
Now with opinion of his owne more 

worth, 
Now with recounting of like former 

breaches 
Made in their friendship, as that Hag 

him teaches : 
And ever when his passion is allayd , 
She it revives, and new occasion reaches ; 
That on a time, as they together way'd, 
He made him open chalenge, and thus 

boldly sayd ; 



' Too boastf ull Blandamoure ! too long I 

beare 
The open wrongs thou doest me day by 

day: 
Well know'st thou, when we friendship 

first did sweare, 
The covenant was, that every spoyle or 

pray 
Should equally be shard betwixt us 

tway. 
Where is my part then of this Ladie 

bright, 
Whom to thy selfe thou takest quite 

away? 
Render therefore therein to me my right, 
Or answere for thy wrong as shall fall 

out in fight.' 



Exceeding wroth thereat was Blanda- 

mour, 
And gan this bitter answere to him make : 
' Too foolish Paridell ! that f ayrest floure 
Wouldst gather faine, and yet no paines 

wouldst take : 
But not so easie will I her forsake ; 
This hand her wonne, this hand shall her 

defend.' 
With that they gan their shivering 

speares to shake. 
And deadly points at cithers breast to 

bend, 
Forgetfull each to have bene ever others 

frend. 

XV. 

Their firie steedes with so untamed 
forse 



Did beare them both to fell avenges end, 
That both their speares with pitilesse 

remorse 
Through shield and mayle and haberjeon 

did wend. 
And in their llesh a griesly passage rend. 
That with the furie of their owne affret • 
Each other horse and man to ground did 

send ; 
Where, lying still awhile, both did for- 
get 
The perilous present stownd in which their 
lives were set. 



As when two warlike Brigandines at 
sea, 

With murdrous weapons arm'd to cruell 
fight. 

Do meete together on the watry lea. 

They stemme ech other with so fell 
despight. 

That with the shocke of their owne heed- 
lesse might 

Their wooden ribs are shaken nigh 
asonder. 

They which from shore behold the dread- 
full sight 

Of flashing fire, and heare the ordenance 
thonder, 

Do greatly stand amaz'd at such un- 
wonted wonder. 



At length they both upstarted in amaze, 
As men awaked rashly out of dreme, 
And round about themselves awhile did 

gaze; 
Till seeing her, that Florimell did seme, 
In doubt to whom she victorie should 

deeme. 
Therewith their dulled sprights they 

edgd anew. 
And, drawing both their swords, with 

rage extreme. 
Like two mad mastiff es, each on other 

flew, 
And shields did share, and mailes did rash, 

and helmes did hew. 



So furiously each other did assayle. 
As if their soules they would attonce 

have rent 
Out of their brests, that streames of 

blond did rayle 
Adowne, as if their springs of life were 

spent ; 
That all the ground with purple blond 

was sprent, 



CANTO II.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



299 



And all their armours staynd with bloudie 

gore ; 
Yet scarcely once to breath would they 

relent, 
So mortall was their malice, and so sore 
Become, of fayned friendship which they 

vow'd afore. 



is for Ladies most 

and foster friendly 

Dames so farre and so 

of praying them sur- 

more their cruelty en- 

of their 



XIX. 

And that which is 

besitting, 
To stint all strife 

peace, 
Was from those 

unfitting, 
As that, instead 

cease, 
They did much 

crease ; 
Bidding them fight for honour 

love, 

And rather die then Ladies cause release : 
With which vaine termes somuch they did 

them move. 
That both resolv'd the last extremities to 

prove. 

XX. 

There they, I weene, would fight untill 

this day, 
Had not a Squire, even he the Squire of 

Dames, 
By great adventure travelled that way ; 
Who seeing both bent to so bloudy games. 
And both of old well knowing by their 

names, 
Drew nigh, to weete the cause of their 

debate: , 
And first laide on those Ladies thousand 

blames, 
That did not seeke t'appease their deadly 

hate, 
But gazed on tlieir harmes, not pittying 

their estate. 



And then those Knights he humbly did 

beseech 
To stay their hands till he awhile had 

spoken ; 
AVho lookt a little up at that his speech, 
Yet would not let their battell so be 

broken , 
Both greedie fiers on other to be wroken : 
Yet he to them so earnestly did call. 
And them conjur'd by some well knowen 

token. 
That they at last their wrothf ull hands let 

fall, 
Content to heare him speake, and glad to 

rest withall. 



XXII. 

First he desir'd their cause of strife to 

see: 
They said, it was for love of Florimell. 
'Ah gentle knights!' (quoth he) 'how 

may that bee, 
And she so farre astray, as none can 

tell?' 
' Fond Squire,' full angry then sayd 

Paridell, 
' Seest not the Ladie there before thy face ? ' 
He looked backe, and, her aviziug well, 
Weend, as he said, by that her "outward 

grace 
That fayrest Florimell was present there 

in place. 

XXIII. 

Glad man was he to see that joyous 

sight. 
For none alive but joy'd in Florimell, 
And lowly to her lowting thus behight: 
' Fayrest of faire, that fairenesse doest 

excell, 
This happie day I have to greete you well. 
In which you safe I see, whom thousand 

late 
Misdoubted lost through mischiefe that 

befell. 
Long may you live in health and happie 

state ! ' 
She litle answer'd him, but lightly did 

aggrate. 

XXIV. 

Then, turning to those Knights, he gan 
anew: 
' And you, Sir Blandamour, and Paridell, 
That for this Ladie, present in your vew, 
Have rays'd this crudl warre and out- 
rage fell, 
Certes, me seemes, bene not advised well ; 
But rather ought in friendship for her 



To joyne your force, their forces to repell 
That seeke perforce her from you both to 

take, 
And of your gotten spoyle their owne 

triumph to make.' 

XXV. 

Thereat Sir Blandamour, with counte- 
nance Sterne 

All full of wrath, thus fiercely him be- 
spake : 

' Aread, thou Squire, that I the man may 
learne. 

That dare fro me thinke Florimell to 
take ! ' 

' Not one,' (quoth he) ' but many doe 
partake 



300 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book IV. 



Herein ; as thus : It lately so befell, 
That Satyran a girdle did uptake 
Well kuowne to appertaine to Florimell, 
Which for her sake he wore, as him 
beseemed well. 

XXVI. 

' But, when as she her selfe was lost 

and gone, 
Full many knights, that loved her like 

deare, 
Thereat did greatly grudge, that he alone 
That lost faire Ladies ornament should 

weare. 
And gan therefore close spight to him to 

beare ; 
Which he to shun, and stop vile envies 

sting, 
Hath lately caus'd to be proclaim'd each 

where 
A solemne feast, with publike turneying. 
To which all knights with them their 

Ladies are to bring : 

XXVII. 

' And of them all she, that is fayrest 

found, 
Shall have that golden girdle for reward ; 
And of those Knights, who is most stout 

on ground, 
Shall to that fairest Ladie be prefard. 
Since therefore she her selfe is now your 

ward. 
To you that ornament of hers pertaines 
Against all those that chalenge it to gard 
And save her honour with your ventrous 

paines : 
That shall you win more glory than ye 

here find gaiaes.' 



When they the reason of his words had 
hard, 

They gan abate the rancour of their rage. 

And with their honours and their loves 
regard 

The furious flames of malice to asswage. 

Tho each to other did his faith engage, 

Like faithfuU friends thenceforth to joyne 
in one 

With all their force, and battel 1 strong to 
wage 

Gainst all those knights, as their pro- 
fessed fone. 

That chaleng'd ought in Florimell, save 
they alone. 



So, well accorded, forth they rode 
together 



In friendly sort that lasted but a while ; 

And of all old dislikes they made faire 
weather ; 

Yet all was forg'd and spred with golden 
foyle. 

That under it hidde hate and hollow 
guyle. 

Ne certes can that friendship long en- 
dure. 

However gay and goodly be the style. 

That doth ill cause or evill end enure ; 

For vertue is the band that bindeth harts 
most sure. 

XXX. 

Thus as they marched all in close dis- 
guise 
Of fayned love, they chaunst to overtake 
Two knights that lincked rode in lovely 

wise, 
As if they secret counsels did partake ; 
And each not farre behinde him had his 

make. 
To weete, two Ladies of most goodly hew, 
That twixt themselves did gentle purpose 

make, 
Unmindfull both of that discordfull crew. 
The which with speedie pace did after 
them pursew. 

XXXI. 

Who, as they now approched nigh at 

hand, 
Deeming them doughtie, as they did ap- 

peare, 
They sent that Squire afore, to under- 
stand 
What mote they be : who, viewing them 

more neare. 
Returned readie newes, that those same 

weare 
Two of the prowest Knights in Faery 

lond, 
And those two Ladies their two lovers 

deare ; 
Couragious Cambell, and stout Triamond, 
With Canacee and Cambine linckt in 

lovely bond. 

XXXII. 

Whylome, as antique stories tellen us. 
Those ' two were foes the f ellonest on 

ground, 
And battell made the dreddest daunger- 

ous 
That ever shrilling trumpet did resound ; 
Though now their acts be no where to be 

found, 
As that renowmed Poet them compyled 
With warlike numbers and Heroicke 

sound, 



CANTO II.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



301 



Dan Chaucer, well of English undefyled, 
On Fames eternall beadroll worthie to be 
fyled. 

XXXIII. 

But wicked Time that all good thoughts 

doth waste, 
And workes of noblest wits to nought 

outweare, 
That famous moniment hath quite de- 

faste, 
And robd the world of threasure end- 

lesse deare, 
The which mote have enriched all us 

heare. 

cursed Eld ! the cankerworme of writs, 
How may these rimes, so rude as doth 

appeare, 
Hope to endure, sith workes of heavenly 

wits 
Are quite devourd, and brought to nought 

by little bits ? 

XXXIV. 

Then pardon, O most sacred happie 

spirit! 
That I thy labours lost may thus revive, 
And steale from thee the meede of thy 

due merit, 
That none durst ever whilest thou wast 

alive. 
And being dead in vaine yet many strive : 
Ne dare I like; but, through infusion 

sweete 
Of thine owne spirit which doth in me 

survive, 

1 follow here the footing of thy feete, 
That with thy meaning so I may the 

rather meete. 

XXXV. 

Cambelloes sister was fayre Canacee, 
That was the learnedst Ladie in her dayes, 
Well seene in everie science that mote 

bee, 
And every secret worke of natures wayes ; 
In wittie riddles, and in wise soothsayes; 
In power of hevbes, and tunes of beasts 

and burds; 
And, that augmented all her otlier 

prayse, 
She modest was in all her deedes and 

words, 
And wondrous chast of life, yet lov'd of 

Knights and Lords. 



Full many Lords and many Knights her 
loved. 
Yet she to none of them her liking lent, 
Ne ever was with fond affection moved, 



But rul'd her thoughts with goodly gov- 

ernement, 
For dread of blame and honours blemish- 

ment; 
And eke unto her lookes a law she 

made. 
That none of them once out of order 

went, 
But like to warie Centonels well stayd, 
Still watcht on every side, of secret foes 

affrayd, 

XXXVII. 

So much the more as she refusd to 

love, 
So much the more she loved was and 

sought. 
That oftentimes unquiet strife did move 
Amongst her lovers, and great quarrels 

wrought, 
That oft for her in bloudie armes they 

fought. 
Which when as Cambell, that was stout 

and wise, 
Perceiv'd would breede great mischiefe, 

he bethought 
How to prevent the perill that mote rise, 
And turne both him and her to honour, 

in this wise. 

XXXVIII. 

One day, when all that troupe of war- 
like wooers 

Assembled were to weet whose she should 
bee, 

All mightie men and dreadfull derring- 
dooers, 

(The harder it to make them well agree) 

Amongst them all this end he did decree ; 

That, of them all which love to her did 
make, 

They by consent should chose the stout- 
est three 

That with himselfe should combat for 
her sake. 

And of them all the victour should his 
sister take. 



Bold was the chalenge, as himselfe was 

bold, 
And courage full of haughtie hardiment, 
Approved oft in perils manifold, 
Which he atchiev'd to his great ornament: 
But yet his sisters skill unto him lent 
Most confidence and hope of happie speed. 
Conceived by a ring Avhich she him sent, 
That, mongst the manie vertues which we 

reed, 
Had power to staunch al wounds that 

mortally did bleed. 



302 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book IV. 



Well was that rings great vertue 

knowen to all ; 
That dread thereof and his redoubted 

might 
Did all that youthly rout so much appall, 
That none of them durst undertake the 

fight: 
More wise they weend to make of love 

delight 
Then life to hazard for faire Ladies looke ; 
And yet uncertaine by such outward 

sight, 
Though for her sake they all that perill 

tooke. 
Whether she would them love, or in her 

liking brooke. 



Amongst those knights there were three 

brethren bold, 
Three bolder brethren never were yborne. 
Borne of one mother in one happie mold. 
Borne at one burden in one happie morne ; 
Thrise happie mother, and thrise happie 

morne, 
That bore three such, three such not to be 

fond! 
Her name was Agape, whose children 

werne 
All three as one ; the first bight Priamond, 
The second Dyamond, the youngest Tria- 

mond. 

XLII. 

Stout Priamond, but not so strong to 
strike ; 
Strong Diamond, but not so stout a 

knight ; 
But Triamond was stout and strong alike : 
On horsebacke used Triamond to fight, 
And Priamond on foote had more delight ; 
But horse and foote knew Diamond to 

wield : 
With curtaxe used Diamond to smite, 
And Triamond to handle speare and 

shield. 
But speare and curtaxe both usd Pria- 
mond in field. 

XLIII. 

These three did love each other dearely 

well, 
And with so firme affection were allyde, 
As if but one soule in them all did dwell, 
Which did her powre into three parts di- 

vyde ; 
Like three faire branches budding farre 

and wide, 
That from one roote deriv'd their vitall 

sap: 



And like that roote that doth her life 

divide, 
Their mother was ; and had full blessed hap 
These three so noble babes to bring forth 

at one clap. 

XLIV. 

Their mother was a Fay, and had the 

skill 
Of secret things, and all the powres of 

nature, 
Which she by art could use unto her will. 
And to her service bind each living crea- 
ture, 
Through secret understanding of their 

feature. 
Thereto she was right faire, whenso her 

face 
She list discover, and of goodly stature : 
But she, as Fayes are wont, in privie 

place 
Did spend her dayes, and lov'd in forests 

wyld to space. 



There on a day a noble youthly knight. 
Seeking adventures in the salvage wood, 
Did by great fortune get of her the sight, 
As she sate carelesse by a cristall flood 
Combing her golden lockes, as seemd her 

good ; 
And unawares upon her laying hold. 
That strove in vaine him long to have 

withstood. 
Oppressed her, and there (as it is told) 
Got these three lovely babes, that prov'd 

three champions bold. 



Which she with her long fostred in that 

wood, 
Till that to ripenesse of mans state they 

grew': 
Then shewing forth signes of their fathers 

blood, 
They loved armes, and knighthood did en- 
sew, 
Seeking adventures where they anie 

knew. 
Which when their mother saw, she gan to 

dout 
Their safetie; least by searching daun- 

gers new. 
And rash provoking perils all about. 
Their days mote be abridged through 

their corage stout. 

XLVII. 

Therefore desirous th' end of all their 
dayes 



CANTO II.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



303 



To know, and them t' enlarge with long 

extent, 
By wondrous skill and many hidden 

wayes 
To the three fatall sisters house she went. 
Farre mider ground from tract of living 

went, 
Downe in the hottome of the deepe Abysse, 
Where Demogorgon, in dull darknesse 

pent 
Farre from the view of gods and heavens 

bliss, 
The hideous Chaos keepes, their dreadfull 

dwelling is. 



There she them found all sitting round 

about. 
The direfull distaffe standing in the mid, 
And with unwearied fingers drawing out 
TJie lines of life, from living knowledge 

hid. 
Sad Clotho held the rocke, the whiles the 

thrid 
By griesly Lachesis was spun with paine. 
That cruell Atropos eftsooues undid, 
With cursed knife cutting the twist in 

twaine. 
Most wretched men, whose dayes depend 

on thrids so vaine ! 



She, them saluting, there by them sate 
still 
Beholding how the thrids of life they 

span : 
And when at last she had beheld her fill. 
Trembling in heart, and looking pale and 

wan, 
Her cause of comming she to tell began. 
To whom fierce Atropos : ' Bold Fay, that 

durst 
Come see the secret of the life of man, 
Well worthie thou to be of Jove accurst, 
And eke thy childrens thrids to be asun- 
der burst ! ' 

L. 

Whereat she sore affrayd, yet her be- 
sought 
To graunt her boone, and rigour to abate. 
That she might see her childrens thrids 

forth brought. 
And know the measure of their utmost 

date 
To them ordained by eternall fate : 
Which Clotho grau'nting shewed her the 

same. 
That when she saw, it did her much amate 
To see their thrids so thin as spiders 
frame. 



And eke so short, that seemd their ends 
out shortly came. 



She then began them humbly to intreate 
To draw them longer out, and better 

twine. 
That so their lives might be prolonged 

late: 
But Lachesis thereat gan to repine. 
And sayd ; ' Fond dame, that deem'st of 

things divine 
As of humane, that they may altred bee. 
And chaung'd at pleasure for those impes 

of thine! 
Not so ; for what the Fates do once decree, 
Not all the gods can chaunge, nor Jove 

him self can free ! ' 



' Then since ' (quoth she) ' the terme of 

each mans life 
For nought may lessened nor enlarged bee, 
Graunt this; that when ye shred with 

fatall knife 
His line, which is the eldest of the three, 
Which is of them the shortest, as I see, 
Eftsoones his life may passe into the 

next : 
And, when the next shall likewise ended 

bee, 
That both their lives may likewise be 

annext 
Unto the third, that his may so be trebly 

wext. 

LIII. 

Thev graunted it; and then that care- 
full Fay 
Departed thence with full contented mynd ; 
And, comming home, in warlike fresh 

a ray 
Them found all three according to their 

kynd: 
But unto them what destinie was assynd. 
Or how their lives were eekt, she did not 

tell; 
But evermore, when she fit time could 

fynd. 
She warned them to tend their safeties 

well. 
And love each other deare, what ever 

them befell. 

LIV. 

So did they surely during all their 
dayes. 
And never discord did amongst them fall. 
Which mucli augmented all their other 
praise ; 



304 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book IV. 



And now, t'increase affection naturall, 
In love of Canacee they joyned all : 
Upon which ground this same great bat- 
tell grew, 



Great matter growing of beginning small. 
The which, for length, I will not here 

purse w, 
But rather will reserve it for a Canto new. 



CANTO III. 

The battell twixt three brethren with 

Cambell for Canacee : 
Cainbina with true friendships bond 

Doth their long strife agree. 



O! VTHY doe wretched men so much 

desire 
To draw their dayes unto the utmost date, 
And doe not rather wish them soone expire, 
Knowing the miserie of their estate. 
And thousand perills which them still 

awate. 
Tossing them like a boate amid the mayne, 
That every houre they knocke at deathes 

gate? 
And he that happie seemes, and least in 

payne, 
Yet is as nigh his end as he that most doth 

playne. 

II. 

Therefore this Fay I hold but fond and 

vaine. 
The which, in seeking for her children 

three 
Long life, thereby did more prolong their 

paine : 
Yet whilest they lived none did ever see 
More happie creatures then they seem'd 

to bee ; 
Nor more ennobled for their courtesie, 
That made them dearely lov'd of each 

degree ; 
Ne more renowmed for their chevalrie, 
That made them dreaded much of all men 

farre and nie. 



These three that hardie chalenge tooke 
in hand. 

For Canacee with Cambell for to fight. 

The day was set, that all might under- 
stand, 

And pledges pawnd the same to keepe 
aright : 

That day, the dreddest day that living 
wight 

Did ever see upon this world to shine, 

So soone as heavens window shewed light, 

These warlike Champions, all in armour 
shine. 

Assembled were in field the chalenge to 
define. 



The field with listes was all about en- 

clos'd. 
To barre the prease of people farre away ; 
And at th' one side sixe judges were dis- 

pos'd, 
To view and deeme the deedes of armes 

that day: 
And on the other side, in fresh aray, 
Fayre Canacee upon a stately stage 
Was set, to see the fortune of that fray. 
And to be scene, as his most worthie 

wage 
That could her purchase with his lives 

adventur'd gage. 



Then entred Cambell first into the list. 
With stately steps and fearlesse counte- 
nance. 
As if the conquest his he surely wist. 
Soone after did the brethren three advance 
In brave aray and goodly amenance. 
With scutchins gilt and banners broad 

displayd ; 
And, marching thrise in warlike ordinance, 
Thrise lowted lowly to the noble Mayd, 
The whiles shril trompets and loud clarions 
sweetly playd. 

VI. 

Which doen, the doughty chalenger 

came forth, 
All arm'd to point, his chalenge to abet: 
Gainst whom Sir Priamond, with equall 

worth 
And equall armes, himselfe did forward 

set. 
A trompet blew ; they both together met 
With dreadfuU force and furious intent, 
Carelesse of perill in their fiers affret. 
As if that life to losse they had forelent, 
And cared not to spare that should be 

shortly spent. 



Right practicke was Sir Priamond in 
fight. 



CANTO III.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



305 



And throughly skild in use of shield and 

speare ; 
Ne lesse approved was Cambelloes might, 
Ne lesse his skill in weapons did appeare ; 
That hard it was to weeue which harder 

were. 
Full many mightie strokes on either side 
Were sent, that seemed death in them to 

beare ; 
But they were both so watchfuU and well 

eyde, 
That they avoyded were, and vainely by 

did slyde. 

vni. 

Yet one, of many, was so strongly bent 
By Priamond, that with nnluckie glaunce 
Through Cambels shoulder it unwarely 

went, 
That forced him his shield to disadvaunce. 
Much was he grieved with that gracelesse 

chaunce ; 
Yet from the wound no drop of bloud 

there fell. 
But wondrous paine, that did the more 

enhaunce 
His haughtie courage to avengement fell : 
Smart daunts not mighty harts, but makes 

them more to swell. 



"With that, his poynant speare he fierce 

aventred 
With doubled force close underneath his 

shield, 
That through the mayles into his thigh it 

entred. 
And, there arresting, readie way did yield 
For bloud to gush forth on thegrassie field ; 
That he for paine himselfe n'ote right 

upreare. 
But too and fro in great amazement reel'd ; 
Like an old Oke, whose pith and sap is 

seare. 
At puffe of every storme doth stagger 

here and theare. 



Whom so dismayd when Cambell had 

espide, 
Againe he drove at him with double might, 
That nought mote stay the Steele, till in 

his side 
The mortall point most cruelly empight ; 
Where fast infixed, whilest he sought by 

slight 
It forth to wrest, the staffe asunder brake, 
And left the head behiude: with which 

despight 
He all enrag'd his shivering speare did 

shake, 



And charging him afresh thus felly him 
bespake. 

XI. 

* Lo ! faitour, there thy meede unto thee 

take. 
The meede of thy mischalenge and abet. 
Not for thine owne, but for thy sisters 

sake. 
Have I thus long thy life unto thee let : 
But to forbeare doth not forgive the det.' 
The wicked weapon heard his wrathfuU 

vow. 
And, passing forth with furious affret, 
Pierst through his bever quite into his 

brow. 
That with the force it backward forced 

him to bow. 



Therewith asunder in the midst it brast. 
And in his hand nought but the troncheon 

left; 
The other halfe, behind yet sticking fast, 
Out of his headpeece Cambell fiercely reft. 
And with such furie backe at him it heft. 
That making way unto his dearest life. 
His weasaud-pipe it through his gorget 

cleft. 
Thence streames of purple bloud issuing 

rife 
Let forth his wearie ghost, and made an 

end of strife. 



His wearie ghost assoyld from fleshly 

band 
Did not, as others wont, directly fly 
Unto her rest in Plutoes griesly land ; 
Ne into ayre did vanish presently, 
Ne chaunged was into a starre in sky ; 
But through traduction was eftsoones 

derived, 
Like as his mother prayd the Destinie, 
Into his other brethren that survived. 
In whom he liv'd anew, of former life 

deprived. 

xrv. 
Whom when on ground his brother next 

beheld. 
Though sad and sorie for so heavy sight. 
Yet leave unto his sorrow did not yeeld, 
But rather stir'd to vengeance and de- 
spight, 
Through "secret feeling of his generous 

sp right, 
Rusht fiercely forth the battell to renew. 
As in reversion of his brothers right ; 
And chaleuging the Virgin as his dew, 
His foe was soone addrest: the trompets 

freshly blew. 



3o6 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book IV. 



XV. 

With that they both together fiercely 

met, 
As if that each ment other to devoure ; 
And witli their axes both so sorely bet, 
That neither plate nor mayle, where as 

their powre 
They felt, coald once sustaine the hideous 

stowre, 
But rived were like rotten wood asunder ; 
Whilest through their rifts the ruddie 

bloud did showre, 
And fire did flash, like lightning after 

thunder, 
That fild the lookers on attonce with ruth 

and wonder. 



As when two Tygers prickt with hungers 

rage 
Have by good fortune found some beasts 

fresh spoyle. 
On which they weene their famine to 

asswage, 
And gaine a feastfull guerdon of their 

toyle, 
Both falling out doe stirre up strifefull 

broyle, 
And cruell battell twixt themselves doe 

make. 
Whiles neither lets the other touch the 

soyle. 
But either sdeignes with other to partake : 
So cruelly these Knights strove for that 

Ladies sake. 

XVII. 

Full many strokes, that mortally were 

ment. 
The whiles were enterchaunged twixt 

them two ; 
Yet they were all with so good wariment 
Or warded, or avoyded and let goe, 
That still the life stood fearelesse of her 

fog; 
Till Diamond, disdeigning long delay 
Of doubtfuU fortune wavering to and 

fro, 
Resolv'd to end it one or other way, 
And heav'd his murdrous axe at him with 

mighty sway. 

XVIII. 

The dreadfull stroke, in case it had 

arrived 
Where it was ment, (so deadly it was 

ment) 
The soule had sure out of his bodie 

rived, 
And stinted all the strife incontinent : 



But Cambels fate that fortune did pre- 
vent; 

For, seeing it at hand, he swarv'd asyde, 

And so gave way unto his fell intent ; 

Who, missing of the marke which he had 
eyde. 

Was with the force nigh feld, whilst his 
right foot did slyde. 



As when a Vulture greedie of his pray, 
Through hunger long that hart to him 

doth lend, 
Strikes at an Heron with all his bodies 

sway. 
That from his force seemes nought may 

it defend ; 
The warie fowle, that spies him toward 

bend 
His dreadfull souse, avoydes it, shunning 

light. 
And maketh him his wing in vaine to 

spend ; 
That with the weight of his owne weeld- 

lesse might 
He falleth nigh to ground, and scarse re- 

covereth flight. 

XX. 

Which faire adventure when Cambello 

spide. 
Full lightly, ere himselfe he could re- 
cower 
From daungers dread to ward his naked 

side. 
He can let drive at him with all his 

power. 
And with his axe him smote in evill 

hower. 
That from his shoulders quite his head he 

reft : 
The headlesse tronke, as heedlesse of that 

stower. 
Stood still awhile, and his fast footing 

kept, 
Till, feeling life to fayle, it fell, and 

deadly slept. 

XXI. 

They which that piteous spectacle beheld 
Were 'much amaz'd the headlesse tronke 

to see 
Stand up so long, and weapon vaine to 

weld, 
Unweetiug of the Fates divine decree 
For lifes succession in those brethren three. 
For notwithstanding that one soule was 

reft, 
Yet had the bodie not dismembred bee, 
It would have lived, and revived eft; 



CANTO III.] 



THE F-AERIE QUEENE. 



307 



But, finding no fit seat, the lifelesse corse 
it left. 



It left; but that same soule which 

therein dwelt 
Streight entring into Triamond him fild 
With double life and griefe ; which when 

he felt, 
As one whose inner parts had bene y thrild 
With point of Steele that close his hart- 

bloud spild, 
He lightly lept out of his place of rest. 
And rushing forth into the emptie field, 
Against Cambello fiercely him addrest; 
Who, him affronting soone, to fight was 

readie prest. 

XXIII. 

Well mote ye wonder how that noble 

Knight, 
After he had so often wounded beene. 
Could stand on foot now to renew the 

fight: 
But had ye then him forth advauncing 

seene, 
Some newborne wight ye would him surely 

weene ; 
So fresh he seemed and so fierce in sight : 
Like as a Snake, whom wearie winters 

teene 
Hath worne to nought, now feeling som- 

mers might. 
Casts off his ragged skin and freshly doth 

him dight. 

XXIV. 

All was through vertue of the ring he 

wore ; 
The which not onely did not from him let 
One drop of bloud to fall, but did restore 
His weakned powers, and dulled spirits 

whet. 
Through working of the stone therein 

yset. 
Else how could one of equall might with 

most, 
Against so many no lesse mightie met. 
Once thinke to match three such on equall 

cost. 
Three such as able were to match a 

puissant host ? 



Yet nought thereof was Triamond 

adredde, 
Ne desperate of glorious victorie ; 
But sharpely him assayld, and sore be- 

stedde 
With heapes of strokes, which he at him 

let flie 



As thicke as hayle forth poured from the 

skie : 
He stroke, he soust, he foynd, he hewd, 

he lasht. 
And did his yron brond so fast applie. 
That from the same the fierie sparkles 

flasht. 
As fast as water-sprinkles gainst a rocke 

are dasht. 

XXVI. 

Much was Cambello daunted with his 

blowes: 
So thicke they fell, and forcibly were sent. 
That he was forst from daunger of the 

throwes 
Backe to retire, and somewhat to relent. 
Till th' heat of his fierce furie he had 

spent ; 
Which when for want of breath gan to 

abate. 
He then afresh with new encouragement 
Did him assayle, and mightily amate, 
As fast as forward erst now backward to 

retrate. 

XXVII. 

Like as the tide, that comes fro th' 

Ocean mayne, 
Flowes up the Shenan with contrarie 

forse. 
And over-ruling him in his owne rayne, 
Drives backe the current of his kindly 

course, 
And makes it seeme to have some other 

sourse ; 
But when the floud is spent, then backe 

againe, 
His borrowed waters forst to redisbourse, 
He sends the sea his owne with double 

gaine, 
And tribute eke withall, as to his Sov- 

eraine. 



Thus did the battell varie to and fro, 
With diverse fortune doubtful 1 to be 

deemed : 
Now this the better had, now had his fo ; 
Then he halfe vanquisht, then the other 

seemed, 
Yet victors both them selves alwayes 

esteemed : 
And all the while the disentrayled blood 
Adowne their sides like litle rivers 

stremed, 
That with the wasting of his vitall flood, 
Sir Triamond at last full faint and feeble 

stood. 

XXIX. 

But Cambell still more strong and 
greater grew. 



3o8 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book IV. 



Ne felt his blood to wast, ne powres 

eraperisht, 
Through that rings vertue, that with 

vigour uew 
Still when as he enfeebled was, him 

cherisht, 
And all his wounds, and all his bruses 

guarisht ; 
Like as a withered tree, through husbands 

toyle. 
Is often seene full freshly to have florisht, 
And fruitfull apples to have borne awhile, 
As fresh as when it first was planted in 

the soyle. 

XXX. 

Through which advantage, in hisstrength 

he rose. 
And smote the other with so wondrous 

might, 
That through the seame, which did his 

hauberk close, 
Into his throate and life it pierced quight. 
That downe he fell as dead in all mens 

sight ; 
Yet dead he was not, yet he sure did 

die, 
As all men do, that lose the living spright. 
So did one soule out of his bodie flie 
Unto her native home from mortall 

miserie. 

XXXI. 

But nathelesse, whilst all the lookers- 
on 
Him dead behight, as he to all appeard. 
All unawares he started up anon. 
As one that had out of a dreame bene 

reard, 
And fresh assayld his foe: who halfe 

affeard 
Of th' uncouth sight, as he some ghost 

had seene, 
Stood still amaz'd, holding his idle sweard ; 
Till, having often by him stricken beene. 
He forced was to strike, and save himselfe 
from teene. 



Yet from thenceforth more warily he 

fought, 
As one in feare the Stygian gods t' offend, 
Ne followd on so fast, but rather sought 
Him selfe to save, and daunger to defend. 
Then life and labour both in vaine to 

spend. 
Which Triamond perceiving weened sure 
He gan to faint toward the battels end, 
And that he should not long on foote 

endure, 
A signe which did to him the victorie 

assure. 



Whereof full blith ef tsoones his mightie 

hand 
He heav'd on high, in mind with that 

same blow 
To make an end of all that did withstand : 
Which Cambell seeing come was nothing 

slow 
Him selfe to save from that so deadly 

throw ; 
And at that instant reaching forth his 

sweard 
Close underneath his shield, that scarce 

did show. 
Stroke him, as he his hand to strike up- 

reard. 
In th' arm-pit full, that through both 

sides the wound appeard. 



Yet still that direfull stroke kept on 
his way. 
And, falling heavie on Cambelloes crest, 
Strooke him so hugely that in swowne he 

lay, 
And in his head an hideous wound im- 
prest : 
And sure, had it not happily found rest 
Upon the brim of his brode-plated shield. 
It would have cleft his braine downe to 

his brest. 
So both at once fell dead upon the field, 
And each to other seemd the victorie to 
yield. 



Which when as all the lookers-on be- 
held, 

They weened sure the warre was at an 
end; 

And Judges rose, and Marshals of the 
field 

Broke up the listes, their armes away to 
rend ; 

And Canacee gan wayle her dearest frend. 

All suddenly they both upstarted light. 

The one out of the swownd, which him 
did blend. 

The other breathing now another spright, 

And fiercely each assayling gan afresh to 
fight. 

XXXVI. 

Long while they then continued in that 

wize. 
As if but then the battell had begonne : 
Strokes, wounds, wards, weapons, all they 

did despise, 
N9 either car'd to ward, or perill shonne, 
Desirous both to have the battell donne ; 
Ne either cared life to save or spill, 



CANTO III.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



309 



Ne which of them did winue, ne wliicli 

were woune. 
So wearie both of fighting had their fill, 
That life it selfe seemd loathsome, and 

long safetie ill. 



Whilst thus the case in doubtfull bal- 

lance hong, 
Unsure to whether side it would incline. 
And all mens eyes and hearts, which 

there among 
Stood gazing, filled were with rufull tine 
And secret feare, to see their fatall fine. 
All suddenly they heard a troublous 

noyes, 
That seemd some perilous tumult to 

desine, 
Confusd with womens cries and shouts 

of boyes, 
Such as the troubled Theatres oftimes 

aunoyes. 

XXXVIII. 

Thereat the Champions both stood still 
a space, 
To weeten what that sudden clamour 

ment : 
Lo ! where they spyde with speedie whirl- 
ing pace, 
One in a charet of straunge furniment 
Towards them driving, like a storme out 

sent. 
The charet decked was in wondrous wize 
With gold and many a gorgeous orna- 
ment. 
After the Persian Monarks antique guize. 
Such as the maker selfe could best by art 
devize. 

XXXIX. 

And drawne it was (that wonder is to 
tell) 

Of two grim lyons, taken from the wood. 

In which their powre all others did ex- 
cell; 

Now made forget their former cruell 
mood, 

T' obey their riders best, as seemed good. 

And therein sate a Ladie, passing faire 

And bright, that seemed borne of Angels 
brood. 

And, with herbeautie, bountie did com- 
pare. 

Whether of them in her should have the 
greater share. 

XL. 

Thereto she learned was in Magicke 
leare. 
And all the artes, that subtill wits dis- 
cover, 



Having therein bene trained many ayeare, 
And well instructed by the Fay her 

mother. 
That in the same she farre exceld all 

other : 
Who understanding by her mightie art 
Of th' evill plight, in which her dearest 

brother 
Now stood, came forth in hast to take his 

part. 
And pacifie the strife, which causd so 

deadly smart. 



And as she passed through th' unruly 

preace 
Of people, thronging thicke her to behold, 
Her angrie teame breaking their bonds of 

peace 
Great heapes of them, like sheepe in nar- 
row fold, 
For hast did over-runne, in dust enrould : 
That, thorough rude confusion of the 

rout. 
Some fearing shriekt, some being harmed 

hould, 
Some laught for sport, some did for 

wonder shout. 
And some, that would seeme wise, their 

wonder turnd to dout. 



In her right hand a rod of peace shee 
bore, 
About the which two Serpents weren 

wound, 
Entrayled mutually in lovely lore, 
And by the tailes.together firmely bound, 
And both were with one olive garland 

crown d. 
Like to the rod which Maias sonne doth 

wield. 
Wherewith the hellish fiends he doth con- 
found : 
And in her other hand a cup she hild, 
The which was with Nepenthe to the brim 
upfild. 

XLIII. 

Nepenthe is a drinck of soverayne 

grace, 
Devized by the Gods, for to asswage 
Harts grief, and bitter gall away to 

chace. 
Which stirs up anguish and contentious 

rage : 
Instead thereof sweet peace and quiet-age 
It doth establish in the troubled mynd. 
Few men, but such as sober are and sage. 
Are by the Gods to drinck thereof 

assynd ; 



3IO 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book IV. 



But such as drinck, eternall happinesse 
do fyiid. 

XLIV. 

Such famous men, such worthies of the 

earth, 
As Jove will have advaunced to the skie, 
And there made gods, though borne of 

mortall berth, 
For their high merits and great dignitie, 
Are wont, before they may to heaven flie, 
To drincke hereof, whereby all cares 

forepast 
Are washt away quite from their memo- 

rie. 
So did those olde Heroes hereof taste, 
Before that they in blisse amongst the 

Gods were plaste. 

XLV. 

Much more of price and of more gra- 

tious powre, 
Is this, then that same water of Ardenne, 
The which Rinaldo drunck in happie 

howre. 
Described by that famous Tuscane penne : 
For that had might to change the hearts 

of men 
Fro love to hate, a change of evill choise : 
But this doth hatred make in love to 

brenne, 
And heavy heart with comfort doth 

rejoyce. 
Who would not to this vertue rather 

yeeld his voice? 



At last arriving by the listes side, 
Shee with her rod did softly smite the 

raile, 
Which straight flew ope, and gave her 

way to ride. 
Eftsoones out of her Coch she gan availe, 
And pacing fairely forth did bid all haile, 
First to her brother, whom she loved 

deare. 
That so to see him made her heart to 

quaile ; 
And next to Cambell, whose sad ruefull 

cheare 
Made her to change her hew, and hidden 

love t' appeare. 



They lightly her requit, (for small 

delight 
They had as then her long to entertaine) 
And eft them turned both againe to 

fight: 
Which when she saw, downe on the bloudy 

plaine 



Her selfe she threw, and teares gan shed 

amaine ; 
Amongst her teares immixing prayei-s 

mecke, 
And with her prayers reasons, to restraino 
From blouddy strife, and blessed peace to 

seeke, 
By all that unto them was deare, did 

them beseeke. 



But when as all might nought with them 

prevaile, 
Shee smote them lightly with her powre- 

full wand. 
Then suddenly, as if their hearts did faile, 
Their wrathfull blades downe fell out of 

their hand. 
And they, like men astonish t, still did 

stand. 
Thus whilest their minds were doubtfully 

distraught, 
And mighty spirites bound with mightier 

band, 
Her golden cup to them for drinke she 

raught, 
Whereof, full glad for thirst, ech drunk 

an harty draught ; 



Of which so soone as they once tasted 

had, 
Wonder it is that sudden change to see : 
Instead of strokes, each other kissed glad, 
And lovely haulst, from feare of treason 

free, 
And plighted hands for ever friends to be. 
When all men saw this sudden change of 

things, 
So mortall foes so friendly to agree. 
For passing joy, which so great marvaile 

brings. 
They all gan shout aloud, that all the 

heaven rings. 



All which when gentle Canacee beheld. 
In hast she from her lofty chaire de- 
scended. 
To weet what sudden tidings was befeld : 
Where when she saw that cruell war so 

ended, 
And deadly foes so faithfully affrended, 
In lovely wise she gan that Lady greet. 
Which had so great dismay so well 

amended : 
And, entertaining her with curt'sies 

meet. 
Prof est to her true friendship and affection 
sweet. 



CANTO III.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



311 



Thus when they all accorded goodly 

were, 
The trumpets sounded, and they all arose, 
Thence to depart with glee and gladsome 

chere. 
Those warlike champions both together 

chose 
Homeward to march, themselves there to 

repose : 
And wise Cambina, taking by her side 
Faire Canacee, as fresh as morning rose, 
Unto her Coch remounting, home did 

ride, 



Admir'd of all the people and much giori- 
fide. 



Where making joyous feast theire dales 

they spent 
In perfect love, devoide of hatefuU strife, 
Allide with bands of mutual] couplement ; 
For Triamoiid had Canacee to wife, 
With whom he ledd a long and happie life ; 
And Cambel tooke Cambina to his fere. 
The which as life were to each other liefe. 
So all alike did love, and loved were. 
That since their dayes such lovers were 

not found elswhere. 



CANTO IV. 

Satyrane makes a Turneyment 

For love of Florimell : 
Britomart winiies the prize from all, 

And Artegall doth quell. 



It often fals, (as here it earst befell) 

That mortall foes doe turne to faithfull 
frends, 

And friends profest are chaungd to foe- 
men fell : 

The cause of both, of both their minds de- 
pends. 

And th' end of both likewise of both their 
ends: 

For enraitie, that of no ill proceeds 

But of occasion, with th' occasion ends ; 

And friendship, which a faint affection 
breeds 

Without regard of good, dyes like ill 
grounded seeds. 



That well (me seemes) appeares, by that 
of late 
Twixt Cambell and Sir Triamond be- 
fell. 
As als by this, that now a new debate 
Stird up twixt Blandamour and Paridell, 
The which by course befals me here to 

tell : 
Who having those two other Knights 

espide 
Marching afore, as ye remember well, 
Sent forth their Squire to have them both 

descride. 
And eke those masked Ladies riding them 
beside. 

III. 

Who backe returning told, as he had 
scene. 
That they were doughtie knights of 
dreaded name, 



And those two Ladies their two loves un- 
seen e ; 

And therefore wisht them without blot or 
blame 

To let them passe at will, for dread of 
shame. 

But Blandamour full of vainglorious 
spright. 

And rather stird by his discordfull Dame, 

Upon them gladly would have prov'd his 
might. 

But that he yet was sore of his late luck- 
lesse fight. 

IV. 

Yet nigh approchiug he them fowle be- 
spake, 

Disgracing them, him selfe thereby to 
grace. 

As was his wont : so weening way to make 

To Ladies love, where so he came in 
place, 

And with lewd termes their lovers to de- 
face. 

Whose sharpe provokement them incenst 
so sore. 

That both were bent t' avenge his usage 
base. 

And gan their shields addresse them 
selves afore : 

For evill deedes may better then bad 
words be bore. 



But faire Cambina with perswasions 

myld 
Did mitigate the fiercenesse of their 

mode, 
That for the present they were reconcyld, 



312 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book IV. 



And gau to treate of deeds of armes 
abrode, 

And strange adventures, all the way they 
rode : 

Amongst the which they told, as then be- 
fell. 

Of that great turney which was blazed 
brode, 

For that rich girdle of faire Florimell, 

The prize of her which did in beautie most 
excell. 

VI. 

To which folke-mote they all with one 
consent, 

Sith each of them his Ladie had him by, 

Whose beautie each of them thought ex- 
cellent. 

Agreed to travell, and their fortunes try. 

So as they passed forth they did espy 

One in bright armes, with ready speare in 
rest. 

That toward them his course seem'd to 
apply : 

Gainst whom Sir Paridell himselfe ad- 
drest, 

Him weening, ere he nigh approcht, to 
have represt. 

VII. , 

Which th' other seeing gan his course 

relent. 
And vaunted speare eftsoones to disad- 

vaunce. 
As if he naught but peace and pleasure 

ment, 
Now falne into their fellowship by chance : 
Whereat they shewed curteous counte- 

naunce. 
So as he rode with them accompanide. 
His roving eie did on the Lady glaunce 
Which Blandamour had riding by his 

side: 
Whom sure he weend, that he some-wher 

tofore had eide. 

vm. 

It was to weete that snowy Florimell, 
Which Ferrau late from Braggadochio 

wonne : 
Whom he now seeing, her remembred 

well, 
How having reft her from the witches 

Sonne, 
He soone her lost : wherefore he now be- 
gun ne 
To challenge her anew, as his owne prize, 
AVhom formerly he had in battell wonne, 
And proffer made by force her to reprize : 
Which scornefuU offer Blandamour gan 
soone despize ; 



And said, ' Sir Knight, sith ye this Lady 

clame. 
Whom he that hath were loth to lose so 

light, 
(For so to lose a Lady were great shame) 
Yee shall her wiune, as I Lave done, in 

fight: 
And lo ! shee shall be placed here in sight. 
Together with this Hag beside her set. 
That who so winnes her may her have by 

right : 
But he shall have the Hag that is ybet. 
And with her alwaies ride, till he another 

get.' 

X. 

That offer pleased all the company: 
So Florimell with Ate forth was brought. 
At which they all gau laugh full merrily : 
But Braggadochio said, he never thought 
For such an Hag, that seemed worse then 

nought. 
His person to emperill so in fight ; 
But if to match that Lady tbey had sought 
Another like, that were like faire and 

bright, 
His life he then would spend to justifie 

his right. 

XI. 

At which his vaine excuse they all gan 

smile. 
As scorning his unmanly cowardize : 
And Florimell him fowly gan revile, 
That for her sake refus'd to enterprize 
Tbe battell, offred in so knightly wize : 
And Ate eke provokt him privily 
With love of her, and shame of such me- 

sprize. 
But nought he car'd for friend or enemy, 
For in base mind nor friendship dwels nor 

enmity. 

XII. 

But Cambell thus did shut up all in jest : 
'Brave Knights and Ladies, certes, ye 

doe wrong 
To stirre up strife, when most us needeth 

rest, 
That we may us reserve both fresh and 

strong 
Against the Turneiment which is not long, 
When who so list to fight may fight his 

fill: 
Till then your challenges ye may prolong ; 
And then it shall be tried, if ye will, 
Whether shall have the Hag, or hold the 

Lady still.' 

. XIII. 

They all agreed: so, turning all to 



CANTO IV.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



3^3 



And pleasaunt bord, they past forth on 

their way. 
And all that while, where so they rode or 

came, 
That masked Mock-knight was their sport 

and play. 
Till that at length, upon th' appointed 

day 
Unto the place of turneyment they came ; 
Where they before them found in fresh 

aray 
Manie a brave knight and manie a daintie 

dame, 
Assembled for to get the honour of that 

game. 

XIV. 

There this faire crewe arriving did 

divide 
Them selves asunder : Blandamour with 

those 
Of his on th' one, the rest on th' other 

side. 
But boastful Braggadochio rather chose, 
For glorie value, their fellowship to lose, 
That men on him the more might gaze 

alone. 
The rest themselves in troupes did else 

dispose. 
Like as it seemed best to every one ; 
The knights in couples marcht with ladies 

linckt attone. 



Then first of all forth came Sir Satyrane, 
Bearing that precious relicke in an arke 
Of gold, that bad eyes might it not pro- 

phane: 
Which drawing softly forth out of the 

darke. 
He open shewd, that all men it mote 

marke: 
A gorgeous girdle, curiously embost 
With pearle and precious stone, worth 

many a marke ; 
Yet did the workmanship farre passe the 

cost: 
It was the same which lately Florimel had 

lost. 

XVI. 

The same aloft he*hung in open vew. 
To be the prize of beautie and of might; 
The which eftsoones discovered, to it 

drew 
The eyes of all, allur'd with close delight, 
And hearts quite robbed with so glorious 

sight. 
That all men threw out vowes and wishes 

vaine. 
Thrise happie Ladie, and thrise happie 

knight, 



Them seemd that could so goodly riches 

gaine, 
So worthie of the perill, worthy of the 

paiue. 

XVII. 

Then tooke the bold Sir Satyrane in 

hand 
An huge great speare, such as he wont to 

wield, 
And, vauncing forth from all the other 

baud 
Of knights, addrest his maiden-headed 

shield. 
Shewing him selfe all ready for the field. 
Gainst whom there singled from the other 

side 
A Painim knight that well in armes was 

skild. 
And had in many a battell oft bene tride, 
Hight Bruncheval the bold, who fiersly 

forth did ride. 

XVIII. 

So furiously they both together met, 
That neither could the others force sus- 

taine ; 
As two fierce Buls, that strive the rule to 

get 
Of all the heard, meete with so hideous 

maine. 
That both rebutted tumble on the plaine : 
So these two champions to the ground 

were feld, 
Where in a maze they both did long re- 

maine, 
And in their hands their idle troncheons 

held. 
Which neither able were to wag, or once 

to weld. 



Which when the noble Ferramont 

espide. 
He pricked forth in ayd of Satyran ; 
And him against Sir Blandamour did ride 
With all the strength and stifnesse that 

he can. 
But the more strong and stiffely that he 

ran, 
So much more sorely to the ground he 

fell, 
That on an heape were tumbled horse and 

man: 
Unto whose rescue forth rode Paridell ; 
But him likewise with that same speare 

he eke did quell. 



Which Braggadocchio seeing had no 
will 



314 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book IV. 



To hasten greatly to his parties ayd, 
Albee his turue were next ; hut stood there 

still, 
As one that seemed doubtfull or dismayd. 
But Triamond, halfe wroth to see him 

staid, 
Sternly stept forth and raught away his 

speare, 
With which so sore he Ferramont assaid, 
That horse and man to ground he quite 

did heare. 
That neither could in hast themselves 

againe upreare. 



Which to avenge Sir Devon him did 

dight, 
But with no better fortune then the rest : 
For him likewise he quickly downe did 

smight, 
And after him Sir Douglas him addrest, 
And after him Sir Palimord forth prest : 
But none of them against his strokes 

could stand. 
But, all the more, the more his praise in- 

crest : 
For either they were left uppon the land. 
Or went away sore wounded of his hap- 

lesse hand. 

XXII. 

And now by this Sir Satyrane abraid 
Out of the swowne, in which too long he 

lay; 
And looking round about, like one dis- 

maid, 
When as he saw the mercilesse affray 
Which doughty Triamond had wrought 

that day 
Unto the noble Kiaights of Maidenhead, 
His mighty heart did almost rend in 

tway, 
For very gall, that rather wholly dead 
Himself e he wisht have beene, then in so 

bad a stead. 

xxin. 

Eftsoones he gan to gather up around 

His weapons which lay scattered all 

abrode. 
And, as it fell, his steed he ready found ; 
On whom remounting fiercely forth he 

rode. 
Like sparke of fire that from the and vile 

glode. 
There where he saw the valiant Triamond 
Chasing, and laying on them heavy lode. 
That none his force were able to with- 

stond, 
So dreadf ull were his strokes, so deadly 

was his hond. 



With that, at him his beam-like speare 
he aimed. 

And thereto all his power and might 
applide : 

The wicked Steele, for mischiefe first or- 
dained. 

And having now misfortune got for guide. 

Staid not till it arrived in his side. 

And therein made a very griesly wound. 

That streames of blood his armour all 
bedide. 

Much was he daunted with that diref ull 
stound. 

That scarse he him upheld from falling in 
a swound. 



Yet, as he might, himselfe he soft with- 
drew 
Out of the field, that none perceiv'd it 

plaine ; 
Then gan the part of Chalengers anew 
To range the field, and victorlike to raine, 
That none against them battell durst 

maintaine : 
By that the gloomy evening on them fell, 
That forced them from fighting to re- 

f raine. 
And trumpets sound to cease did them 

compell : 
So Satyrane that day was judg'd to beare 
the bell. 

XXVI. 

The morrow next the Turney gan anew : 
And with the first the hardy Satyrane 
Appear'd in place, with all his noble 

crew : 
On th' other side full many a warlike 

swaiue 
Assembled were, that glorious prize to 

gaine. 
But mongst them all was not Sir Tria- 
mond, 
Unable he new battell to darraine. 
Through grievaunce of his late received 

wound. 
That doubly did him grieve when so him- 
selfe he found. 



Which Cambell seeing, though he could 

not salve, 
Ne done undoe, yet, for to salve his name 
And purchase honor in his friends be- 

halve, 
This goodly counterfesaunce he did 

frame : 
The shield and amies, well knowne to be 

the same 



CANTO 1\\] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



315 



Which Triamoud had wonie, uiiwares to 

wight 
And to his friend unwist, for doubt of 

blame 
If he misdid, he on himselfe did dight, 
That none could him discerne; and so 

went forth to fight. 

XXVIII. 

There Satyrane Lord of the field he 

found, 
Triumphing in great joy and jolity, 
Gainst whom none able was to stand on 

ground ; 
That much he gan his glorie to envy, 
And cast t' avenge his friends indignity. 
A mightie speare eftsoones at him he bent ; 
Who, seeing him come on so furiously, 
Met him mid-way with equall hardiment. 
That forcibly to ground they both together 

went. 

XXIX. 

They up againe them selves can lightly 
reare. 

And to their tryed swords them selves be- 
take; 

With which they wrought such wondrous 
marvels there. 

That all the rest it did amazed make, 

Ne any dar'd their perill to partake ; 

Now cuffing close, now chacing to and 
fro, 

Now hurtling round advantage for to 
take: 

As two wild Boares together grapling go, 

Chaufing and foming choler each against 
his fo. 

XXX. 

So as they courst, and turneyd here and 

tlieare, 
It chaunst Sir Satyrane his steed at last, 
Whether through foundring or through 

sodeiu feare, 
To stumble, that his rider nigh he cast; 
AVhich vauutage Cambell did pursue so 

fast, 
That, ere him selfe he had recovered well. 
So sore he sowst him on the compast ci'east. 
That forced him to leave his loftie sell, 
And rudely tumbling downe under his 

horse-feete fell. 

XXXI. 

Lightly Cambello leapt downe from his 

steed 
For to have rent his shield and armes 

away. 
That whylome wont to be the victors 

meed: 



When all uuwares he felt an hideous 

sway 
Of many swords that lode on him did lay. 
An hundred knights had him enclosed 

round. 
To rescue Satyrane out of his pray, 
All which at once huge strokes on him did 

pound. 
In hope to take him prisoner, where he 

stood on ground. 

XXXII. 

He with their multitude was nought 

dismayd. 
But with stout courage turnd upon them 

all. 
And with his brondiron round about him 

layd; 
Of which he dealt large almes, as did be- 
fall: 
Like as a Lion, that by chaunce doth fall 
Into the hunters toile, doth rage and 

rore. 
In royall heart disdaining to be thrall. 
But all in vaine: for what might one do 

more ? 
They have him taken captive, though it 

grieve him sore. 

XXXIII. 

Whereof when newes to Triamond was 

brought 
There as he lay, his wound he soone 

forgot, 
And starting up streight for his armour 

sought : 
In vaine he sought, for there he found it 

not; 
Cambello it away before had got. 
Cambelloes armes therefore he on him 

threw, 
And lightly issewd forth to take his lot. 
There he in troupe found all that warlike 

crew, 
Leading his friend away, full sorie to his 

vew. 

XXXIV. 

Into the thickest of that knightly preasse 
He thrust, and smote downe all that was 

betweene, 
Caried with fervent zeale : ne did he 

ceasse, 
Till that he came where he had Cambell 

scene 
Like captive thral two other Knights 

atweene : 
There he amongst them cruell havocke 

makes. 
That they, which lead him, soone enforced 

beene 



3i6 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book IV. 



To let him loose to save their proper 

stakes, 
Who, being freed, from one a weapon 

fiercely takes. 



With that he drives at them with dread- 
full might, 

Both in remembrance of his friends late 
harme. 

And in revengement of his owne despight; 

So both together give a new allarme, 

As if but now the battell wexed warme. 

As when two greedy Wolves doe breake 
by force 

Into an heard, farre from the husband 
farme. 

They spoile and ravine without all re- 
morse ; 

So did these two through all the field 
their foes enforce. 



Fiercely they followd on their bolde 

emprize. 
Till trumpets sound did warne them all to 

rest; 
Then all with one consent did yeeld the 

prize 
To Triamond and Cambell as the best. 
But Triamond to Cambell it relest, 
And Cambell it to Triamond transferd, 
Each labouring t' advance the others gest. 
And make his praise before his owne pre- 

■ ferd: 
So that the doome was to another day 

differd. 

XXXVII. 

The last day came, when all those 

knightes againe 
Assembled were their deedes of armes to 

shew. 
Full many deedes that day were shewed 

plaine: 
But Satyrane, bove all the other crew, 
His wondrous worth declared in all mens 

view. 
For from the first he to the last endured : 
And though some while Fortune from him 

withdrew, 
Yet evermore his honour he recured, 
And with unwearied powre his party still 

assured. 

XXXVIII. 

Ne was there Knight that ever thought 

of armes. 
But that his utmost prowesse there made 

knowen ; 
That, by their many wounds and carelesse 

harmes, 



By shivered speares, and swords all under 

strowen, 
By scattered shields, was easie to be 

showen. 
There might ye see loose steeds at randon 

ronne, 
Whose lucklesse riders late were over- 

throwen ; 
And squiers make hast to helpe their 

Lords fordonne. 
But still the Knights of Maidenhead the 

better wonne ; 



Till that there entered on the other side 
A straunger knight, from whence no man 

could reed. 
In quyent disguise, full hard to be de- 

scride : 
For all his armour was like salvage weed 
With woody mosse bedight, and all his 

steed 
With oaken leaves attrapt, that seemed fit 
For salvage wight; and thereto well 

agreed 
His word, which on his ragged shield was 

writ, 
Salvagesse sans finesse, shewing secret 

wit. 

XL. 

He, at his first incomming, cbarg'd his 

spere 
At him that first appeared in his sight : 
That was to weet the stout Sir Sangliere, 
Who well was knowen to be a valiant 

Knight, 
Approved oft in many a perlous fight. 
Him at the first encounter downe he smote, 
And overbore beyond his crouper quight; 
And after him another Knight, that bote 
Sir Brianor, so sore that none him life 

behote. 

XLI. 

Then, ere his hand he reard, he over- 
threw 
Seven Knights, one after other as they 

came: 
And, when his speare was brust, his sword 

he drew. 
The instrument of wrath, and with the 

same 
Far'd like a lyon in his bloodie game. 
Hewing and slashing shields and helmets 

bright, 
And beating downe what ever nigh him 

came, 
That every one gan shun his dreadfull 

sight, 
No lesse then death it selfe, in daungerous 

affright. 



CANTO IV.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



317 



Much wondred all men what or whence 
he came, 

That did amongst the troupes so tyran- 
nize, 

And each of other gan inquire his name. 

But when they could not learne it by no 
wize, 

Most answerable to his wyld disguize 

It seemed him to terme the Salvage 
Knight ; 

But certes his right name was otherwize, 

Though knowne to few, that Arthegall he 
bight, 

The doughtiest knight that liv'd that day, 
and most of might. 



Thus was Sir Satyrane with all his band 
By his sole manhood and atchievement 

stout 
Dismay 'd, that none of them in field durst 

stand. 
But beaten were and chased all about. 
So he continued all that day throughout, 
Till evening that the Sunne gan down- 
ward bend. 
Then rushed forth out of the thickest rout 
A stranger knight, that did his glorie 

shend : 
So nought may be esteemed happie till 
the end. 

XLIV. 

He at his entrance charg'd his powrefull 

speare 
At Artegall, in middest Of his pryde, 
And therewith smote him on his Umbriere 
So sore, that tombling backe he downe 

did slyde 
Over his horses taile above a stryde ; 
Whence litle lust he had to rise againe : 
Which Cambell seeing much the same 

envyde, 
And ran at him with all his might and 

maine ; 
But shortly was likewise seene lying on 

the plaine. 

XLV. 

Whereat full inly wroth was Triamond, 
And cast t' avenge the shame doen to his 

freend : 
But by his friend himselfe eke soone he 

fond 
In no leese neede of helpe then him he 

weend. 
All which when Blandamour from end to 

end 



Beheld, he woxe therewith displeased 

sore, 
And thought in mind it shortly to amend : 
His speare he feutred, and at him it 

bore, 
But with no better fortune then the rest 

afore. 

XLVI. 

Full many others at him likewise ran. 
But all of them likewise dismounted 

were; 
Ne certes wonder, for no powre of man 
Could bide the force of that enchaunted 

speare. 
The which this famous Britomart did 

beare ; 
With which she wondrous deeds of arms 

atchieved, 
And overthrew what ever came her neare, 
That all those stranger knights full sore 

agrieved, 
And that late weaker band of chalengers 

relieved. 

XLVII. 

Like as in sommers day, when raging 

heat 
Doth burne the earth and boy led rivers 

drie, 
That all brute beasts, forst to ref raine fro 

meat. 
Doe hunt for shade, where shrowded they 

may lie, 
And, missing it, faine from themselves to 

flie; 
All travellers tormented are with paine : 
A watry cloud doth overcast the skie, 
And poureth forth a sudden shoure of 

raine, 
That all the wretched world recomforteth 

againe. 

XLVUI. 

So did the warlike Britomart restore 
The prize to knights of Maydenhead that 

day, 
Which else was like to have bene lost, and 

bore 
The prayse of prowesse from them all 

away. 
Then shrilling trompets loudly gan to 

bray, 
And bad them leave their labours and 

long toyle 
To joyous feast and other gentle play. 
Where beauties prize shold win that 

pretious spoyle : 
Where I with sound of trompe will also 

rest a whyle. 



3i8 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book IV. 



CANTO V. 

The Ladies for the girdle strive 

Of famous Florimell : 
Scudamour, commiiig to Cares House, 

Doth sleepe from him ex pell. 



It hath hene through all ages ever seene, 
That with the praise of armes and chev- 

alrie 
The prize of beautie still hath joyned 

beene ; 
And that for reasons speciall privitie, 
For either doth on other much relie. 
For he, me seemes, most fit the faire to 

serve, 
That can her best defend from villenie ; 
And she most fit his service doth deserve, 
That fairest is, and from her faith will 

never swerve. 



So fitly now here commeth next in place, 
After the proofe of prowesse ended well, 
The controverse of beauties soveraiue 

grace ; 
In which, to her that doth the most excell, 
Shall fall the girdle of faire Florimell: 
That many wish to win for glorie vaine. 
And not for vertuous use. which some doe 

tell 
That glorious belt did in it selfe containe, 
Which Ladies ought to love, and seeke for 

to obtaine. 

III. 

That girdle gave the vertue of chast 

love, 
And wivehood true, to all that did it 

beare ; 
But whosoever contrarie doth prove, 
Might not the same about her middle 

weare. 
But it would loose, or else asunder teare. 
Whilome it was (as Faeries wont report) 
Dame Venus girdle, by her steemed deare 
What time she usd to live in wively sort. 
But layd aside when so she usd her looser 

sport. 

IV. 

Her husband Vulcan whylome for her 

sake. 
When first he loved her with heart entire. 
This pretious ornament, they say, did 

make, 
And wrought in Lemno with unqueiiched 

fire : 



And afterwards did for her loves first 

hire 
Give it to her, for ever to remaine, 
Therewith to bind lascivious desire. 
And loose affections streightly to re- 

straine ; 
Which vertue it forever after did retaine. 



The same one day, when she her selfe 

disposd 
To visite her beloved Paramoure, 
The God of warre, she from her middle 

loosd, 
And left behind her in her secret bowre 
On Acidalian mount, where many an 

howre 
She with the pleasant Graces wont to 

play. 
There Florimell, in her first ages flowre, 
Was fostered by those Graces, (as they 

say) 
And brought with her from thence that 

goodly belt away. 



That goodly belt was Cestus hight by 

name, 
And as her life by her esteemed deare. 
No wonder then, if that to winne the 

same 
So many Ladies sought, as shall appeare; 
For pearelesse she was thought that did 

it beare. 
And now by this their feast all being 

ended, 
The judges, which thereto selected were, 
Into the Martian field adowne descended 
To deeme this doutfull case, for which 

they all contended. 



But first was question made, which of 

those Knights 
That lately turneyd had the wager wonne : 
There was it judged, by those worthie 

wights, 
That Satyrane the first day best had 

donne : 
For he last ended, having first begonue. 
The second was to Triamond behight, 



CANTO v.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



319 



For that he sav'd the vie tour from for- 

donne : 
For Cambell victour was in all mens 

sight, 
Till by mishap he in his foemens hand 

did light. 

VIII. 

The third dayes prize unto that straun- 
ger ICuight, 

Whom all men term'd Knight of the 
Hebene speare, 

To Britomart was given by good right ; 

For that with puissant stroke she downe 
did beare 

The Salvage Knight that victour was 
whileare, 

And all the rest which had the best afore, 

And to the last unconquer'd did appeare ; 

For last is deemed best. To her therefore 

The fay rest Ladie was adjudged for Para- 
more. 



But thereat greatly grudged Arthegall, 
And much repyud, that both of victors 

meede 
And eke of honour she did him forestall. 
Yet mote he not withstand what was de- 

creede, 
But inly thought of that despightfull 

deede 
Fit time t' awaite avenged for to bee. 
This being ended thus, and all agreed. 
Then next ensew'd the Paragon to see 
Of beauties praise, and yeeld the fayrest 

her due fee. 



Then first Cambello brought into their 
view 

His faire Cambina, covered with a veale ; 

Which, being once withdrawne, most per- 
fect hew 

And passing beautie did eftsoones reveale, 

That able was weake harts away to steale. 

Next did Sir Triamond unto their sight 

The face of his deare Canacee unheale ; 

Whose beauties beame eftsoones did 
shine so bright, 

That daz'd the eyes of all as with exceed- 
ing light. 

XI. 

And after her did Paridell produce 
His false Duessa, that she might be scene ; 
Wlio with her forged beautie did seduce 
Tlie hearts of some that fairest her did 

weene, 
As diverse wits affected divers beene. 
Then did Sir Ferramont unto them shew 
His Lucida, that was full faire and sheene : 
And after these an hundred Ladies moe 



Appear'd in place, the which each other 
did outgoe. 



All which who so dare thinke for to en- 

chace, 
Him needeth sure a golden pen, I weene. 
To tell the feature of each goodly face : 
For, since the day that they created 

beene, 
So many heavenly faces were not scene 
Assembled in one place: ne he that 

thought 
For Chian folke to pourtraict beauties 

Queene, 
By view of all the fairest to him brought. 
So many faire did see as here he might 

have sought. 



At last, the most redoubted Britonesse 
Her lovely Amoret did open shew ; 
Whose face, discovered, plainely did ex- 

presse 
The heavenly pourtraict of bright Angels 

hew. 
Well weened all, which her that time 

did vew, 
That she should surely beare the bell away ; 
Till Blandamour, who thought he had the 

trew 
And very Florimell, did her display. 
The sight of whom once scene did all the 

rest dismay. 



For all afore that seemed fay re and 

bright. 
Now base and contemptible did appeare, 
Compar'd to her that shone as Phebes 

light 
Amongst the lesser starres in evening 

cleare. 
All that her saw with wonder ravisht 

weare. 
And weend no mortall creature she should 

bee. 
But some celestiall shape that flesh did 

beare : 
Yet all were glad there Florimell to see. 
Yet thought that Florimell was not so 

faire as shee. 



As guilefull Goldsmith that by secret 
skill 
With golden foyle doth finely over-spred 
Some baser metall, which commend he 

will 
Unto the vulgar for good gold insted , 



320 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book IV. 



He much more goodly glosse thereon doth 

shed 
To hide his falshood, then if it were trew : 
So hard this Mole was to be ared, 
That Florimell her selfe in all mens vew 
She seem'd to passe : so forged things do 

fairest shew. 

XVI. 

Then was that golden belt by doome of 
all 

Graunted to her, as to the fayrest Dame. 

Which being brought, about her middle 
small 

They thought to gird, as best it her be- 
came, 

But by no meanes they could it thereto 
frame ; 

For, ever as they fastned it, it loos'd 

And fell away, as feeling secret blame. 

Full oft about her wast she it enclos'd, 

And it as oft was from about her wast 
disclos'd : 



That all men wondred at the uncouth 

sight. 
And each one thought as to their fancies 

came. 
But she her selfe did thinke it doen for 

spight, 
And touched was with secret wrath and 

shame 
Therewith, as thing deviz'd her to defame. 
Then many other Ladies likewise tride 
About their tender loynes to knit the 

same ; 
But it would not on none of them abide. 
But when they thought it fast, eftsoones 

it was untide. 



Which when that scornefull Squire of 

Dames did vew, 
He lowdly gan to laugh, and thus to jest; 
' Alas ! for pittie that so f aire a crew, 
As like cannot be scene from East to 

West, 
Cannot find one this girdle to invest. 
Fie on the man that did it first invent 
To shame us all with this Ungirt unblest ! 
Let never Ladie to his love assent. 
That hath this day so many so unmanly 

shent.' 

XIX. 

Thereat all Knights gan laugh, and 

Ladies lowre : 
Till that at last the gentle Amoret 
Likewise assayd to prove that girdles 

powre ; 



And, having it about her middle set. 
Did find it fit withouten breach or let. 
Whereat the rest gan greatly to en vie, 
But Florimell exceedingly did fret. 
And snatching from her hand halfe 

angrily 
The belt againe, about her body gan it 

tie. 

XX. 

Yet nathemore would it her bodie fit; 
Yet nathelesse to her, as her dew right, 
It yielded was by them that judged it : 
And she her selfe adjudged to the Knight 
That bore the Hebene speare, as wonne 

in fight. 
But Britomart would not thereto assent, 
Ne her owne Amoret forgoe so light 
For that strange Dame, whose beauties 

wonderment 
The lesse esteem 'd then th' others vertu- 

ous government. 



Whom when the rest did see her to refuse , 
They were full glad, in hope themselves 

to get her : 
Yet at her choice they all did greatly muse. 
But, after that, the judges did arret her 
Unto the second best that lov'd her better ; 
That was the Salvage Knight : but he was 

gone, 
In great displeasure that he could not get 

her. 
Then was she judged Triamond his one ; 
But Triamond lov'd Canacee, and other 

none. 

XXII. 

Tho unto Satyran she was adjudged, 
Who was right glad to gaine so goodly 

meed: 
But Blandamour thereat full greatly 

grudged. 
And litleprays'd his labours evill speed, , 
That for to winne the saddle lost the steed. 
Ne lesse thereat did Paridell complaine. 
And thought t'appeale from that which 

was decreed 
To single combat with Sir Satyrane : 
Thereto him Ate stird, new discord to 

maintaine. 

XXIII. 

And eke, with these, full many other 
Knights 

She through her wicked working did in- 
cense 

Her to demaund and chalenge as their 
rights. 

Deserved for their perils recompense. 

Amongst the rest, with boastfull vaine 
pretense, 



CANTO v.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



321 



Stept Braggadochio forth, and as his 

thrall 
Her claym'd, by him in battell woune 

long sens : 
Whereto her selfe he did to witnesse call ; 
Who, being askt, accordingly confessed 

all. 

XXIV. 

Thereat exceeding wroth was Satyran ; 
And wroth with Satyran was Blandamour ; 
And wroth with Blandamour was Erivan ; 
And at them both Sir Paridell did loure. 
So all together stird up strifull stoure, 
And readie were new battell to darraine. 
Each one prof est to be her paramo ure, 
And vow'd with speare and shield it to 

maintaine ; 
Ne Judges powre, ne reasons rule, mote 

them restraine. 



Which troublous stirre when Satyrane 

aviz'd, 
He gan to cast how to appease the same, 
And to accord them all this meaues de- 

viz'd: 
First in the midst to set that fayrest Dame, 
To whom each one his chalenge should 

disclame, 
And he him selfe his right would eke re- 

leasse : 
Then, looke to whom she voluntarie came, 
He should without disturbance her pos- 

sesse : 
Sweete is the love that comes alone with 

willingnesse. 

XXVI. 

They all agreed: and then that snowy 

Mayd 
Was in the middest plast among them 

all; 
All on her gazing wisht, and vowd, and 

prayd, 
And to the Queene of beautie close did call. 
That she unto their portion might befall. 
Then, when she long had lookt upon each 

one. 
As though she wished to have pleasd them 

all, 
At last to Braggadochio selfe alone 
She came of her accord, in spight of all 

his fone. 

XXVII. 

Which when they all beheld they chaft, 

and rag'd. 
And woxe nigh mad for very harts de- 

spight. 
That from revenge their willes they scarce 

asswag'd : 



Some thought from him her to have reft 

by might; 
Some proffer made with him for her to 

light. 
But he nought car'd for all that they could 

say. 
For he their words as wind esteemed light. 
Yet not fit place he thought it there to 

stay, 
But secretly from thence that night her 

bore away. 

XXVIII. 

They which remaynd, so soone as they 
perceiv'd 
That she was gone, departed thence with 



And follow'd them, in mind her to have 

reav'd 
From wight unworthie of so noble meed. 
In which poursuit how each one did suc- 



Shall else be told in order, as it fell. 
But now of Britomart it here doth neede 
The hard adventures and strange haps to 

tell. 
Since with the rest she went not after 

Florimell. 

XXIX. 

For soone as she them saw to discord 

set. 
Her list no longer in that place abide ; 
But, taking with her lovely Amoret, 
Upon her first adventure forth did ride. 
To seeke her lov'd, making blind love 

her guide. 
Unluckie Mayd, to seeke her enimie! 
Unluckie Mayd, to seeke him farre and 

wide, 
Whom, when he was unto her selfe most 

nie, 
She through his late disguizement could 

him not descrie ! 

XXX. 

So much the more her griefe, the more 
her toyle : 
Yet neither toyle nor griefe she once did 

spare, 
In seeking him that should her paine 

assoyle ; 
Whereto great comfort in her sad misfare 
Was Amoret, companion of her care : 
Who likewise sought her lover long mis- 
went, 
The gentle Scudamour, whose heart whil- 

eare 
That stryfull hag with gealous discontent 
Had fild, that he to fell reveng was fully 
bent: 



322 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book IV. 



Bent to revenge on blamelesse Brito- 

mart 
The crime which cursed Ate kindled earst, 
The whicli like thornes did pricke his 

gealous hart, 
And through his soule like poysned arrow 

perst, 
That by no reason it might he reverst, 
For ought that Glance could or doe or say. 
For, aye the more that she the same re- 

herst. 
The more it gauld and griev'd him night 

and day. 
That nought hut dire revenge his anger 

mote defray. 



So as they travelled, the drouping night, 
Covered with cloudie storme and bitter 

showre. 
That dreadfull seem'd to every living 

wight. 
Upon them fell, before her timely howre ; 
That forced them to seeke some covert 

bowre. 
Where they might hide their heads in 

quiet rest, 
And shrowd their persons from that 

stormie stowre. 
Not farre away, not meet for any guest, 
They spide a little cottage, like some 

poore man's nest. 

XXXIII. 

Under a steepe hilles side it placed 

was, 
There where the mouldred earth had cav'd 

the bauke ; 
And fast beside a little brooke did pas 
Of muddle water, that like puddle stanke. 
By which few crooked sallowes grew in 

ranke : 
Whereto approaching nigh they heard 

the sound 
Of many yron hammers beating ranke, 
And answering their wearie turnes around, 
That seemed some blacksmith dwelt in 

that desert ground. 

XXXIV. 

There entring hi, they found the good- 
man selfe 
Full busily unto his worke ybent; 
Who was to weet a wretched wearish elfe. 
With hollow eyes and rawbone cheekes 

forspent. 
As if he had in prison long bene pent : 
Full blacke and griesly did his face ap- 
peare, 



Besmeard with smoke that nigh his eye- 
sight blent ; 

With rugged beard, and hoarie shagged 
heare, 

The which he never wont to combe, or 
comely shear e. 



Rude was his garment, and to rags all 

rent, 
Ne better had he, ne for better cared : 
With blistred hands emongst the cinders 

brent, 
And fingers filthie with long nayles uu- 

pared. 
Right fit to rend the food on which he fared. 
His name was Care ; a blacksmith by his 

trade, 
That neither day nor night from working 

spared, 
But to small purpose yron wedges made ; 
Those be unquiet thoughts that carefull 

minds invade. 



In which his worke he had sixe servants 

prest. 
About the Andvile standing evermore 
With huge great hammers, that did never 

rest 
From heaping stroakes which thereon 

soused sore: 
All sixe strong groomes, but one then 

other more ; 
For by degrees they all were disagreed, 
So likewise did the hammers which they 

bore, 
Like belles in greatnesse orderly succeed, 
That he whicli was the last the first did 

farre exceede. 



He like a monstrous Gyant seem'd in 

sight, 
Farre passing Bronteus or Pyracmon 

great, 
The which in Lipari doe day and night 
Frame thunderbolts for Joves avengef ull 

threate. 
So dreadfully he did the andvile beat. 
That seem'd to dust he shortly would it 

drive: 
So huge his hammer, and so fierce his heat, 
That seem'd a rocke of Diamond -it could 

rive 
And rend asunder quite, if he thereto list 

strive. 

XXXVIII. 

Sir Scudamour there entring much ad- 
mired 



CANTO v.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



323 



The manner of their worke and wearie 

paine ; 
And, having long beheld, at last enquired 
The cause and end thereof, but all in vai iie ; 
For they for nought would from their 

worke ref raine, 
Ne let his speeches come unto their eare. 
And eke the breathfull bellowes blew 

amaine, 
Like to the Northern winde, that none 

could heare : 
Those Peusifenesse did move; and Sighes 

the bellows weare. 

XXXIX. 

Which when that warriour saw, he said 

no more, 
But in his armour layd him down to rest : 
To rest he layd him downe upon the fiore, 
(Whylome for ventrous Knights the bed- 

- ding best) 
And thought his wearie limbs to have 

redrest. 
And that old aged Dame, his faithfull 

Squire, 
Her feeble joynts layd eke adowne to rest ; 
That needed much her weake age to desire. 
After so long a tr^vell which them both 

did tire. 



There lay Sir Scudamour long while 

expecting 
When gentle sleepe his heavie eyes would 

close ; 
Oft chaunging sides, and oft new place 

electing, 
Where better seem'd he mote himself e 

repose ; 
And oft in wrath he thence againe uprose, 
And oft in wrath he layd him downe 

againe. 
But wheresoever he did himselfe dispose, 
He by no meanes could wished ease ob- 
tain e : 
So every place seem'd painefull, and ech 

changing vaine. 



And evermore, when he to sleepe did 

thinke, 
The hammers sound his senses did molest. 
And evermore, when he began to winke. 
The bellowes noyse disturb 'd his quiet 

rest, 
Ne suffred sleepe to settle in his brest. 
And all the night the dogs did barke and 

howle 
About the house, at sent of stranger guest ; 
And now the crowing Cocke, and now the 

Owle 



Lowde shriking, him afflicted to the very 
sowle. 

XLII. 

And, if by fortune any litle nap 
Upon his heavie eye-lids chaunst to fall, 
Ef tsoones one of thosH villeins him did rap 
Upon his headpeece with his yron mall ; 
Tliat he was soone awaked therewithal!, 
And lightly started up as one affrayd, 
Or as if one him suddeiilj^ did call: 
So oftentimes he out of sleepe abrayd. 
And then lay musing long on that him ill 
apayd. 

XLIII. 

So long he muzed, and so long he lay, 
That at the last his wearie sprite, opprest 
With fleshly weaknesse, which no crea- 
ture may 
Long time resist, gave place to kindly rest, 
That all his senses did full soone arrest : 
Yet in his soundest sleepe his dayly feare 
His ydle braine gan busily molest, 
And made him dreame those two dis- 

loyall were : 
The things, that day most minds, at night 
doe most appeare. 

XlilV. 

With that the wicked carle, the maister 
Smith, 
A paire of red-whot yron tongs did take 
Out of the burning cinders, and therewith 
Under his side him nipt; that, forst to 

wake. 
He felt his hart for very paine to quake, 
And started up avenged for to be 
On him the which his quiet slomber brake : 
Yet, looking round about him, none could 

aife; 
Yet did the smart remaine, though he him- 
selfe did flee. 



Tn such disquiet and hart-fretting payne 
He all that night, that too long night, did 

passe 
And now the day out of the Ocean mayne 
Began to peepe above this earthly m.asse. 
With pearly dew sprinkling the morning 

grasse : 
Then up he rose, like heavie lumpe of lead, 
That in his face, as in a looking glasse. 
The signes of anguish one mote plaiuely 

read, 
And ghesse the man to be dismayd with 

gealous dread. 



Unto his lofty steede he clombe anone, 
And forth upon his former voiage fared. 



324 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book IV. 



And with him eke that aged Squire attone ; 
Who, whatsoever peri II was prepared, 
Both equall paines and equall perill 

shared ; 
The end whereof and daungerous event 



Shall for another canticle be spared : 
But here my wearie teeme, nigh over 

spent, 
Shall breath it selfe awhile after so long 

a went. 



CANTO VI. 



Both Scudamour and Artliegall 
Doe fight with Britomart: 

He sees her face ; doth fall in love, 
And soone from her depart. 



What equall torment to the griefe of 

mind 
And pyning anguish hid in gentle hart, 
That inly feeds it selfe with thoughts 

unkind, 
And nourisheth her owne consuming 

smart ? 
What medicine can any Leaches art 
Yeeld such a sore, that doth her grievance 

hide, 
And will to none her maladie impart ? 
Such was the wound that Scudamour^did 

gride, 
For which Dan Phebus selfe cannot a 

salve provide. 



Who having left that restlesse house of 

Care, 
The next day, as he on his way did ride, 
Full of melancholic and sad misfare 
Through misconceipt, all unawares espide 
An armed Knight under a forrest side 
Sitting in shade beside his grazing%teede ; 
Who, soone as them approaching he de- 

scride, 
Gan towards them to pricke with eger 

speede, 
That seem'd he was full bent to some 

mischievous deede. 



Which Scudamour perceiving forth 

issewed 
To have rencountred him in equall race ; 
But soone as th' other nigh approaching 

vewed 
The armes he bore, his spear e he gan 

abase 
And voide his course : at which so suddain 

case 
He wondred much. But th' other thus 

can say : 
' Ah, gentle Scudamour! unto your grace 
I me submit, and you of pardon pray, 



That almost had against you trespassed 
this day.' 

IV. 

Whereto thus Scudamour : ' Small harme 
it were 

For any knight upon a ventrous knight 

Without displeasance for to prove his 
spere. 

But reade you, Sir, sith ye my name have 
hight. 

What is your owne, that I mote you re- 
quite ? ' 

* Certes,' (sayd he) ' ye mote as now ex- 
cuse 

Me from discovering you my name aright. 

For time yet serves that I the same refuse ; 

But call ye me the Salvage Knight, as 
others use.' 

V. 

'Then this, Sir Salvage Knight,' (quoth 

he) ' areede : 
Or doe you here within this forrest wonne, 
That seemeth well to answere to your 

weede, 
Or have ye it for some occasion donne ? 
That rather seemes, sith knowen armes 

ye shonne.' 
' This other day ' (sayd he) ' a stranger 

knight 
Shame and dishonour hath unto me donne. 
On whom I waite to wreake that f oule de- 

spight. 
When ever he this way shall passe by day 

or night.' 

VI. 

* Shame be his meede,' (quoth he) * that 

meaneth shame ! 
But what is he by whom ye shamed were ? ' 
' A stranger knight,' sayd he, ' imknowne 

by name, 
But knowne by fame, and by an Hebene 

speare, 
With which he all that met him downe 

did beare. 
He, in an open Turney lately held. 
Fro me the honour of that game did reare ; 



CANTO VI.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



325 



And having me, all wearie earst, downe 

feld, 
The fayrest Ladie reft, and ever since 

withheld.' 

VII. 

When Scudaniour heard uientiou of that 

speare, 
He wist right well that it was Britomart, 
The which from him his fairest love did 

beare. 
Tho gan he swell in every inner part 
For fell despight, and gnaw his gealous 

hart, 
That thus he sharply sayd : ' Now, by my 

head, 
Yet is not this the first uuknightly part, 
"WTiich that same knight, whom by his 

launce I read, 
Hath doen to noble knights, that many 

makes him dread : 



* For lately he my love hath fro me reft. 
And eke defiled with foule villanie 
The sacred pledge which in his faith was 

left, 
In shame of knighthood and fidelitie ; 
The which ere long full dears he shall 

able: 
And if to that avenge by you decreed 
This hand may helpe, or succour ought 

supplie. 
It shall not fayle when so ye shall it 

need.' 
So both to wreake their wrathes on Brito- 
mart agreed. 



Whiles thus they communed, lo ! f arre 

away 
A Knight soft ryding towards them they 

spyde, 
Attyr'd in forraine armes and straunge 

aray : 
Whom, when they nigh approcht, they 

plaine descryde 
To be the same for whom they did abyde. 
Sayd then Sir Scudamour : ' Sir Salvage 

knight, 
Let me this crave, sith first I was defyde. 
That first I may that wrong to him re- 
quite ; 
And, if I hap to fayle, you shall recure 

my right.' 

X. 

Which being yeelded, he his threatfull 

speare 
Gan fewter, and against her fiercely ran. 
Who soone as she him saw approching 

neare 



With so fell rage, her selfe she lightly gan 
To dight, to welcome him well as she can 
But entertain d him in so rude a wise. 
That to the ground she smote both horse 

and man ; 
Whence neither greatly hasted to arise, 
But on their common harmes together did 

devise. 



But Artegall, beholding his mis- 

chaunce, 
New matter added to his former fire ; 
And, eft aventring his steele-headed 

launce. 
Against her rode, full of despiteous ire, 
That nought but spoyle and vengeance 

did require : 
But to himselfe his felonous intent 
Keturning disapj)ointed his desire, 
Whiles unawares his saddle he forwent, 
And found himselfe on ground in great 

amazement. 



Lightly he started up out of that stound, 
And snatching forth his direfull deadly 

blade 
Did leape to her, as doth an eger hound 
Thrust to an Hynd within some covert 

glade. 
Whom without perill he cannot invade. 
With such fell greedines he her assayled, 
That though she mounted were, yet he 

her made 
To give him ground, (so much his force 

prevayled) 
And shun his mightie strokes, gainst 

which no armes avayled. 

XIII. 

So, as they coursed here and there, it 

chaunst 
That, in her wheeling round, behind her 

crest 
So sorely he her strooke, that thence it 

glaunst 
Adowne her backe, the which it fairely 

blest 
From foule mischance ; ne did it ever rest, 
Till on her horses hinder parts it fell ; 
Where byting deepe so deadly it imprest. 
That quite it chynd his backe behind the 

sell. 
And to alight on foote her algates did 

compell : 

XIV. 

Like as the lightning brond from riven 
skie, 
Throwne out by angry Jove in his ven- 
geance, 



326 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book IV. 



With dreadfull force falles on some steeple 

hie ; 
Which battriug downe, it on the church 

doth glance, 
And teares it all with terrible mischance. 
Yet she no whit dismayd her steed ±or- 

sooke, 
And, casting from her that enchaunted 

launce, 
Unto her sword and shield her soone he- 

tooke ; 
And tberewithall at him right furiously 

she strooke. 

XV. 

So furiously she strooke in her first 

heat, 

ss wit 

lesse was. 

That she him forced backward to retreat, 
And yeeld unto her weapon way to j)as : 
Whose raging rigour neither Steele nor 

bras 
Could stay, but to the tender flesh it 

went, 
And pour'd the purple blond forth on the 

gras; 
That all his mayle yriv'd, and plates 

yrent, 
Shew'd all his bodie bare unto the cruell 

dent. 

XVI. 

At length, when as he saw her hastie 

heat 
Abate, and panting breath begin to fayle. 
He, through long sufferance growing now 

more great. 
Rose in his strength, and gan her fresh 

assayle, 
Heaping huge strokes as thicke as showre 

of hayle. 
And lashing dreadfully at every part, 
As if he thought her soule to disentrayle. 
Ah, cruell hand! and thrise more cruell 

hart. 
That workst such wrecke on her to whom 

thou dearest art ! 

XVII. 

What yron courage ever could endure 
To worke such outrage on so faire a crea- 
ture ; 
And in his madnesse thinke with hands 

impure 
To spoyle so goodly workmanship of 

nature, 
The maker selfe resembling in her fea- 
ture! 
Certes some hellish furie or some feend 
This mischiefe framd for their first loves 
defeature, 



To bath their hands in blond of dearest 

freend. 
Thereby to make their loves beginning 

their lives end. 



Thus long they trac'd and traverst to 

and fro, 
Sometimes pursewiug, and sometimes 

pursewcd. 
Still as advantage they- espyde thereto : 
But toward th' end Sir Arthegall renewed 
His strength still more, but she still more 

dec re wed. 
At last his lucklesse hand he-heav'd on 

hie,^ 
Having his forces all in one accrewed. 
And therewith stroke at her so hideduslie. 
That seemed nought but death mote be 

her destinie. 

XIX. 

The wicked stroke upon her helmet 

chaunst, 
And with the force, whiche in it selfe it 

bore. 
Her ventayle shard away, and thence 

forth glaunst 
Adowne in vaine, ne harm'd her any 

more. 
With that her angels face, unseene afore, 
Like to the ruddie morne appeard in sight, 
Deawed with silver drops through sweat- 
ing sore. 
But somewhat redder then beseem'd 

aright, 
Through toylesome heate and labour of 

her weary fight. 

XX. 

And round about the same her yellow 
heare. 
Having through stirring loosd their 

wonted band, 
Like to a golden border did appeare, 
Framed in goldsmithes forge with cun- 
ning hand : 
Yet goldsmithes cunning could not under- 
stand 
To frame such subtile wire, so shinie 

cleare ; 
For it did glister like the golden sand, 
The which Pactolus with his waters shere 
Throwes forth upon the rivage round 
about him nere. 



And as his hand he up againe did reare, 
Thinking to worke on her his utmost 
wracke, 



"CANTO VI.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



327 



His powrelesse arme, benumbd with 

secret feare, 
From his reveugefull purpose shronke 

abacke, 
And cruell sword out of his fingers slacke 
Fell downe to ground ; as if the Steele had 

sence, 
And felt some ruth or sence his hand did 

lacke, 
Or both of them did thinks obedience 
To doe to so divine a beauties excellence. 



And he liimselfe, long gazing there- 
upon, 
At last fell humbly downe upon his knee, 
And of his wonder made religion, 
Weening some heavenly goddesse he did 

' - see, ' ^ 
Or else unweeting what it else might 

■ bee; 
And pardon her besought his errour 

frayle, 
That had done outrage in so high degree : 
AVhilest trembling horrour did his sense 

assayle, 
And made ech member quake, and manly 
hart to quayle. 

XXIII. 

Nathelesse she, full of wrath for that 

late stroke, 
All that long while upheld her wrathfull 

hand, 
With fell intent on him to bene y wroke ; 
And, looking sterne, still over him did 

stand, 
Threatning to strike unlesse he would 

withstand : 
And bad him rise, or surely he should 

die. 
But, die or live, for nought he would up- 

stand. 
But her of pardon prayd more earnestlie, 
Or wreake on him her will for so great 

injurie. 

XXIV. 

Which when as Scudamour, who now 

abrayd, 
Beheld, whereas he stood not farre aside, 
He was therewith right wondrously dis- 

mayd ; 
And drawing nigh, when as he plaine de- 

scride 
That peerelesse paterne of Dame Natures 

pride 
And heavenly image of perfection, 
He blest himselfe as one sore terrifide : 
And, turning feare to faint devotion, 
Did worship her as some celestiall vision. 



But Glance, seeing all that chaunced 
there, 

Well wee ting how their errour to assoyle. 

Full glad of so good end, to them drew 
nere. 

And her salewd with seemely bel-accoyle. 

Joyous to see her safe after long toyle. 

Then her besought, as she to her was 
deare. 

To graunt unto those warriours truce a 
whylfe ; 

Which yeelded, they their bevers up did 
reare, 

And shew "d themselves to her such as in- 
deed they were. 

XXVI. 

When Britomart with sharpe avizefuU 

eye 
Beheld the lovely face of Artegall 
Tempred with sternesse and stout majes- 

tie. 
She gan eftsoones it to her mind to call 
To be the same which in her fathers hall 
Long since in that enchaunted giasse she 

saw; 
Therewith her wrathfull courage gan 

appall, 
And haughtie spirits meekely to adaw. 
That her enhaunced hand she downe can 

soft withdraw. 

XX vn. 

Yet she it forst to have againe upheld. 
As fayning choler which was turn'd to 

cold : 
But ever when his visage she beheld. 
Her hand fell downe, and would no longer 

hold 
The wrathfull weapon gainst his count- 
nance bold : 
But, when in vaine to fight she oft assayd, 
She arm'd her tongue, and thought at 

him to scold ; 
Nathlesse her tongue not to her will 

obayd, 
But brought forth speeches myld when 
she would have missayd. 



But Scudamour, now woxen inly glad 
That all his gealous feare he false had 

found , 
And how that Hag his love abused had 
With breach of faith and loyaltie unsound. 
The which long time his grieved hart did 

wound, 
Him thus bespake : ' Certes, Sir Artegall, 
I joy to see you lout so low on ground. 



328 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book IV. 



And now become to live a Ladies tlirall, 
That whylome in your minde wont to 
despise them all.' 



Soone as she heard the name of Artegall, 
Her hart did leape, and all her hart-strings 

tremble, 
For sudden joy and secret feare withall; 
And all her vitall powres, with motion 

nimble 
To succour it, themselves gan there 

assemble ; 
That by the swift recourse of flushing 

blood 
Right plaine appeard, though she it would 

dissemble, 
And fayned still her former angry mood, 
Thinking to hide the depth by troubling 

of the flood. 



When Glauc^ thus gan wisely all up- 
knit: 
*Ye gentle Knights, whom fortune here 

hath brought 
To be spectators of this uncouth fit, 
Which secret fate hath in this Ladie 

wrought 
Against the course of kind, ne mervaile 

nought, 
Ne thenceforth feare the thing that 

hethertoo 
Hath troubled both your mindes with idle 

thought, 
Fearing least she your loves away should 

woo: 
Feared in vaine, sith meanes, ye see, 

there wants thereto©. 



'And you. Sir Artegall, the salvage 

knight. 
Henceforth may not disdaine that womans 

hand 
Hath conquered you anew in second 

fight: 
For whylome they have conquerd sea 

and land, 
And heaven it selfe, that nought may 

them withstand. 
Ne henceforth be rebellious unto love, 
That is the crowne of knighthood, and 

the band 
Of noble minds derived from above, 
Which, being knit with vertue, never will 

remove. 

XXXII. 

'And you, faire Ladie knight, my 
dearest Dame. 



Relent the rigour of your wrathful! will. 
Whose fire were better turn'd to other 

flame; 
And, wiping out remembrance of all ill, 
Graunt him your grace ; but so that he 

fulfill 
The penance which ye shall to him em- 
part : 
For lovers heaven must passe by sor- 

rowes hell.' 
Thereat full inly blushed Britomart, 
But Artegall close smyling joy'd in secret 
hart. 

XXXIII. 

Yet durst he not make love so sud- 
denly, 
Ne thinke th' affection of her hart to 

draw 
From one to other so quite contrary : 
Besides her modest countenance he saw 
So goodly grave, and full of princely aw. 
That it his ranging fancie did refraine. 
And looser thoughts to lawfull bounds 

withdraw ; 
Whereby the passion grew more fierce 

and faine, 
Like to a stubborne steede whom strong 
hand would restraine. 



But Scudamour, whose hart twixt 

doubtfuU feare 
And feeble hope hung all this while sus- 

pence. 
Desiring of his Amoret to heare 
Some gladf nil newes and sure intelligence, 
Her thus bespake : ' But, Sir, without 

offence 
Mote I request you tydings of my love. 
My Amoret, sith you her freed fro thence 
Where she, captived long, great woes did 

prove ; 
That where ye left I may her seeke, as 

doth behove.' 



To whom thus Britomart : ' Certes, Sir 

knight. 
What is of her become, or whether reft, 
I can not unto you aread a right : 
For from that time I from enchaunters 

theft 
Her freed, in which ye her all hopelesse 

left, 
I her preserv'd from perill and from feare, 
And evermore from villenie her kept : 
Ne ever was there wight to me more 

deare 
Then she, ne unto whom I more true love 

did beare : 



CANTO VI.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



329 



' Till on a day, as through a desert wyld 
We travelled, both wearie of the way 
We did alight, and sate iu shadow my Id, 
Where fearelesse I to sleepe me dowue 

did lay : 
But when as I did out of sleepe abray, 
I found her not where I her left whyleare 
But thought she waudred was, or gone 

astray : 
I cal'd her loud, I sought her farre and 

neare. 
But no where could her find, nor tydings 

of her heare.' 



When Scudamour those heavie tydings 

heard, 
His hart was thrild with point of deadly 

- feare, 
Ne in his face or bloud or life appeard ; 
But senselesse stood, like to a mazed 

steare 
That yet of mortall stroke the stound 

doth beare. 
Till Glance thus : ' Faire Sir, be nought 

dismayd 
With needlesse dread, till certaintie ye 

heare ; 
For yet she may be safe though some- 
what strayd : 
Its best to hope the best, though of the 

worst affrayd.' 

xxxvni. 

Nathlesse he hardly of her chearefull 

speech 
Did comfort take, or in his troubled sight 
Shew'd change of better cheare : so sore 

a breach 
That sudden newes had made into his 

spright, 
Till Britomart him fairely thus behight : 
' Great cause of sorrow certes, Sir, yq, 

have; 
But comfort take; for, by this heavens 

light, 
I vow you dead or living not to leave. 
Till I her find, and wreake on him that 

did her reave.' 

XXXIX. 

Therewith he rested, and well pleased 

was: 
So, peace being confirm'd amongst them 

all, 
They tooke their steeds, and forward 

thence did pas 
Unto some resting place, which mote 

befall, 



All being guided by Sir Artegall : 
Where goodly solace was imto them 

made, 
And dayly feasting both in bowre and 

hall, 
Untill that they their wounds well healed 

had, 
And wearie limmes recur'd after late 

usage bad. 



In all which time Sir Artegall made 

way 
Unto the love of noble Britomart, 
And with meeke service and much suit 

did lay 
Continuall siege unto her gentle hart ; 
Which, being whylome launcht with 

lovely dart. 
More eath was new impression to receive ; 
How ever she her paynd with womanish 

art 
To hide her wound, that none might it 

perceive : 
Vaine is the art that seekes it selfe for to 

deceive. 



XLI. 

So well he woo'd her, 
wrought her, 



and so well he 



With faire entreatie and sweet blandish- 
ment. 

That at the length unto a bay he brought 
her, 

So as she to his speeches was content 

To lend an eare, and softly to relent. 

At last, through many vowes which forth 
he pour'd, 

And many othes, she yeelded her consent 

To be his love, and take him for her 
Lord, 

Till they with mariage meet might finish 
that accord. 

XLII. 

Tho, when they had long time there 

taken rest, 
Sir Artegall, who all this while was 

bound 
Upon an hard adventure yet in quest. 
Fit time for him thence to depart it 

found. 
To follow that which he did long pro- 
pound, 
And unto her his congee came to take ; 
But her therewith full sore displeasd he 

found, 
And loth to leave her late betrothed 

make, 
Her dearest love full loth so shortly to 

forsake. 



330 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book IV. 



Yet he with stroug perswasions her 
ass waged, 
Aud wonue her will to suffer him de- 
part ; 
For which his faith with her he fast 

engaged, 
And thousand vowes from hottome of his 

hart, 
That, all so soone as he by wit or art 
Could that atchieve whereto he did as- 
pire, 
He unto her would speedily revert : 
No longer space thereto he did desire, 
But till the horned moone three courses 
did expire. 



With which she for the present was 

appeased, 
And yeelded leave, how ever malcontent 
She inly were and in her mind displeased. 
So, early in the morrow next, he went 
Forth on his way to which he was ybent ; 
Ne wight him to attend, or way to 

guide. 
As whylome was the custome ancient 
Mongst Knights when on adventures they 

did ride. 
Save that she algates him a while accom- 

panide. 

XLV. 

And by the way she sundry purpose 
found 
Of this or that, the time for to delay, 
And of the perils whereto he was bound, 
The feare whereof seem'd much her to 



But all she did was but to weare out 
day. 



Full oftentimes she leave of him did 

take; 
And eft againe deviz'd some what to say, 
Which she forgot, whereby excuse to 

make ; 
So loth she was his companie for to 

forsake. 

XLVI. 

At last, when all her speeches she had 

spent. 

And new occasion fayld her more to find, 

She left him to his fortunes government, 

And backe returned with right heavie 

mind 
To Scudamour, whom she had left be- 
hind : 
With whom she went to seeke faire 

Amoret, 
Her second care, though in another khid: 
For vertues onely sake, which doth be- 
get 
True love and faithfuU friendship, she 
by her did set. 

XLVII. 

Backe to that desert forrest they re- 
tyred. 

Where sorie Britomart had lost her late ; 

There they her sought, and every where 
inquired 

Where they might tydings get of her 
estate ; 

Yet found they none. But by what hap- 
lesse fate 

Or hard misfortune she was thence con- 
vayd, 

And stolne away from her beloved mate. 

Were long to tell ; therefore, I here will 
stay 

Untill another tyde that I it finish may. 



CANTO VH. 

Amoret rapt by greedie lust 

Belphebe saves froifl dread : 
The Squire her loves ; and, being blam'd, 

His dayes in dole doth lead. 



Great God of love, that with thy cruell 

darts 
'Doest conquer greatest conquerors on 

ground, 
And setst thy Kingdome in the captive 

harts 
Of Kings and Keasars to thy service 

bound ; 
What glorie, or what guerdon hast thou 

found 
In feeble Ladies tyranning so sore. 



And adding anguish to the bitter wound 
With which their lives thou lanchedst 

long afore, 
By heaping stormes of trouble on them 

daily more? 

II. 

So whj^lome didst thou to faire Flori- 

mell. 
And so and so to noble Britomart: 
So doest thou now to her of whom I 

tell, 
The lovely Amoret, whose gentle hart 



CANTO VII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



33^ 



Thou martyrest with sorow and with 

smart, 
In salvage forrests and in deserts wide 
With Beares and Tygers taking heavie 

part, 
Withouten comfort and withouten guide, 
That pittie is to heare the perils which 

she tride. 

III. 

So soone as she with that brave Briton- 
esse 
Had left that Turneyment for beauties 

prise, 
They travel'd long ; that now for weari- 

nesse, 
Both of the way and warlike exercise. 
Both through a forest ryding did devise 
T' alight, and rest their wearie limbs 

awhile. 
There heavie sleepe the eye-lids did sur- 
prise 
Of Britomart, after long- tedious toyle, 
That did her passed paines in quiet rest 
assoyle. 

ly. 

The whiles faire Amoret, of nought 

affeard, 
Walkt through the wood, for pleasure or 

for need ; 
When suddenly behind her backe she 

heard 
One rushing forth out of the thickest 

weed, 
That, ere she backe could turne to taken 

heed. 
Had unawares her snatched up from 

ground : 
Feebly she shriekt, but so feebly indeed 
That Britomart heard not the shrilling 

sound. 
There where through weary travel she 

lay sleeping sound. 

V. 

It was to weet a wilde and salvage man ; 
Yet was no man, but onely like in shape. 
And eke in stature higher by a span ; 
All overgrowne with haire, that could 

awhape 
An hardy hart ; and his wade mouth did 

gape 
AVith huge great teeth, like to a tusked 

Bore : 
For he liv'd all on ravin and on rape 
Of men and beast ; and fed on fleshly gore, 
The signe whereof yet stain'd his bloudy 

lips afore. 

VI. 

His neather lip was not like man nor 
beast, 



But like a wide deepe poke, downe hang- 
ing low, 

In which he wont the relickes of his feast 

And cruell spoyle, which he had spard, to 
stow: 

And over it his huge great nose did grow. 

Full dreadfully empurj)led all with bloud ; 

And downe both sides two wide long eares 
did glow, 

And raught downe to his waste when up 
he stood, 

More great then th' eares of Elephants 
by Indus flood. 

VII. 

His wast was with a wreath of yvie 

greene 
Engirt about, ne other garment wore. 
For all his haire was like a garment 

scene ; 
And in his hand a tall young oake he 

bore, 
AVhose knottie snags were sharpned all 

afore. 
And beath'd in fire for Steele to be in sted. 
But whence he was, or of what wombe 

ybore, 
Of beasts, or of the earth, I have not red, 
But certes was with milke of Wolves and 

Tygres fed. 

VIII. 

This ugly creature in his armes her 
snatcht, 

And through the forrest bore her quite 
away, 

With briers, and bushes all to-rent and 
scratcht ; 

Ne care he had, ne pittie of the pray, 

Which many a knight had sought so many 
a day. 

He stayed not, but in his armes her bear- 
ing 

Ran, till he came to th' end of all his way. 

Unto his cave f arre from all peoples hear- 
ing. 

And there he threw her in, nought feeling, 
ne nought fearing. 



For she, deare Ladie, all the way was 

dead, 
Whilest he in armes her bore ; but, when 

she felt 
Her selfe downe soust, she waked out of 

dread 
Streight into griefe, that her deare hart 

nigh swelt. 
And eft gan into tender teares to melt. 
Then, when she lookt about, and nothing 

found 



332 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book IV. 



But darknesse and dread horrour where 

she dwelt, 
She almost fell againe into a swound, 
Ne wist whether above she were or under 

ground. 

X. 

With that she heard some one close by 
her side 
Sighing and sobbing sore, as if the paine 
Her tender hart in peeces would divide : 
Which she long listuing, softly askt againe 
What mister wight it was that so did 

plaine ? 
To whom thus aunswer'd was : * Ah, 

wretched wight! 
That seekes to know anothers griefe in 

vaine, 
Unweeting of thine owne like haplesse 

plight : 
Selfe to forget to mind another is over- 
sight.' 

XI. 

' Aye me ! ' (said she) * where am I, or 

with whom ? 
Emong the living, or emong the dead ? 
What shall of me, unhappy maid, become ? 
Shall death be th' end, or ought else worse, 

aread ? ' 
'Unhappy mayd ' (then answer'd she), 

' whose dread 
Untride is lesse then when thou shalt it 

try: 
Death is to him, that wretched life doth 

lead, 
Both grace and gaine ; but he in hell doth 

lie. 
That lives a loathed life, and wishing can- 
not die. 

XII. 

' This dismall day hath thee a caytive 

made, 
And vassall to the vilest wretch alive, 
Whose cursed usage and ungodly trade 
The heavens abhorre, and into darkenesse 

drive ; 
For on the spoile of women he doth live. 
Whose bodies chast, when ever in his 

powre 
He may them catch unable to gainestrive. 
He with his shamef ull lust doth first de- 

flowre. 
And afterwardes themselves doth cruelly 

devoure. 

XIII. 

' Now twenty dales, by which the sonnes 

of men 
Divide their works, have past through 

heven sheen e. 
Since I was brought into this dolefull den ; 



During which space these sory eies have 

seen 
Seaven women by him slaine, and eaten 

clene : 
And now no more for him but I alone. 
And this old woman, here remaining 

beene. 
Till thou cam'st hither to augment our 

mone ; 
And of us three to morrow he will sure 

eate one.' 

XIV. 

' Ah, dreadfuU tidings which thou doest 

declare,' 
(Quoth she) * of all that ever hath bene 

knowen ! 
Full many great calamities and rare 
This feeble brest endured hath, but none 
Equall to this, where ever I have gone. 
But what are you, whom like unlucky lot 
Hath linckt with me iu the same chaine 

attone ? ' 
* To tell ' (quoth she) * that what ye see, 

needs not ; 
A wof ull wretched maid, of God and man 

forgot ! 

XV. 

' But what I was it irkes me to reherse ; 
Daughter unto a Lord of high degree ; 
That joyd in happy peace, till fates per- 
verse 
With guilef ull love did secretly agree 
To overthrow my state and dignitie. 
It was my lot to love a gentle swaine, 
Yet was he but a Squire of low degree ; 
Yet was he meet, unless mine eye did f aine. 
By any Ladies side for Leman to have 
laine, 

XVI. 

' But for his meannesse and disparage- 
ment. 
My Sire, who me too dearely well did love, 
Unto my choise by no meanes would 

assent, 
But often did my folly fowle reprove : 
Yet nothing could my jfixed mind remove. 
But, whether willed or nilled friend or foe, 
I me resolv'd the utmost end to prove; 
And, rather then my love abandon so. 
Both sire and friends and all for ever to 
forgo. 

xvn. 
' Thenceforth I sought by secret meanes 
to worke 
Time to my will, and from his wrathfull 

sight 
To hide th' intent which in my heart did 

lurke. 
Till I thereto had all things ready dight. 



CANTO VII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



333 



So on a day, unweeting unto wight, 
I with that Squire agreede away to flit, 
And in a privy place, betwixt us hight, 
Within a grove appointed him to meete ; 
To which I boldly came upon my feeble 
feete. 

XVIII. 

'But ah! unhappy houre me thither 
brought. 
For in that place where I him thought to 

find. 
There was I found, contrary to my 

thought, 
Of this accursed Carle of hellish kind. 
The shame of men, and plague of woman- 
kind: 
Who trussing me, as Eagle doth his pray. 
Me hether brought with him as swift as 

wind. 
Where yet untouched till this present day, 
I - rest his wretched thrall, the sad 
-^mylia.' 

XIX. 

* Ah, sad ^mylia ! ' (then sayd Amoret) 
' Thy ruef ull plight I pitty as mine owne. 
But read to me, by what devise or wit 
Hast thou in all this time, from him un- 

knowne, 
Thine honor sav'd, though into thraldome 

throwne ? ' 
* Through helpe ' (quoth she) ' of this old 

woman here 
I have so done, as she to me hath showne ; 
For, ever when he burnt in lustfull fire. 
She in my stead supplide his bestiall 

desire.' 

XX. 

Thus of their evils as they did discourse, 
And each did other muchbewaile and mone, 
Loe! where the villaiue selfe, their sor- 

rowes sourse. 
Came to the cave ; and rolling thence the 

stone. 
Which wont to stop the mouth thereof, 

that none 
Might issue forth, came rudely rushing in. 
And, spredding over all the flore alone, 
Gan dight him selfe unto his wonted 

sinne ; 
WTiich ended, then his bloudy banket 

should beginne. 



Which when as fearefuU Amoret per- 
ceived, 
She staid not th' utmost end thereof to try. 
But, like a ghastly Gelt whose wits are 

reaved, 
Kan forth in hast with hideous outcry. 



For horrour of his shamef ull villany : 
But after her full lightly he uprose, 
And her pursu'd as fast as she did flie : 
Full fast she flies, and farre afore him goes, 
Ne feeles the thornes and thickets pricke 
her tender toes. 

XXII. 

Nor hedge, nor ditch, nor hill, nor dale 

she stales, 
But overleapes them all, like Robucke 

light. 
And through the thickest makes her High- 
est waies ; 
And evermore, when with regardfull sight 
She looking jjacke espies that griesly 

wight 
Approching nigh, she gins to mend her 

pace, 
And makes her feare a spur to hast her 

flight : 
More swift then Myrrh' or Daphne in her 

race. 
Or any of the Thracian Nimphes in salvage 

chase. 

xxm. 
Long so she fled, and so he follow'd 

long; 
Ne living aide for her on earth appeares, 
But-if the heavens helpe to redresse her 

wrong. 
Moved with pity of her plenteous teares. 
It fortuned Belphebe with her peares. 
The woody Nimphs, and with that lovely 

toy. 
Was hunting then the Libbards and the 



In these wild woods,as washer wonted joy, 
To banish sloth that oft doth noble mindes 

annoy. 

xxiv. 
It so befell, as oft it fals in chace. 
That each of them from other suudred 

were ; 
And that same gentle Squire arriv'd in 

place 
AVhere this same cursed caytive did ap- 

peare 
Pursuing that f aire Lady full of feare : 
And now he her quite overtaken had ; 
And now he her away with him did beare 
Under his arme, as seeming wondrous 

glad. 
That by his grenning laughter mote farre 

off be rad. 

XXV. 

Which drery sight the gentle Squire 
espying 
Doth hast to crosse him by the nearest 
way, 



334 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book IV. 



Led with that wof ull Ladies piteous cry- 
ing, 

And him assailes with all the might he 
may; 

Yet will not he the lovely spoile downe 
lay, 

But with his craggy club in his right hand 

Defends him selfe, and saves his gotten 
pray : 

Yet had it bene right hard him to with- 
stand, 

But that he was full light and nimble on 
the land. 

XXVI. 

Thereto the villaine used craft in fight ; 
For, ever when the Squire his javelin 

shooke, 
He held the Lady forth before him right, 
And with her body, as a buckler, broke 
The puissance of his intended stroke : 
And if it chaunst, (as needs it must in 

fight) 
Whilest he on him was greedy to be wroke. 
That any little blow on her did light, 
Then would he laugh aloud, and gather 

great delight. 

xxvn. 

Which subtill sleight did him encumber 

much, 
And made him oft, when he would strike, 

forbeare ; 
For hardly could he come the carle to 

touch, 
But that he her must hurt, or hazard 

neare : 
Yet he his hand so carefully did beare. 
That at the last he did himselfe attaine, 
And therein left the pike-head of his 

speare : 
A streame of coleblacke bloud thence 

gusht amaine, 
That all her silken garments did with 

bloud bestaine. 

xxvm. 

With that he threw her rudely on the 

fiore. 
And, laying both his hands upon his 

glave, 
With dreadf ull strokes let drive at him so 

sore, 
That forst him flie abacke, himselfe to 

save: 
Yet he therewith so felly still did rave, 
That scarse the Squire his hand could 

once upreare, 
But for advantage ground unto him gave, 
Tracing and traversing, now here, now 

there ; 



For bootlesse thing it was to think such 
blowes to beare. 



Whilest thus in battell they embusied 

were, 
Belphebe, raunging in that forrest wide, 
The hideous noise of their huge strokes 

did heare, 
And drew thereto, making her eare her 

guide: 
Whom when that theefe approching nigh 

espide 
With bow in hand and arrowes ready 

bent. 
He by his former combate would not bide, 
But fled away with ghastly dreriment. 
Well knowing her to be his deaths sole 

instrument. 



Whom seeing flie she speedily poursewed 
With winged feete as nimble as the winde, 
And ever in her bow she ready shewed 
The arrow to his deadly marke desynde. 
As when Latonaes daughter, cruell kynde, 
In vengement of her mothers great dis- 
grace, 
With fell despight her cruell arrowes 

tynde 
Gainst wof ull Niobes unhappy race. 
That all the gods did mone her miserable 
case. 

xxxi. 

So well she sped her, and so far she 

ventred. 
That, ere unto his hellish den he raught, 
Even as he ready was there to have entred, 
She sent an arrow forth with mighty 

draught. 
That in the very dore him overcaught. 
And, in his nape arriving, through it thrild 
His greedy throte, therewith in two dis- 
traught, 
That all his vitall spirites thereby spild, 
And all his hairy brest with gory bloud 

was fild. 

xxxii. 
Whom when on ground she groveling 

saw to rowle, 
She ran in hast his life to have bereft ; 
But, ere she could him reach, the sinfull 

sowle 
Having his carrion corse quite sencelesse 

left 
Was fled to hell, surcharg'd with spoile 

and theft : 
Yet over him she there long gazing stood, 
And oft admir'd his monstrous shape, and 

oft 



CANTO VII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



335 



His mighty limbs, wliilest all with j&lthy 

bloud 
The place there overflowne seemd like a 

sodaiue flood. 

XXXIII. 

Thence forth she past into his dreadfull 

den, 
Where nought but darkesome dreriuesse 

she found, 
Ne creature saw, but hearkned now and 

then 
Some litle whispering, and soft groning 

sound. 
With that she askt, what ghosts there 

under ground 
Lay hid in horrour of eternall night ? 
And bad them, if so be they were not 

bound. 
To come and shew themselves before the 

- light. 
Now freed from feare and danger of that 

dismall wight. 

XXXIV. 

Then forth the sad ^Emylia issewed, 
Yet trembling every joynt through former 

feare ; 
And after her the Hag, there with her 

mewed, 
A foule and lothsome creature, did ap- 

peare, 
A leman fit for such a lover deare : 
That mov'd Belphebe her no lesse to hate, 
Then for to rue the others heavy cheare ; 
Of whom she gan enquire of her estate, 
Who all to her at large, as happned, did 

relate. 

XXXV. 

Thence she them brought toward the 

place where late 
She left the gentle Squire with Amoret : 
There she him found by that new lovely 

mate. 
Who lay the whiles in swoune, full sadly 

set, 
From her faire eyes wiping the deawy 

wet 
Which softly stild, and kissing them 

atweene. 
And handling soft the hurts which she 
» did get ; 

For of that Carle she sorely bruz'd had 

beene, 
Als of his owne rash hand one wound was 

to be seene. 

XXXVI. 

Which when she saw with sodaine 
glauncing eye, 



Her noble heart with sight thereof was 
fild 

With deepe disdaiue and great indignity, 

That in her wrath she thought them both 
have thrild 

With that selfe arrow which the Carle 
had kild ; 

Yet held her wrathfull hand from ven- 
geance sore: 

But drawing nigh, ere he her well beheld, 

'Is this the faith?' she said — and said 
no more, 

But turnd her face, and fled away for 
evermore. 



He seeing her depart arose up light. 
Right sore agrieved at her sharpe re- 
proof e, 
And follow'd fast ; but, when he came in 

sight. 
He durst not nigh approch, but kept aloof e, 
For dread of her displeasures utmost 

proofe : 
And evermore, when he did grace entreat, 
And framed speaches fit for his behoofe, 
Her mortall arrowes she at him did threat, 
And forst him backe with fowle dishonor 
to retreat. 

XXXVIII. 

At last, when long he follow'd had in 

vaine, 
Yet found no ease of griefe nor hope of 

grace, 
Unto those woods he turned backe againe. 
Full of sad anguish and in heavy case : 
And, finding there fit solitary j)iace 
For wofull wight, chose out a gloomy 

glade. 
Where hardly eye mote see bright heavens 

face 
For mossy trees, which covered all with 

shade 
And sad melancholy: there he his cabin 

made. 

XXXIX. 

His wonted warlike weapons all he broke 
And threw away, with vow to use no 

more, 
Ne thenceforth ever strike in battell 

stroke, 
Ne ever word to speake to woman more ; 
But in that wildernesse, of men forlore, 
And of the wicked world forgotten quight. 
His hard mishap in dolor to deplore. 
And wast his wretched dales in wofull 

plight ; 
So on him selfe to wreake his follies owne 

despight. 



33^ 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book IV. 



And eke his garment, to be thereto meet, 
He wilfully did cut and shape anew ; 
And his faire lockes, that wont with oint- 
ment sweet 
To he emhaulm'd, and sweat out dainty 

dew, 
He let to grow and griesly to concrew, 
Uncomb'd, uncurl'd, and carelesly unshed ; 
That in short time his face they overgrew, 
And over all his shoulders did dispred. 
That who he whilom e was uneath was to 
he red. 

XLI. 

There he continued in this careful! 

plight. 
Wretchedly wearing out his youthly 

yeares, 
Through wilfull penury consumed quight, 
That like a pined ghost he soone appeares : 
For other food then that wilde f orrest 

beares, 
Ne other drinke there did he ever tast 
Then running water tempred with his 

teares. 
The more his weakened body so to wast. 
That out of all mens knowledge he was 

worne at last. 



For on a day, by fortune as it fell, 
His owue deare Lord Prince Arthurecame 

that way. 
Seeking adventures where he mote heare 

tell; 
And, as he through the wandring wood 

did stray. 
Having espide this Cabin far away. 
He to it drew, to weet who there did 

wonne ; 
Weening therein some holy Hermit lay. 
That did resort of sinfull people shonne, 
Or else some woodman shrowded there 

from scorching sunne. 

xLm. 

Arriving there he found this wretched 

man 
Spending his dales in dolour and despaire, 
And through long fasting woxen pale and 

wan. 
All overgrowen with rude and rugged 

haire ; 
That albeit his owne dear Squire he were, 
Yet he him knew not, ne aviz'd at all, 
But like strange wight, whom he had 

scene no where. 
Saluting him gan into speach to fall, 
And pitty much his plight, that liv'd like 

outcast thrall. 



XLIV. 

But to his speach he aunswered no whit, 
But stood still mute, as if he had beene 

dum, 
Ne signe of sence did shew, ne common 

wit, 
As one with grief e and anguishe overcum, 
And unto every thing did aunswere mum : 
And ever, when the Prince unto him spake, 
He louted lowly, as did him becum. 
And humble homage did unto him make. 
Midst sorrow shewing joyous semblance 

for his sake. 

XLV. 

At which his uncouth guise and usage 

quaint 
The Prince did wonder much, yet could 

not ghesse 
The cause of that his sorrowful! con- 
straint ; 
Yet weend, by secret signes of manlinesse 
Which close appeard in that rude 

brutishnesse. 
That he whilome some gentle swaine had 

beene, 
Traind up in feats of armes and knight- 

linesse ; 
Which he observ'd, by that he him had 

scene 
Tr weld his naked sword, and try the 

edges keene. 



And eke by that he saw on every tree. 
How he the name of one engraven had 
Which likly was his liefest love to be. 
From whom he now so sorely was bestad , 
Which was by him Belphbbe rightly 

rad. 
Yet who was that Belphebe he ne wist ; 
Yet saw he often how he wexed glad 
When he it heard, and how the ground he 

kist 
Wherein it written was, and how himselfe 

he blist. 

XL VII. 

Tho, when he long had marked his 

demeanor. 
And saw that all lie said and did was 

vaine, 
Ne ought mote make him change hia 

wonted tenor, 
Ne ought mote ease or mitigate his paine, 
He left him there in languor to remaine, 
Till time for him should remedy provide, 
And him restore to former grace againe : 
Which, for it is too long here to abide, 
I will deferre the end until! another 

tide. 



CANTO VIII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



337 



CANTO VIII. 

The gentle Squire recovers grace, 
Sclaunder her guests doth staine : 

Corflambo chaseth Placidas, 
And is by Arthure slaine. 



Well said the Wiseman, now prov'd 
true by this 

Which to this gentle Squire did happen 
late, 

That the displeasure of the mighty is 

Then death it selfe more dread and des- 
perate ; 

For naught the same may calme ne miti- 
gate, 

Till time the tempest doe thereof delay 

With sufferaunce soft, which rigour can 
abate. 

And have the sterne remembrance wypt 
away 

Of bitter thoughts, which deepe therein 
infixed lay. 

II. 

Like as it fell to this unhappy boy, 
Whose tender heart the f aire Belphebe had 
With one sterne looke so daunted, that 

no joy 
In all his life, which afterwards he lad, 
He ever tasted ; but with penaunce sad 
And pensive sorrow piud and wore away, 
Ne ever laught, ne once shew'd counte- 
nance glad. 
But alwaies wept and wailed night and 

day, 
As blasted bloosme through heat doth 
languish and decay: 



Till on a day, as in his wonted wise 
His doole he made, there chaunst a turtle 

Dove 
To come where he his dolors did devise, 
That likewise late had lost her dearest 

love, 
Which losse her made like passion also 

prove : 
"Wlio, seeing his sad plight, her tender 

heart 
With deare compassion deeply did em- 
move. 
That she gan mone his undeserved smart. 
And with her dolef ull accent beare with 
him a part. 

IV. 

Shee sitting by him, as on ground he 
lay, 



Her mournefull notes full piteously did 
frame. 

And thereof made a lamentable lay. 

So sensibly compyld, that in the same 

Him seemed oft he heard his owne right 
name. 

With that he forth would poure so plente- 
ous teares, 

And beat his breast unworthy of such 
blame, 

And knocke his head, and rend his rugged 
heares. 

That could have perst the hearts of Tigres 
and of Beares. 



Thus, long this gentle bird to him did 

use 
Withouten dread of perill to repaire 
Unto his wonne, and with her mournefull 

muse 
Him to recomfort in his greatest care, 
That much did ease his mourning and 

misf are : 
And every day, for guerdon of her song. 
He part of his small feast to her would 

share ; 
That, at the last, of all his woe and wrong 
Companion she became, and so continued 

long. 

VI. 

Upon a day as she him sate beside. 
By chance he certaine miniments forth 

drew. 
Which yet with him as relickes did abide 
Of all the bounty which Belphebe threw 
On him, whilst goodly grace she him did 

shew: 
Amongst the rest a Jewell rich he found. 
That was a Ruby of right perfect hew, 
Shap'd like a heart yet bleeding of the 

wound, 
And with a litle golden chaine about it 

bound. 

vn. 

The same he tooke, and with a riband 
new, 
In which his Ladies colours were, did bind 
About the turtles necke, that with the 

vew 
Did greatly solace his engrieved mind. 



33^ 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book IV. 



All unawares the bird, when she did find 
Her selfe so deckt, her nimble wings dis- 

plaid, 
And flew away as lightly as the wind : 
Which sodaine accident him much dis- 

maid, 
And looking after long did mark which 

way she straid. 



But when as long he looked had in vaine, 
Yet saw her forward still to make her 

flight, 
His weary eie returnd to hira againe, 
Full of discomfort and disquiet plight, 
That both his juell he had lost so light, 
And eke his deare companion of his care. 
But that sweet bird departing flew forth- 
right, 
Through the wide region of the wastfull 

aire, 
Untill she came where wonned his Bel- 
phebe faire. 



There found she her (as then it did be- 
tide) 
Sitting in covert shade of arbors sweet, 
After late wearie toile which she had tride 
In salvage chase, to rest as seem'd her 

meet. 
There she alighting fell before her feet, 
And gan to her her mournfull plaint to 

make, 
As was her wont, thinking to let her weet 
The great tormenting griefe that for her 

sake 
Her gentle Squire through her displeasure 
did pertake. 

X. 

She, her beholding with attentive eye, 
At length did marke about her purple 

brest 
That precious juell, which she formerly 
Had knowne right well, with colourd rib- 
bands drest : 
Therewith she rose in hast, and her ad- 

drest 
With ready hand it to have reft away ; 
But the swift bird obayd not her behest, 
But swarv'd aside, and there againe did 

stay: 
She follow'd her, and thought againe it to 



XI. 

And ever, when she nigh approcht, the 
Dove 
Would flit a litle forward, and then stay 
Till she drew neare, and then againe re- 
move; 



So tempting her still to persue the pray, 
And still from her escaping soft away : 
Till that at length into that forrest wide 
She drew her far, and led with slow delay. 
In th' end she her unto that place did 

guide. 
Whereas that wofull man in languor did 

abide. 

xn. 

Eftsoones she flew unto his fearelesse 

hand. 
And there a piteous ditty new deviz'd. 
As if she would have made her understand 
His sorrowes cause, to be of her despis'd : 
Whom when she saw in wretched weedes 

disguiz'd. 
With heary glib deform'd and meigerface, 
Like ghost late risen from his grave 

agryz'd. 
She knew him not, but pittied much his 

case. 
And wisht it were in her to doe him any 
grace. 

XIII. 

He her beholding at her feet downe fell, 
And kist the ground on which her sole did 

tread. 
And washt the same with water which 

did well 
From his moist eies, and like two streames 

procead ; 
Yet spake no word, whereby she might 

aread 
What mister wight he was, or what he 

ment; 
But, as one daunted with her presence 

dread, 
Onely few ruefull lookes unto her sent. 
As messengers of his true meaning and 

intent. 

XIV. 

Yet nathemore his meaning she ared, 
But w^ondred much at his so selcouth 

case; 
And by his persons secret seemlyhed 
Well weend that he had beene some man 

of place, 
Before misfortune did his hew deface ; 
That being mov'd with ruth she thus 

bespake : 
'Ah! wofull man, what heavens hard 

disgrace. 
Or wrath of cruell wight on thee ywrake. 
Or selfe-disliked life, doth thee thus 

wretched make? 



' If heaven, then none may it redresse 
or blame, 
Sith to hispowre we all are subject borne: 



CANTO VIII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



339 



If wrathful! wight, then fowle rebuke and 

shame 
Be theirs that have so cruell thee forlorne ! 
But if through iuward griefe or wilfull 

scorue 
Of life it be, then better doe advise : 
For he, whose dales in wilfull woe are 

worue, 
The grace of his Creator doth despise. 
That will not use his gifts for tlianklesse 

nigardise.' 

XVI. 

When so he heard her say, eftsoones he 

brake, 
His sodaine silence which he long had pent, 
And, sighing inly deepe, her thus bespake : 
' Then have they all themselves against 

me bent: 
For heaven, first author of my lauguish- 

ment, 
Envying my too great felicity. 
Did closely with a cruell one consent 
To cloud my dales in dolefull misery, 
And make me loath this life, still longing 

for to die. 

XVII. 

' Ne any but your selfe, O dearest dred, 
Hath done this wrong, to wreake on 

worthlesse wight 
Your high displesure, through misdeem- 
ing bred : 
That, when your pleasure is to deeme 

aright. 
Ye may redresse, and me restore to light ! ' 
Which sory words her mightie hart did 

mate 
With mild regard to see his ruefull plight, 
That her inburning wrath she gan abate, 
And him receiv'd againe to former favours 
state. 

XVIII. 

In which he long time afterwards did 
lead 

An happie life with grace and good accord, 

Fearlesse of fortunes chaunge or envies 
dread, 

And eke all mindlesse of his owne deare 
Lord 

The noble Prince, who never heard one 
word 

Of tydings what did unto him betide, 

Or what good fortune did to him afford ; 

But through the endlesse world did wan- 
der wide. 

Him seeking evermore, yet no where him 
descride. 

XIX. 

Till on a day, as through that wood he 
rode. 



He chaunst to come where those two 

Ladies late, 
^mylia and Amoret, abode, 
Both in full sad and sorrowfull estate : 
The one right feeble through the evill rate 
Of food which in her duresse she had 

found ; 
The other almost dead and desperate 
Through her late hurts, and through that 

haplesse wound 
With which the Squire, in her defence, her 

sore astound. 



Whom when the Prince beheld, he gan 

to rew 
The evill case in which those Ladies lay ; 
But most was moved at the piteous vew, 
Of Amoret, so neare unto decay, 
That her great daunger did "him much 

dismay. 
Eftsoones that pretious liquour forth he 

drew, 
Which he in store about him kept alway, 
And with few drops thereof did softly dew, 
Her woimds, that unto strength restor'd 

her soone anew. 



Tho, when they both recovered were 

right well. 
He gan of them inquire, what evill guide 
Them thether brought, and how their 

harmes befell ? 
To whom they told all that did them 

betide. 
And how from thraldome vile they were 

untide. 
Of that same wicked Carle, by Virgins 

bond ; 
Whose bloudie corse they shew'd him 

there beside, 
And eke his cave in which they both were 

bond: 
At which he wondred much when all 

those signes he fond.~ 



And evermore he greatly did desire 
To know what Virgin did them thence 

unbind, 
And oft of them did earnestly inquire, 
Where was her won, and how he mote her 

find. 
But, when as nought according to his mind 
He could out-learne, he them from ground 

did reare, 
No service lothsome to a gentle kind, 
And on his warlike beast them both did 

beare, 



340 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book IV. 



1 



Himself e by them on foot to succour them 
from feare. 



So when that forrest they had passed 

well, 
A litle cotage farre away they spide, 
To which they drew ere night upon them 

fell; 
And entring in found none therein abide, 
But one old woman sitting there beside 
Upon the ground in ragged rude attyre, 
With filthy lockes about her scattered 

wide, 
Gnawing her nayles for felnesse and for 

yre, 
And there out sucking venime to her parts 

entyre. 

XXIV. 

A foule and loathly creature sure in 

sight, 
And in conditions to be loath'd no lesse ; 
For she was stuft with rancour and 

despight 
Up to the throat, that oft with bitternesse 
It forth would breake, and gush in great 

excesse. 
Pouring out streames of poyson and of gall 
Gainst all that truth or vertue doe pro- 

f esse ; 
Whom she with leasings lewdly did miscall 
And wickedly backbite: Her name men 

Sclaunder call. 



Her nature is all goodnesse to abuse. 
And causelesse crimes continually to frame, 
With which she guiltlesse persons may 

accuse. 
And steale away the crowne of their good 

name : 
Ne ever Knight so bold, ne ever Dame 
So chast and loyall liv'd, but she would 

strive 
With forged cause them falsely to defame : 
Ne ever thing so well was doen alive. 
But she with blame would blot, and of 

due praise deprive. 

XXVI. 

Her words were not, as common words 

are ment, 
T' expresse the meaning of the inward 

mind, 
But noysome breath, and poysnous spirit 

sent 
From inward parts, with cancred malice 

lind, 
And breathed forth with blast of bitter 

wind: 



Which passing through the eares would 

pierce the hart, 
And wound the soule it selfe with griefe 

unkind ; 
For, like the stings of aspes that kill with 

smart, 
Her spightfuU words did pricke and 
wound the inner part. 



Such was that Hag, unmeet to host such 
guests, 

Whom greatest Princes court would wel- 
come fayne; 

But neede, that answers not to all re- 
quests, 

Bad them not looke for better entertayne ; 

And eke that age despysed nicenesse 
vaine, 

Enur'd to hardnesse and to homely fare, 

Which them to warlike discipline did 
trayne. 

And manly limbs endur'd with litle care 

Against all hard mishaps and fortunelesse 
misfare. 

XXVIII. 

Then all that evening (welcommed with 
cold 

And chearelesse hunger) they together 
spent ; 

Yet found no fault, but that the Hag did 
scold 

And rayle at them with grudgefuU dis- 
content, 

For lodging there without her owne con- 
sent: 

Yet they endured all with patience milde, 

And unto rest themselves all onely lent, 

Regardlesse of that queane so base and 
vilde 

To be unjustly blamd, and bitterly re vilde. 



Here, well I weene, when as these rimes 

be red 
With misregard, that some rash-witted 

wight, 
Whose looser thought will lightly be mis- 
led, 
These gentle Ladies will misdeeme too 

light 
For thus conversing with this noble 

Knight ; 
Sith now of dayes such temperance is rare 
And hard to finde, that heat of youthfull 

spright 
For ought will from his greedie pleasure 

spare : 
More hard for hungry steed t' abstaine 

from pleasant lare. 



CANTO VIII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



341 



But antique age, yet in the infancie 
Of time, did live then like an innocent, 
In simple truth and blamelesse chastitie, 
Ne then of guile had made experiment ; 
But, void of vile and treacherous intent, 
Held vertue for it self c in soveraine awe : 
Then loyall love had royall regiment. 
And each unto his lust did make a lawe, 
From all forbidden things his liking to 
withdraw. 



The Lyon there did with the Lambe 

consort, 
And eke the Dove sate by the Faulcons 

side; 
Ne each of other feared fraud or tort, 
But did in safe securitie abide, 
Withouten perill of the stronger pride : 
But when the world woxe old, it woxe 

warre old, 
(Whereof it hight) and, having shortly 

tride 
The traines of wit, in wickednesse woxe 

bold, 
And dared of all sinnes the secrets to 

unfold. 



Then beautie, which was made to rep- 
resent 
The great Creatours owne resemblance 

bright. 
Unto abuse of lawlesse lust was lent. 
And made the baite of bestiall delight : 
Then faire grew foule, and foule grew 

faire in sight; 
And that, which wont to vanquish God 

and man, 
Was made the vassall of the victors 

might ; 
Then did her glorious flowre wex dead 

and wan, 
Despisd and troden downe of all that 

over-ran. 



And now it is so utterly decayd. 
That any bud thereof doth scarse remaine, 
But-if few plants, preserv'd through heav- 
enly ayd, 
In Princes Court doe hap to sprout againe, 
Dew'd with her drops of bountie Sove- 
raine, 
Which from that goodly glorious flowre 

proceed, 
Sprung of the auncient stocke of Princes 

straine. 
No w th' onely remnant of that royall breed. 
Whose noble kind at first was sure of 
heavenly seed. 



Tho, soone as day discovered heavens 

face 
To sinfull men with darknes overdight. 
This gentle crew gan from their eye-lids 

chace 
The drowzie humour of the dampish night, 
And did themselves unto their journey 

dight. 
So forth they yode, and forward softly 

paced. 
That them to view had bene an uncouth 

sight, 
How all the way the Prince on footpace 

traced. 
The Ladies both on horse, together fast 

embraced. 

XXXV. 

Soone as they thence departed were 

afore. 
That shameful! Hag, the slaunder of her 

sexe, 
Them follow'd fast, and them reviled sore. 
Him calling theefe, them whores; that 

much did vexe 
His noble hart : thereto she did annexe 
False crimes and facts, such as they never 

ment. 
That those two Ladies much asham'd did 

wexe: 
The more did she pursue her lewd intent. 
And rayl'd and rag'd, till she had all her 

poyson spent. 



At last when they were passed out of 

sight, 
Yet she did not her spightfull speach for- 

beare, 
But after them did barke, and still back- 
bite. 
Though there were none her hatefull 

words to heare. 
Like as a curre doth felly bite and teare 
The stone which passed straunger at him 

threw : 
So she, them seeing past the reach of eare. 
Against the stones and trees did rayle 

anew, 
Till she had duld the sting which in 

her tongs end grew. 

xxxvii. 
They passing forth kept on their readie 
way. 
With easie steps so soft as foot could 

stryde. 
Both for great feeblesse, which did oft 

assay 
Faire Amoret that scarcely she could ryde, 



342 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book IV. 



Aud eke through heavie armes which sore 

anuoyd 
The Prince on foot, not wonted so to fare ; 
AVhose steadie hand was faine his steede 

to guyde, 
And all the way from trotting hard to 

spare ; 
So was his toyle the more, the more that 

was his care. 



At length they spide where towards 
them with speed 
A Squire came gallopping, as he would 

file, 
Bearing a litle Dwarfe before his steed, 
That all the way full loud for aide did crie, 
That seem'd his shrikes would rend the 

brasen skie : 
Whom after did a mightie man pursew, 
Ryding upon a Dromedare on hie, 
Of stature huge, and horrible of hew, 
That would have maz'd a man his dread- 
full face to vew : 



For from his fearefull eyes two fierie 

beames, 
More shari^e then points of needles, did 

proceede, 
Shooting forth farre away two flaming 

streames. 
Full of sad powre, that poysnous bale did 

breede 
To all that on him lookt without good 

heed, 
And secretly his enemies did slay : 
Like as the Basiliske, of serpents seede. 
From powrefull eyes close venim doth 

convay 
Into the lookers hart, and killeth farre 

away. 

XL. 

He all the way did rage at that same 

Squire, 
And after him full many threatnings 

threw, 
With curses vaine in his avengefull ire ; 
But none of them (so fast away he flew) 
Him overtooke before he came in vew: 
Where when he saw the Prince in armour 

bright, 
He cald to him aloud his case to rew, 
And rescue him, through succour of his 

might. 
From that his cruell foe that him pursewd 

in sight. 

XLI. 

Eftsoones the Prince tooke downe those 
Ladies twaine 



From loftie steede, and mounting in their 

stead 
Came to that Squire, yet trembling every 

vaine ; 
Of whom he gan enquire his cause of 

dread : 
Who as he gan the same to him aread, 
Loe! hard behind his backe his foe was 

prest, 
With dreadfull weapon aymed at his head, 
That unto death had doen him unredrest, 
Had not the noble Prince his readie stroke 

represt : 

XLII. 

Who, thrusting boldly twixt him and 

the blow, 
The burden of the deadly brunt did beare 
Upon his shield, which lightly he did 

throw 
Over his head before the harme came 

neare : 
Nathlesse it fell with so despiteous dreare 
And heavie sway, that hard unto his 

crowne 
The shield it drove, and did the covering 

reare : 
Therewith both Squire and dwarfe did 

tomble downe 
Unto the earth, and lay long while in 

senselesse swowne. 

XLIII. 

Whereat the Prince full wrath his strong 

right hand 
In full avengement heaved up on hie, 
And stroke the Pagan with his steely 

brand 
So sore, that to his saddle-bow thereby 
He bowed low, and so a while did lie: 
And, sure, had not his massie yron mace 
Betwixt him and his hurt bene happily. 
It would have cleft him to the girding 

place ; 
Yet, as it was, it did astonish him long 



But, when he to himselfe returnd 
againe, 

All full of rage he gan to curse and sweare, 

And vow by Mahoune that he should be 
slaine. 

With that his murdrous mace he up did 
reare. 

That seemed nought the souse thereof 
could beare, 

And therewith smote at him with all his 
might ; 

But, ere that it to him approched neare 

The royall child with readie quicke fore- 
sight 



CANTO VIII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



343 



Did sliuu the proof e thereof, and it 
avoyded light. 

XLV. 

But, ere his hand he could reeure againe 

To ward his hodie from the balefull 
stouud, 

He smote at him with all his might and 
maine, 

So furiously that, ere he wist, he found 

His head before him tombling on the 
ground ; 

The whiles his babling tongue did yet 
blaspheme 

Aiid curse his God that did him so con- 
found : 

The whiles his life ran foorth in bloudie 
streame. 

His soule descended downe into the Sty- 
gian reame. 

XLVI. 

Which when that Squire beheld, he 

woxe full glad 
To see his foe breath out his spright in 

value : 
But that same dwarf e right sorie seem'd 

and sad. 
And howld aloud to see his Lord there 

slaine, 
And rent his haire and scratcht his face 

for paine. 
Then gan the Prince at leasure to inquire 
Of all the accident there hapned plaiue, 
And what he was whose eyes did flame 

with fire ; 
All which was thus to him declared by 

that Squire. 



' This mightie man,' (quoth he) ' whom 

you have slaine, 
Of an huge Geauutesse whylome was 

bred. 
And by his strength rule to himselfe did 

gaine 
Of many Nations into thraldome led, 
And mightie kingdomes of his force adred ; 
Whom yet he conquer'd not by bloudie 

fight, 
Ne hostes of men with banners brode 

dispred. 
But by the powre of his infectious sight, 
With which he killed all that came within 

his might. 



* Ne was he ever vanquished afore, 
But ever vanquisht all with whom he 
fought ; 



Ne was there man so strong, but he 

downe bore ; 
Ne woman yet so faire, but he her brought 
Unto his l)ay, and captived her thought : 
For most of strength and beautie his de- 
sire 
Was spojde to make, and wast them unto 

nought, 
By casting secret flakes of lustfull fire 
From his false eyes into their harts and 
parts entire. 

XLIX. 

' Therefore Corflambo was he cald 

aright. 
Though namelesse there his bodie now 

doth lie ; 
Yet hath he left one daughter that is hight 
The faire Pceana, who seemes outwardly 
So faire as ever yet saw living eie ; 
And were her vertue like her beautie 

bright. 
She were as faire as any under skie : 
But ah ! she given is to vaine delight, 
And eke too loose of life, and eke of love 

too light. 

L. 

'So, as it fell, there was a gentle Squire 
That lov'd a Ladie of high parentage ; 
But, for his meane degree might not aspire 
To match so high, her friends with coun- 

sell sage 
Dissuaded her from such a disparage : 
But she, whose hart to love was wholly 

lent. 
Out of his hands could not redeeme her 

But, firmely following her first intent, 
Resolv'd with him to wend, gainst all her 
friends consent. 



' So twixt themselves they pointed time 
and place : 
To which when he according did repaire, 
An hard mishap and disaventrous case 
Himchaunst : instead of his/Emylia faire, 
This Gyauts somie, that lies there on the 

laire 
An headlesse heape, him unawares there 

caught ; 
And all dismayd through mercilesse de- 
spair e 
Him wretched thrall unto his dongeon 

brought, 
Where he remaines, of all unsuccour'd and 
unsought. 

LII. 

' This Gyants daughter came upon a day 
Unto the prison, in "her joyous glee, 



344 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book IV. 



To view the thrals which there in bondage 
lay: 

Amongst the rest she cliauueed there to 
see 

This lovely swaine, the Squire of low de- 
gree ; 

To whom she did her liking lightly cast, 

And wooed him her paramour to bee : 

From day to day she woo'd and prayd 
him fast, 

And for his love him i)romist libertie at 
last. 

LIII. 

* He, though affide unto a former love, 
To whom his faith he firmely meut to hold. 
Yet seeing not how thence he mote remove. 
But by that meanes which fortune did un- 
fold. 

Her graunted love, but with affection cold. 
To win her grace his libertie to get : 
Yet she him still detaines in captive hold. 
Fearing, least if she should him freely 

set, 
He would her shortly leave, and former 

love forget. 

LIV. 

* Yet so much favour she to him hath 

hight 
Above the rest, that he sometimes may 

space 
And walke about her gardens of delight, 
Having a keeper still with him in place ; 
Which keeper is this Dwarfe, her dearling 

base. 
To whom the keyes of every prison dore 
By her committed be, of speciall grace. 
And at his will may whom he list restore, 
And whom he list reserve to be afflicted 

more. 

LV. 

* Whereof when tydings came unto mine 

eare. 
Full inly sorie, for the fervent zeale 
Which I to him as to my soule did beare, 
I thether went ; where I did long conceale 
My selfe, till that the Dwarfe did me re- 

veale, 
And told his Dame her Squire of low de- 
gree 
Did secretly out of her prison steale ; 
For me he did mistake that Squire to 

bee, 
For never two so like did living creature 
see. 

LVI. 

'Then was I taken and before her 
brought, 
Who, through the likenesse of my outward 
hew. 



Being likewise beguiled in her thought, 
Gan blame me much for being so untrew 
To seeke by flight her fellowship t' eschew. 
That lov'd me deare, as dearest thing 

alive. 
Thence she commaunded me to prison 

new; 
Whereof I glad did not gaine say nor 

strive. 
But suffred that same Dwarfe me to her 

dongeon drive. 

LVII. 

' There did I finde mine onely faithfull 

frend 
In heavy plight and sad perplexitie ; 
Whereof I sorie, yet myselfe did bend 
Him to recomfort with my companie. 
But him the more agreev'd I found 

thereby : 
For all his joy, he said, in that distresse 
Was mine and his ^Emylias libertie. 
iEmylia well he lov'd, as I mote ghesse. 
Yet greater love to me then her he did 

prof esse. 

LVIII. 

* But I with better reason him aviz'd, 
And shew'd him how, through error and 

misthought 
Of our like persons, eath to be disguiz'd. 
Or his exchange or freedom might be 

wrought. 
Whereto full loth was he, ne would for 

ought 
Consent that I, who stood all fearelesse 

free. 
Should wilfully be into thraldome 

brought. 
Till fortune did perforce it so decree : 
Yet, over-ruld at last, he did to me agree. 



' The morrow next, about the wonted 
howre, 
The Dwarfe cald at the doore of Amyas 
To come forthwith unto his Ladies bowre : 
Insteed of whom forth came I, Placidas, 
And undiscerned forth with him did pas. 
There with great joyance and with glad- 
some glee 
Of faire Poeana I received was. 
And oft imbrast, as if that I were hee, 
And with kind words accoyd, vowing 
great love to mee. 



' Which I, that was not bent to former 
love 
As was my friend that had her long ref us'd, 



CANTO VIII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



345 



Did well accept, as well it did behove, 
Aud to the present neede it wisely usd. 
My former hardnesse first I faire excusd ; 
Aud after promist large ameuds to make. 
With such smooth termes her error I 

abusd 
To my friends good more then for miue 

owue sake, 
For whose sole libertie I love and life did 

stake. 

LXI. 

'Thenceforth I found more favour at 
her hand, 

That to her Dwarfe, which had me in his 
charge. 

She bad to lighten my too heavie band. 

And graunt more scope to me to walke at 
large. 

So on a day, as by the flowrie marge 

Of a fresh streame I with that Elfe did 
play, 

Finding no meanes how I might us en- 
large, 

But if that Dwarfe I could with me con- 
vay, 

I lightly snatcht him up and with me bore 



* Thereat he shriekt aloud, that with 

his cry 
The Tyrant selfe came forth with yelling 

bray, 
And me pursew'd ; but nathemore would I 
Forgoe the purchase of my gotten pray, 
But have perforce him hether brought 

away.' 



Thus as they talked, loe! where nigh at 

hand 
Those Ladies two, yet doubtfull through 

dismay, 
In presence came, desirous t' understand 
Tydings of all which there had hapned on 

the laud. 

LXIII. 

Where soone as sad ^mylia did espie 
Her captive lovers friend, young Placidas, 
All miudlesse of her wonted modestie 
She to him ran, and him with streight 

embras 
Enfolding, said ; ' And lives yet Amy as ? ' 
' He lives,' (quoth he) ' and his jEmylia 

loves.' 
' Then lesse,' (said she) ' by all the woe I 

pas, 
With which my weaker patience fortune 

proves : 
But what mishap thus long him fro my 

selfe removes ? ' 



Then gan he all this storie to renew. 
And tell the course of his captivitie, 
That her deare hart full deepely made to 

rew, 
And sigh full sore to heare the miserie 
In which so long he mercilesse did lie. 
Then, after many teares and sorrowes 

spent, 
She deare besought the Prince of remedie ; 
Who thereto did with readie will consent. 
And well perform'd ; as shall appeare by 

his event. 



CANTO IX. 

The Squire of low degree, releast, 

^mylia takes to wile : 
Britomart fightes with many Knights 

Prince Arthur stints their strife. 



I. 

Hard is the doubt, and difficult to 
deeme. 
When all three kinds of love together 

meet 
And doe dispart the hart with powre ex- 
treme, 
Whether shall weigh the balance downe ; 

to weet. 
The deare affection unto kindred sweet, 
Or raging fire of love to womankind, 
Or zeale of friends combynd with vertues 

meet: 
But of them all the band of vertuous mind, 
Me seemes, the gentle hart should most 
assured bind. 



For naturall affection soone doth cesse. 
And quenched is with Cupids greater 

flame: 
But faithfull friendship doth them both 

suppresse. 
And them with maystring discipline doth 

tame, 
Through thoughts aspyring to eternal! 

fame: 
For as the soule doth rule the earthly 

masse. 
And all the service of the bodie frame, 
So love of soule doth love of bodie passe, 
Xo lesse then perfect gold surmounts the 

meanest brasse. 



346 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book IV. 



All which who list by try all to assay 
Shall in this storie fiud approved plaiue ; 
111 which these Squires true friendship 

more did sway 
Then either care of parents could ref raine, 
Or love of fairest Ladie could constraine ; 
For thougli Poeana were as faireas morne, 
Yet did this trustie squire with proud 

disdaine 
For his friends sake her offred favours 

scorne, 
And she her selfe her syre of whom she 

was y borne. 

IV. 

Now, after that Prince Arthur grauuted 

had 
To yeeld strong succour to that gentle 

swayne, 
Who now long time had lyen in prison 

sad ; 
He gan advise how best he mote darrayne 
That enterprize for greatest glories gayne. 
That headlesse tyrants tronke he reard 

from ground, 
And, having ympt the head to it agayne. 
Upon his usuall beast it firmely bound, 
And made it so to ride as it alive was 

found. 

V. 

Then did he take that chaced Squire, 
and layd 

Before the ryder, as he captive were. 

And made his Dwarfe, though with un- 
willing ayd, 

To guide the beast that did his maister 
beare, 

Till to his castle they approched neare; 

Whom when the watch, that kept con- 
tin uall ward, 

Saw comming home, all voide of doubtf ull 
feare, 

He, running downe, the gate to him un- 
bard; 

Whom straight the Prince ensuing in to- 
gether far'd. 

VI. 

There did he find in her delitious boure 
The faire Poeana playing on a Rote 
Complayuing of her cruell Paramoure, 
And singing all her sorrow to the note. 
As she had learned readily by rote ; 
That with the sweetnesse of her rare 

delight 
The Prince halfe rapt began on her to 

dote; 
Till better him bethinking of the right, 
He her unwares attacht, and captive held 

by might. 



Whence being forth prodiic'd, when she 

perceived 
Her ownie deare sire, she cald to him for 

aide; 
But when of him no aunswere she re- 
ceived. 
But saw him sencelesse by the Squire up- 

staide, 
She weened well that then she was be- 

traide : 
Then gan she loudly cry, and weepe, and 

waile, 
And that same Squire of treason to ap- 

braide ; 
But all in vaine: her plaints might not 

prevaile, 
Ne none there was to reskue her, ne none 

to baile. 

VIII. 

Then tooke he that same Dwarfe, and 

him compeld 
To open unto him the prison dore. 
And forth to bring those thrals which 

there he held. 
Thence forth were brought to him above 

a score 
Of Knights and Squires to him unknowne 

afore : 
All which he did from bitter bondage free, 
And unto former liberty restore. 
Amongst the rest that Squire of low 

degree 
Came forth full weake and wan, not like 

him selfe to bee. 

rx. 

Whom soone as faire ^mylia beheld 
And Placidas, they both unto him ran, 
And him embracing fast betwixt them 

held, 
Striving to comfort him all that they 

can, 
And kissing oft his visage pale and wan : 
That faire Poeana, them beholding both, 
Gan both env>^ and bitterly to ban ; 
Through jealous passion weeping inly 

wroth. 
To see the sight perforce that both her 

eyes were loth. 



But when awhile they had together 

beeue. 
And diversly conferred of their case, 
She, though full oft she both of them had 

scene 
Asunder, yet not ever in one place. 
Began to doubt, when she them saw 

embrace, 



CANTO IX.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



347 



Which was the captive Squire she lov'd 

so deare, 
Deceived through great likenesse of their 

face : 
For tljey so like in person did appeare, 
That she uneath discerned whether 

whether weare. 

XI. 

And eke the Prince, t\'hen as he them 

avized, 
Their like reseniblaunce much admired 

there, 
And mazd how nature had so well 

disguized 
Her worke, and couuterfet her selfe so 

nere, 
As if that by one patterne, scene some- 
where, 
She had them made a paragone to be, 
Or whether it through skill or errour 

were. 
Thus gazing long at them much wondred 

he; 
So did the other Knights and Squires 

which them did see. 

XII. 

Then gan they ransacke that same Castle 

strong, 
In which ho found great store of hoorded 

threasure, 
The which that tyrant gathered had by 

wrong 
And tortious powre, without respect or 

measure: 
Upon all which the Briton Prince made 

sea sure. 
And afterwards continu'd there a while 
To rest him selfe, and solace ui soft 

pleasure 
Those weaker Ladies after weary toile; 
To whom he did divide part of his pur- 

chast spoile. 

XIII. 

And, for more joy, that captive Lady 
faire, 
Tjie faire l*(rniia. he enlarged free, 
And by the rest did set in sumptuous chaire 
To feast and frollicke; nathemore would 

she 
Sliew gladsome countenaunce nor pleas- 
aunt glee ; 
F>ut grieved was for losse both of her sire. 
And eke of Lordship with both land and 

fee: 
But most she touched was with griefe 

entire 
For losse of her new love, the hope of her 
desire. 



Butlier the Prince, through his well 

wonted grace, 
To better termesof myldnesse did entreat 
From that fowie rudenesse which did her 

deface; 
And that same bitter corsive, which did 

eat 
Her tender heart and made refraine from 

meat, 
He with {xood thewes and speaches well 

api)lyde 
Did mollifie, and calme her raging heat : 
For though she were most ifaire, ajid 

goodly dyde. 
Yet she it all did mar with cruelty and 

pride. 

XV. 

And, for to shut up all in friendly love, 
Sith love was first the ground of all her 

griefe, 
That trusty Squire he wisely well did 

move' 
Not to despise that dame which lor'd him 

licfe,. 
Till he had made of her some better pricfe ; 
But to accept her to his wedded wife: 
Thereto he ofTred for t.i make him chiefe 
Of all her land and loni-vlijp during life. 
He yeelded, and her tooke; so stinted all 

their strife. 

XVI. 

From that day forth iu peace and joyous 

blis 
Theyliv'd together long without debate; 
Ne private Jarre, ne spite of enenjis. 
Could shake the safe assuraunce of their 

state: 
And she, whom Nature did so faire create 
That she mote match ilie fairest of her 

daies, 
Yet with hud loves and lust intemperate 
Had it defaste, thenceforth reformd her 

waies. 
That all men much admyrde her change, 

and spake her praise. 

XVII. 

Thus when the Prince had perfectly 
...,«',ompylde, 
Tn. . paires. tlf friend- in peace and setled 

rest. 
Him selfe, whose mirtde di<l travell as 

with chylde 
Of his old l«»ve conceav "d in secret brrst. 
Resolved to pursue his fetrmer qut^st ; 
And, taking leave of all, with him did 

beare 
Faire Amoret, whom Fortune by bequest 



348 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book rv. 



Had left in his protection whileare, 
Exchanged out of one into another feare. 



Feare of her safety did her not con- 

straine ; 
For well she wist now in a mighty hond 
Her person, late in perill, did remaine, 
Who able was all daungers to withst<»nd : 
But now in feare of shame she more did 

stond, 
Seeing her selfe all soly succourlesse, 
Left in the victors powre, like vassall 

bond , 
"VMiose will her weakenesse could no way 

represse, 
In case his burning lust should breaks into 

excesse. 

XIX. 

But cause of feare, sure, had she none 

at all 
Of him, who goodly learned had of yore 
The course of loose affection to fors'tall, 
And lawlesse lust to rule with reasons 

lore; 
That all the while he by his side her bore, 
She was as safe as in a Sanctuary. 
Thus many miles they two together wore, 
To seeke their loves dispersed diversly, 
Yet neither showed to other their hearts 

privity. 

XX. 

At length they came whereas a troupe 
of Knights 

They saw together skirmishing, as 
seemed : 

Sixe they were all, all full of fell despight. 

But foure of them the battell best be- 
seemed, 

That which of them was best mote not be 
deemed. 

These foure were they from whom false 
Florimel 

By Braggadochio lately was redeemed ; 

To weet, sterne Druon, and lewd Claribell, 

Love-lavish Blandamour, and lustfull 
Paridell. 

XXI. 

Drucns delight was all in single life, 
And unto Ladies love would lend no 

leasure : j 

The more was Claribell cuiajred rife 
AVith fervent Mames, and loved out of 

measure : 
So eke lov'd Blandamour, but yet at I 

plea.sure t 

"Would change liis liking, and new Lemans 

prove ; 
But Paridell of love did make no 

threasure, I 



But lusted after all that him did move: 
So diversly these foure disposed were to 
love. 

XXII. 

But those two other, which beside them 

stood e, 
Were Britomart and gentle Scudamour; 
"Who all the while beheld their wrathful! 

moode. 
And wondred at their impacable stoure, 
"Whose like they never saw till that same 

houre 
So dreadfuU strokes each did at other 

drive. 
And laid on load with all their might and 

powre, 
As if that everj' dint the ghost would rive 
Out of their wretched corses, and their 

lives deprive. 

xxm. 

As when Dan ^olus, in great displeas- 
ure 

For losse of his deare love by Neptune 
hent, 

Sends forth the winds out of his hidden 
threasure 

Upon the sea to wreake his fell intent ; 

They breaking forth with rude unruli- 
ment 

From all foure parts of heaven doe rage 
full sore, 

And tosse thedeepes,and teare the firma- 
ment, 

And all the worlde confound with. wide 
uprore. 

As if instead thereof they Chaos would 
restore. 

XXIV. 

Cause of their discord and so fell debate 
"Was for the love of that same snowy maid, 
"Whome they had lost in Turneyment of 

late; 
And, seeking long to weet which way she 

straid, 
Met here together, where, through lewd 

upbraide 
Of Ate and Duessa. they fell out; 
And each one taking part in others aide 
This cruell conflict raised thereabout, 
Whose dangerous snccesse depended yet 

in doubt : 

XXV. 

For sometimes Paridell and Blandamour 
The better had, and bet the others backe : 
Eftsoones the others did the field recoure, 
And on his foes did worke full cruell 

wracke: 
Yet neither would their fieudlike fury 

slacke, 



CANIX) IX.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



349 



But evermore their malice did augment; 
Till tbat uneath they forced were, for 

lacke 
Of breath, their raging rigour to relent, 
And rest themselves for to recover spirits 

spent. 

XXVI. 

Then gan they change their sides, and 

new parts take; 
For Paridell did take to Druons side. 
For old despight which now forth newly 

brake 
Gainst Blandamour, whom alwaies he 

envide ; 
And Blandamour to Claribell relide : 
So all afresh gan former fight renew. 
As when two Barkes, this caried with the 

tide, 
That with the wind, contrarj^ courses sew, 
If wind and tide doe change, their courses 

change anew. 

xxvn. 
Thenceforth they much more furiously 

gan fare. 
As if but then the battell had begoune ; 
Ne helmets bright no hawbcrks strong did 

spare, 
That through the clifts the vermeil bloud 

out sponne, 
And all adowne their riven sides did 

ronne. 
Such mortall malice wonder was to see 
In friends profest, and so great outrage 

donne : 
But sooth is said, and tride in each 

degree, 
Faint friends when they fall out most 

cruell foraeu bee. 

XXVIII. 

Thus they long while continued in fight ; 
Till Seudamour and that same Briton 

maide 
By fortune in that place did chance to 

light: 
Whom soone as they with wrathfull eie 

bewraide, 
They gan remember of the fowle upbraide, 
The" which that Britonesse had to them 

donne 
In that late Tuniey for the snowy maide ; 
Where she had them both .shamefully for- 

donne, 
And eke the famous prize of beauty from 

them wonne. 



Eftsoones all burning with a fresh desire 
Of fell revenge, in their malicious mood 



They from them selves gan turne their 

furious ire. 
And cruell blades, yet steeming with whot 

bloud. 
Against those two let drive, as they were 

wood : 
Who wondring much at that so sodaine fit, 
Yet nought dismayd, tliem stoutly well 

withstood ; 
Ne yeelded foote, ne once abacke did flit. 
But being doubly smitten likewise doubly 

smit. 

XXX. 

The warlike Dame was on her part 

a.ssaid 
Of Claribell and Blandamour attone ; 
And Paridell and Druon fiercely laid 
At Seudamour, both his x>rofessed fone: 
Foure charged two, and two surcharged 

one; 
Yet did those two them selves so bravely 

beare. 
That th' other litle gained by the lone, 
But with their owne repayed duely weare, 
And usury withali : such gaine was gotten 

deare. 

XXXI. 

Full oftentimes did Britomart assay 
To speake to them, and some emparlance 

move ; 
But they for nought their cruell hands 

would stay, 
Ne lend an eare* to ought that might be- 
hove. 
As when an eager nia stiff e once doth prove 
The tast of bloud of some engored beast, 
No words may rate, nor rigour him remove 
From greedy hold of that his blouddy 

feast : 
So litle did they hearken to her sweet be- 
heast. 

XXXII. 

Whom when the Briton Prince a farre 

beheld 
With ods of so unequall match opprest, 
His mighty heart with indignation sweld. 
And inward grudge fild his heroicke brest : 
Eftsoones him selfe he to their aide ad- 

drest, 
And thrusting fierce into the thickest 

preace 
Divided them, how ever loath to rest; 
And would them faine from battell to sur- 

ceasse, 
With gentle words perswadiug them to 

friendly peace. 

xxxin. 
But they so farre from peace or patience 
were. 



350 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book IV 



That all at once at him pan fiercely flie, 
And lay on loa*], as they him dowue would 

heaie ; 
Like to;i storme which hovers under skie, 
Long here and there and round about doth 

Stic, 
At lenj^th hreakes downe in raine, and 

haile and sleet, 
First from one coast, till nought thereof 

be drie, 
And then another, till that likewise fleet; 
And so from side to side till all the world 

it weet. 

XXXIV. 

But now their forces greatly were de- 

cayd, 
The Prince yet being fresh untoucht 

afore ; 
Who them with speaches milde gan first 

diswade 
From such foule outrage, and them long 

forbore : 
Till seeing them through suffrance 

harmed more, 
Him selfe he bent their furies to abate, 
And layd at Ihem so sharpely and so sore, 
That shortly them compelled to retrate, 
And being brought in daunger to relent 

too late. 

XXXV. 

But now his courage being throughly 

fired, 
He ment to make them know their follies 

prise, 
Had not those two him instantly desired 
T' asswage his wrath, and pardon their 

mesprise : 
At whose request he gan him selfe advise 
To stay his hand, and of a truce to treat 
In milder tearmes, as list them to devise ; 
Mongst which the cause of their so cruell 

heat 
He did them aske, who all that passed gan 

repeat : 

XXXVI. 

And told at lartre how that same errant 
Knight, 
To weet faire Britomart, them late had 

foyled 
In open tnrnoy, and by wrongfull fight 
Both of thtir publicke praise had them 

despoyled, 
And also of their private loA'es beiruvled, 
(K two full hard to read tli.- harder theft: 
But she that wrongfull challenge soune 

assoyled, 
And shew'd that she had not that Lady 

reft, 
(As they suppos'd) but her had to her lik- 
ing left. 



To whom the Prince thus goodly well 

replied : 
'Certes, sir Knight, ye seemen much to 

blame 
To rip up wrong that battell once hath 

tried ; 
Wherein the honor both of Armes ye 

shame, 
And eke the love of Ladies foule defame; 
To whom the world this franchise ever 

yeelded. 
That of their loves choise thay might free- 
dom clame, 
And in that right should by all knights be 

shielded ; 
Gainst which, me seemes, this war ye 

wrongfullj' have wielded.' 

XXXVUI. 

' And yet ' (quoth she) * a greater wrong 

remaines ; 
For I thereby my former love have lost ; 
Whom seeking ever since with endlesse 

paiues 
Hath me much sorrow and much travell 

cost : 
Aye me, to see that gentle maideso to.st! ' 
But Scudamour, then sighing deepe, thus 

saide : 
' Certes, her losse ought me to sorrow 

most, 
Whose right she is, where ever she be 

straide. 
Through many perils wonne, and many 

fortunes waide. 

XXXIX. 

' For from the first that her I love pro- 

fest. 
Unto this houre, this present lucklesse 

howro. 
I never joyed happinesse nor rest ; 
But thus turmoild from one to other 

stow re 
I wast my life, and doe my daies devowre 
In wretched anguishe and incessant woe. 
Passing the measure of my f(!eble powre ; 
That living thus a wretch, and loving so, 
I neither can mj love ne yet my life 

forgo.' 

XL. 

Then good Sir Claribell him thus be- 
.spake : 
' Now were it not, sir Scudamour, to you 
Dislikefull paine so s:id a tasketo take, 
Mote we entreat you, siih this gentle crew 
Is nov so well accorded all anew, 
That as we ride togetlier on our way, 
Ye will recount to us in order dew 



CANTO IX.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



351 



All that adventure whicli ye did assay 
For that fairs Ladies love: past perils 
well apay.' 

XLI. 

So gaii the rest him likewise to re- 
quire, 
But Britomart did him importune hard 
To take on him that paine : whose great 
desire 



He glad to satisfie, him selfe prepar'd 
To tell through what misfortune he had 

far'd 
In that atchievement, as to him befell, 
And all those daungers unto them de- 

clar'd ; 
Which sith they cannot in this Canto well 
Comprised be, I will them in another 

tell. 



CANTO X. 

Scudamour doth his conquest tell 

Of vertuous Amoret : 
Great Venus Temple is describ'd ; 

And lovers life forth set. 



* True he it said, what ever man it 

sayd, 
That love with gall and hony doth 

abound ; 
But if the one be with the other wayd, 
For every dram of hony therein found 
A pound of gall doth over it redound : 
That I too true by triall have approved ; 
For since the day that first with deadly 

wound 
My heart was launcht, and learned to 

have loved, 
I never joyed howre, but still with care 

was moved. 



* And yet such grace is given them from 

above. 
That all the cares and evill which they 

meet 
May nought at all their setled mindes 

remove, 
But seeme, gainst common sence, to them 

most sweet ; 
As hosting in their raartyrdome unmeet. 
So all that ever yet I have endured 
I count as naught, and tread downe under 

feet. 
Since of my love at length I rest assured. 
That to disloyalty she will not be allured. 



' Long were to tell the travell and long 

toile 
Through which this shield of love I late 

have wonne. 
And purchased this peerelesse beauties 

spoile. 
That harder may be ended, then begonne: 
But since ye so desire, your will be domie. 
Then hearke, ye gentle knights and 

Ladies free, 



My hard mishaps that ye may learne to 

shonne ; 
For though sweet love to conquer glorious 

bee. 
Yet is the paine thereof much greater 

then the fee. 



IV. 

' What time the fame of his renowmed 

prise 
Flew first abroad, and all mens eares 

possest, 
I, having armes then taken, gan avise 
To winne me honour by some noble 

gest. 
And purchase me some place amongst the 

best. 
I boldly thought, (so j^oung mens thoughts 

are bold) 
That this same brave emprize for me did 

rest. 
And that both shield and she whom I 

behold 
Might be my lucky lot ; sith all by lot we 

hold. 

V. 

' So on that hard adventure forth I 

went. 
And to the place of perill shortly came : 
That was a temple faire and auncient. 
Which of great mother Venus bare the 

name, 
And farre renowmed through exceeding 

fame, 
Much more then that which was in 

Paphos built. 
Or that in Cyprus, both long since this 

same, 
Though all the pillours of the one were 

guilt, 
And all the others pavement were with 

yvory spilt. 



352 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book IV. 



' And it was seated in an Island strong, 
Abounding all with delices most rare, 
And wall'd by nature gainst invaders 

wrong, 
That none mote have accesse, nor in- 
ward fare, 
But by one way that passage did prepare. 
It was a bridge ybuilt in goodly wize 
With curious Corbes and pendants graven 

faire. 
And, arched all with porches, did arize 
On stately pillours fram'd after the 
Doricke guize. 

VII. 

' And for defence thereof on th' other 

end 
There reared was a castle faire and strong 
That warded all which in or out did 

wend, 
And flancked both the bridges sides 

along, 
Gainst all that would it faine to force or 

WTong : • 
And therein wonned twenty valiant 

Knights, 
All twenty tride in warres experience 

long; 
Whose office was against all manner 

wights 
By all meanes to maintaine that castels 

ancient rights. 

VIII. 

' Before that Castle was an open plaine, 

And in the midst thereof a piller placed ; 

On which this shield, of many sought in 
vaine. 

The shield of Love, whose guerdon me 
hath graced, 

Was hangd on high with golden rib- 
bands laced ; 

And in the marble stone was written this, 

AVith golden letters goodly well enchaced ; 

Blessed the man that loell can use his 
blis : 

Whose ever be the shield, fair Amoret be 
his. 

IX. 

'Which when I red, my heart did inly 

earne, 
And pant with hope of that adventures 

hap: 
Ne stayed further newes thereof to learne, 
But with my speare upon the shield did 

rap, 
That all the castle ringed with the clap. 
Streight forth issewd a Knight all arm'd 

to proofe. 



And bravely mounted to his most mishap : 
Who, staying nought to question from 

aloofe, 
Ran fierce at me that fire glaunst from 

his horses hoofe. 



' Whom boldly I encountred (as I could) 
And by good fortune shortly him un- 
seated. 
Eftsoones outsprung two more of equal 

mould ; 
But I them both with equall hap defeated. 
So all the twenty I likewise entreated. 
And left them groning there upon the 

plaine : 
Then, preacing to the pillour, I repeated 
The read thereof for guerdon of my paine. 
And taking downe the shield with me did 
it retaine. 

XI. 

' So forth without impediment I past, 
Till to the Bridges utter gate I came; 
The which I found sure lockt and chained 

fast. 
I knockt, but no man auuswred me by 

name; 
I cald, but no man answred to my clame : 
Yet I persever'd still to knocke and call. 
Till at the last I spide within the same 
Where one stood peeping through a ere vis 

small. 
To whom I cald aloud, halfe angry there- 

withall. 



'That was to weet the Porter of the 

place, 
Unto whose trust the charge thereof was 

lent: 
His name was Doubt, that had a double 

face, 
Th' one forward looking, th' other backe- 

ward bent. 
Therein resembling Janus auncient 
Which hath in charge the ingate of the 

yeare : 
And evermore his eyes about him went, 
As if some proved perill he did feare. 
Or did misdoubt some ill whose cause did 

not appeare. 



'On th' one side he, on th' other sate 

Delay, 
Behinde the gate that none her might 

espy; 
Whose manner was all passengers to stay 
And entertaine with her occasions sly : 
Through which some lost great hope 

unheedily, 



CANTO X.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



353 



Which never they recover might agaiue ; 
And others, quite excluded forth, did ly 
Long languishing there in unpittied paine, 
And seeking often entraunce afterwards 
in vaine. 

XIV. 

' Me when as he had privily espide 
Bearing the shield which I had conquerd 

late, 
He kend it streight and to me opened 

wide. 
So in I past, and streight he closd the 

gate: 
But being in, Delay in close awaite 
Caught hold on me, and thought my steps 

to stay, 
Feigning full many a fond excuse to 

prate, 
And time to steale, the threasure of 

mans day, 
Whose smallest minute lost no riches 

render may. 

XV. 

* But by no meanes my way I would f or- 

slow 
For ought that ever she could doe or say ; 
But from my lofty steede dismounting 

low 
Past forth on foote, beholding all the way 
The goodly workes, and stones of rich 



Cast into sundry shapes by wondrous 

skill. 
That like on earth no where I recken 

may: 
And underneath, the river rolling still 
With murmure soft, that seem'd to serve 

the workmans will. 

XVI. 

* Thence forth I passed to the second 

gate, 
The Gate of Good Desert, whose goodly 

pride 
And costly frame were long here to relate. 
The same to all stoode alwaies open wide ; 
But in the Porch did evermore abide 
And hideous Giant, dreadfull to behold. 
That stopt the entraunce with his spacious 

stride, 
And with the terrour of his countenance 

bold 
Full many did affray, that else faine 

enter would. 

XVII. 

* His name was Daunger, dreaded over- 
all, 
Who day and night did watch and duely 
ward 



From fearefull cowards entrance to for- 
stall 

And faint-heart-fooles, whom shew of 
perill hard 

Could terrifie from Fortunes faire ad- 
ward: 

For oftentimes faint hearts, at first 
espiall 

Of his grim face, were from approaching 
scard ; 

Unworthy they of grace, whom one de- 
niall 

Excludes from fairest hope withouten fur- 
ther trial 1. 

XVIII. 

*Yet many doughty warriours often 

tride 
In greater perils to be stout and bold. 
Durst not the sternnesse of his looke 

abide ; 
But, soone as they his countenance did 

behold, 
Began to faint, and feele their corage 

cold. 
Againe, some other, that in hard assaies 
Were cowards knowne, and litle count 

did hold. 
Either through gifts, or guile, or such like 

waies, 
Crept in by stouping low, or stealing of 

the kaies. 

XIX. 

'But I, though meanest man of many 

moe. 
Yet much disdaining unto him to lout. 
Or creepe betweene his legs, so in to goe, 
Resolv'd him to assault with manhood 

stout, 
And either beat him in, or drive him out. 
Eftsoones, advauncing that enchaunted 

shield, 
With all my might I gan to lay about : 
Which when he saw, the glaive which he 

did wield 
He gan forthwith t'avale, and way unto 

me yield. 

XX. 

' So, as lentred, I did backeward looke, 
For feare of harme that might lie hidden 

there ; 
And loe! his hindparts, whereof heed I 

tooke, 
Much more deformed fearefull, ugly were. 
Then all his former parts did earst ^ppere : 
For hatred, murther, treason, and de- 

spight, 
With many moe lay in ambushment there, 
Awayting to entrap the warelesse wight 
Which did not them prevent with vigilant 

foresight. 



354 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book IV. 



* Thus having past all perill, I was come 
Within the compasse of that Islands 

space ; 
The which did seeme, unto my simple 

doome, 
The onely pleasant and delightfull place 
That ever trodeu was of footings trace : 
For all that nature by her mother-wit 
Could frame in earth, and forme of sub- 
stance base, 
Was there ; and all that nature did omit. 
Art, playing second natures part, sup- 
plyed it. 

XXII. 

' No tree, that is of count, in greene- 

wood growes. 
From lowest Juniper to Cedar tall, 
No flowre in field, that daintie odour 

throwes, 
And deckes his branch with blossomes over 

all, 
But there was planted, or grew naturall : 
Nor sense of man so coy and curious nice, 
But there mote find to please it selfe 

withall ; 
Nor hart could wish for any queint device. 
But there it present was, and did fraile 

sense entice. 



* In such luxurious plentie of all pleas- 

ure, 
It seem'd a second paradise to ghesse, 
So lavishly enricht with Natures threas- 

ure, 
That if the happie soules, which doe pos- 

sesse 
Th' Elysian fields and live in lasting 

blesse, 
Should happen this with living eye to see. 
They soone would loath their lesser hap- 

pinesse. 
And wish to life return'd againe to bee. 
That in this joyous place they mote have 

joyance free. 

XXIV. 

* Fresh shadowes, fit to shroud from 

sunny ray ; 

Faire lawnds, to take the sunne in season 
dew; 

Sweet springs, in which a thousand 
Nymphs did play ; 

Soft rombling brookes, that gentle slom- 
ber drew ; 

High reared mounts, the lands about to 
vew; 

Low looking dales, disloignd from com- 
mon gaze ; 



Delightfull bowres, to solace lovers trew ; 
False Labyrinthes, fond runners eyes to 

daze; 
All which by nature made did nature selfe 

amaze. 

XXV. 

' And all without were walkes and 

alleyes dight 
With divers trees enrang'd in even rankes ; 
And here and there were pleasant arbors 

pight, 
And shadie seates, and sundry flowring 

bankes. 
To sit and rest the walkers wearie 

shankes : 
And therein thousand payres of lovers 

walkt, 
Praysing their god, and yeelding him great 

thankes, 
Ne ever ought but of their true loves talkt, 
Ne ever for rebuke or blame of any balkt. 



* All these together by themselves did 
sport 
Their spotlesse pleasures and sweet loves 

content. 
But, farre away from these, another sort 
Of lovers lincked in true harts consent, 
Which loved not as these for like intent, 
Butonchast vertue grounded their desire, 
Farre from all fraud or fayned blandish- 
ment ; 
Which, in their spirits kindling zealous 

fire, 
Brave thoughts and noble deedes did ever- 
more aspire. 



* Such were great Hercules and Hyllus 

deare 
Trew Jonathan and David trustie tryde 
Stout Theseus and Pirithous his feare 
Pylades and Orestes by his syde ; 
Myld Titus and Gesippus without pryde; 
Damon and Pythias, whom death could 

not sever : 
All these, and all that ever had bene tyde 
In bands of friendship, there did live for 

ever; 
Whose lives although decay'd, yet loves 

decayed never. 

xxviir. 

* Which wlien as I, that never tasted 

blis 
Nor happie howre, beheld with gazefull 

eye, 
I thought there was none other heaven 

then this ; 



CANTO X.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



355 



And gan tlieir eiidlesse happinesse envye, 
That being free from feare and gealosye 
Might frankely there their loves desire 

possesse ; 
Whilest I, through paines and perkms jeop- 

ardie, 
Was forst to seeke my lifes deare patron- 

nesse : 
Much dearer be the things which come 

through hard distresse. 



' Yet all those sights, and all that else I 

saw, 
Might not my steps withhold, but that 

forthright 
Unto that purposd place I did me draw, 
Where as my love was lodged day and 

night, 
The temple of great Venus, that is bight 
The Queene of beautie, and of love the 

mother, 
There worshipped of every living wight ; 
Whose goodly worknaanship farre past all 

other 
That ever were on earth, all were they 

set together. 



* Not that same famous Temple of 

Diane, 
Whose bight all Ephesus did oversee, 
And which all Asia sought with vowes 

prophane. 
One of the worlds seven wonders sayd to 

bee. 
Might match with this by many a degree : 
Nor that which that wise King of Jurie 

framed 
With endlesse cost to be th' Almighties 

see; 
Nor all, that else through all the world is 

named 
To all the heathen Gods, might like to 

this be clamed. 



' I,muchadmyring that so goodly frame. 
Unto the porch approcht which open 

stood ; 
But therein sate an amiable Dame, 
That seem'd to be of very sober mood, 
And in her semblant shew'd great woman- 
hood: 
Strange was her tyre ; for on her head a 

crowne 
She wore, much like unto a Danisk hood, 
Poudred with pearle and stone ; and all 

her gowne 
Enwoven was with gold, that raught full 
low adowne. 



XXXII. 

' On either side of her two young men 

stood. 
Both strongly arm'd, as fearing one an- 
other ; 
Yet were they brethren both of halfe the 

blood. 
Begotten by two fathers of one mother, 
Though of coutrarie natures each to other : 
The one of them hight Love, the other 

Hate. 
Hate was the elder. Love the younger 

brother ; 
Yet was the younger stronger in bis 

state 
Then th' elder, and him maystred still in 

all debate. 



' Nathlesse that Dame so well them 
tempred both, 
That she them forced hand to joyne in 

hand, 
Albe that Hatred was thereto full loth, 
And turn'd his face away, as he did stand, 
Unwilling to behold that lovely band. 
Yet she was of such grace and vertuous 

might, 
That her commaundment he could not 

withstand, 
But bit his lip for felonous despight, 
And gnasht his yron tuskes at that dis- 
pleasing sight. 

XXXIV. « 

* Concord she cleeped was in common 

reed, 
Mother of blessed Peace and Friendship 

trew; 
They both her twins, both borne of 

heavenly seed. 
And she her selfe likewise divinely grew ; 
The which right well her workes divine 

did shew : 
For strength and wealth and happiuesse 

she lends, 
And strife and warre and anger does sub- 
dew: 
Of litle much, of foes she maketh friends. 
And to afflicted minds sweet rest and 

quiet sends. 

XXXV. 

' By her the heaven is in his course con- 
tained. 

And all the world in state unmoved 
stands, 

As tlieir Almightie maker first ordained. 

And bound them with inviolable bands ; 

Else would the waters overflow the lands, 



356 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book IV. 



And fire devoure the ayre, and hell them 

quight, 
But that she holds them with her blessed 

hands. 
She is the nourse of pleasure and delight, 
And unto Venus grace the gate doth open 

right, 

xxxvi. 
' By her I entring half dismayed was ; 
But she in gentle wise me entertayned, 
And twixt her selfe and Love did let me 

pas; 
But Hatred would my entrance have re- 
stray ned, 
And with his ckib me threatned to have 

bray ned, 
Had not the Ladie with her powrefull 

speach 
Him from his wicked will uneath re- 

frayned ; 
And th' other eke his malice did empeach, 
Till I was throughly past the perill of his 

reach. 

XXXVII, 

' Into the inmost Temple thus I came, 
Which fuming all with frankensence I 

found 
And odours rising from the altars flame. 
Upon an hundred marble pillors round 
The roofe up high was reared from the 

ground, 
All deckt with crownes,and chaynes, and 

. girlands gay. 
And thousand pretious gifts worth many 

a pound, " 
The which sad lovers for their vowes did 

pay; 
And all the ground was strow'd with 

flowres as fresh as May. 

XXXVIII. 

* An hundred Altars round about were 

set. 
All flaming with their sacrifices fire. 
That with the steme thereof the Temple 

swet. 
Which rould in clouds to heaven did aspire, 
And in them bore true lovers vowes 

entire : 
And eke an hundred brasen caudrons 

bright, 
To bath in joy and amorous desire, 
Every of which was to a damzell hight; 
For all the Priests were damzels in soft 

linnen dight. 



' Right in the midst the Goddesse selfe 
did stand 
Upon an altar of some costly masse, 



Whose substance was uneath to under- 
stand : 

For neither pretious stone, nor durefull 
brasse. 

Nor shining gold, nor mouldring clay it 
was ; 

But much more rare and pretious to 
esteeme, 

Pure in aspect, and like to christall glasse, 

Yet glasse was not, if one did rightly 
deeme ; 

But, being faire and brickie, likest glasse 
did seeme. 

XL. 

' But it in shape and beautie did excell 
All other Holes which the heathen adore, 
Farre passing that, which by surpassing 

skill 
Phidias did make in Paphos Isle of yore. 
With which that wretched Greeke, that 

life forlore, 
Did fall in love: yet this much fairer 

shined, 
But covered with a slender veile afore ; 
And both her feete and legs together 

twyned 
Were with a snake, whose head and tail 

were fast combyned, 

XLI. 

' The cause why she was covered with a 

vele 
Was hard to know, for that her Priests 

the same 
From peoples knowledge labour 'd to 

concele: 
But sooth it was not sure for womanish 

shame. 
Nor any blemish which the worke mote 

blame ; 
But for, they say, she hath both kinds in 

one, 
Both male and female, both mider one 

name : 
She syre and mother is her selfe alone. 
Begets and eke conceives, ne needeth other 

none. 

XLII, 

' And all about her necke and shoulders 

flew 
A fiocke of litle loves, and sports, and 

joyes. 
With nimble wings of gold and purple 

hew; 
Whose shapes seem'd not like to terres- 

triall boyes, 
But like to Angels playing heavenly toyes, 
The whilest their eldest brother was 

away, 
Cupid their eldest brother; he enjoyes 



CANTO X.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



357 



The wide kingdome of love with lordly 

sway, 
And to his law compels all creatures to 

obay. 

XLIII. 

' And all about her altar scattered lay 
Great sorts of lovers piteously complayn- 

ing, 
Some of their losse, some of their loves 

delay, 
Some of their pride, some paragons dis- 

dayning, 
Some fearing fraud, some fraudulently 

fayning, 
As every one had cause of good or ill. 
Amongst the rest some one, through Loves 

constrayning 
Tormented sore, could not containe it still. 
But thus brake forth, that all the temple 

it did fill. 

XLIV. 

' " Great Venus ! Queene of beautie and 

of grace, 
The joy of Gods and men, that under skie 
Doest fayrest shine, and most adorne thy 

place ; 
That with thy smyling looke doest pacific 
The raging seas, and makst the stormes 

to flie ; 
Thee, goddesse, thee the winds, the clouds 

doe feare, 
And, when thou spredst thy mantle forth 

on hie, 
The waters play, and pleasant lands 

appeare, 
And heavens laugh, and al the world shews 

joyous cheare. 

XliV. 

* " Then doth the daedale earth throw 

forth to thee 
Out of her f ruitf ull lap aboundant flowres; 
And then all living wights, soone as they 

see 
The spring breake forth out of his lusty 

bowres, 
They all doe learne to play the Paramours ; 
First doe the merry birds, thy prety 

pages, 
Privily pricked with thy lustfull powres, 
Chirpe loud to thee out of their leavy 

cages. 
And thee their mother call to coole their 

kindly rages. 

XL VI. 

* " Then doe the salvage beasts begin to 
play 
Their pleasant friskes, and loath their 
wonted food : 



The Lyons rore ; the Tygres loudly bray ; 
The raging Buls rebellow through the 

wood. 
And breaking forth dare tempt the deepest 

flood 
To come where thou doest draw them with 

desire. 
So all things else, that nourish vitall blood, 
Soone as with f urj- thou doest them inspire, 
In generation seeke to quench their inward 

fire. 

XLvn. ' 

' " So all the world by thee at first was 

made, 
And dayly yet thou doest the same 

repayre ; 
Ne ought on earth that merry is and glad, 
Ne ought on earth that lovely is and fayre. 
But thou the same for pleasure didst 

prepayre : 
Thou art the root of all that joyous is : 
Great God of men and women, queene of 

th' ayre, 
Mother of laughter, and welspring of 

blisse, 
O graunt that of my love at last I may not 

misse! " 



* So did he say : but I with murmure soft, 
That none might heare the sorrow of my 

hart, 
Yet inly groning deepe and sighing oft. 
Besought her to graunt ease unto mj' 

smart. 
And to my wound her gratious help 

impart. 
"W'hilest thus I spake, behold ! with happy 

eye 
I spyde where at the Idoles feet apart 
A bevie of fayre damzels close did lye, 
Wayting when as the Antheme should be 

sung on hye. 



* The first of them did seeme of ryper 

yeares 
And graver countenance then all the rest ; 
Yet all the rest were eke her equall peares. 
Yet unto her obayed all the best. 
Her name was Womanhood; that she 

exprest 
By her sad semblant and demeanure wyse : 
For stedfast still her eyes did fixed rest, 
Ne rov'd at randon, after gazers guyse. 
Whose luring baytes of times doeheedlesse 

harts entyse. 



And next to her sate goodly Shame- 
fastnesse, 



35i 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book IV. 



Ne ever durst her eyes from ground up- 
reare, 

Ne ever once did looke up from her desse, 

As if some blame of evill she did feare, 

That in her cheekes made roses oft ap- 
peare : 

And her against sweet Cheref iilnesse was 
placed, 

"Whose eyes, like twinkling stars in even- 
ing cleare, 

Were deckt with smyles that all sad 
humors chaced, 

And darted forth delights the which her 
goodly graced. 



* And next to her sate sober Modestie, 
Holding her hand upon her gentle hart ; 
And her against sate comely Curtesie, 
That unto every person knew her part ; 
And her before was seated overthwart 
Soft Silence, and submisse Obedience, 
Both linckt together never to dispart ; 
Both gifts of God, not gotten but from 

thence, 
Both girlonds of his Saints against their 

foes offence. 



'Thus sate they all around in seemely 
rate: 
And in the midst of them a goodly mayd 
Even in the lap of Womanhood there sate, 
The which was all in lilly white arayd. 
With silver streames amongst the linnen 

stray'd ; 
Like to the Morne, when first her shyniug 

face 
Hath to the gloomy world itselfe be- 
wray 'd : 
That same was fayrest Amoret in place, 
Shyning with beauties light and heavenly 
vertues grace. 

LIII. 

' Whom soone as I beheld, my hart gan 

throb 
And wade in doubt what best were to be 

donne ; 
For sacrilege me seem'd the Church to rob, 
And folly seem'd to leave the thing 

undonne 
Which with so strong attempt I had 

begonne. 
The, shaking off all doubt and shamefast 

feare 
Which Ladies love, I heard, had never 

wonne 
Mongst men of worth, I to her stepped 

neare. 



And by the lilly hand her labour'd up to 
reare. 

LIV. 

' Thereat that formost matrone me did 

blame, 
And sharpe rebuke for being over bold ; 
Saying, it was to Knight unseemely shame 
Upon a recluse Virgin, to lay hold. 
That unto Venus services was sold. 
To whom I thus: "Nay, but it fitteth 

best 
For Cupids man with Venus mayd to hold, 
For ill your goddesse services are drest 
By virgins, and her sacrifices let to rest." 



' With that my shield I forth to her did 

show, 
Which all that while I closely had conceld ; 
On which when Cupid, with his killing 

bow 
And cruell shafts, emblazond she beheld, 
At sight thereof she was with terror queld. 
And said no more : but I, which all that 

while 
The pledge of faith, her hand, engaged 

held. 
Like warie Hynd within the weedie soyle, 
For no intreatie would forgoe so glorious 

spoyle. 

LVI. 

' And evermore upon the Goddesse face 
Mine eye was fixt, for feare of her offence ; 
Whom when I saw with amiable grace 
To laugh at me, and favour my pretence, 
I was emboldned with more confidence ; 
And nought for nicenesse nor for envy 

sparing, 
In presence of them all forth led her 

thence 
All looking on, and like astonisht staring. 
Yet to lay hand on her not one of all them 

daring. 

LVII. 

' She often prayd, and often me be- 
sought, 
Sometime with tender teares to let her 

goe. 
Sometime with witching smyles ; but yet, 

for nought 
That ever she to me could say or doe. 
Could she her wished freedome fro me 

wooe: 
But forth I led her through the Temple 

gate, 
By which I hardly past with much adoe : 
But that same Ladie, which me friended 

late 
In entrance, did me also friend in my re- 

trate. 



CANTO X.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



359 



LVIII. 

' No lesse did Daunger threaten me with 

dread, 
Whenas he saw me, maugre all his 

powre, 
That glorious spoyle of beautie with me 

lead. 
Then Cerberus, whom Orpheus did re- 

coure 



His Lenian from the Stygian Princes 

boure : 
But evermore my shield did me defend 
Against the storme of every dreadfull 

stoure : 
Thus safely with my love I thence did 

wend.' 
So ended he his tale, where I this Canto 

end. 



CANTO XI. 

Marinells former wound is heald, 

He comes to Proteus hall, 
Where Thames doth the Medway wedd. 

And feasts the Sea-gods all. 



But ah for pittie! that I have thus long 
Left a fayre Ladie languishing in payne : 
Now well-away! that I have doen such 

wrong, 
To let faire Florimell in bands remayne, 
In bands of love, and in sad thraldomes 

chayne ; 
From which, unlesse some heavenly powre 

her free 
By miracle, not yet appearing playne. 
She leuger yet is like captiv'd to bee ; 
That even to thinke thereof it inly pitties 

mee. 

n. 

Here neede you to remember, how ere- 

while 
Unlovely Proteus, missing to his mind 
That Virgins love to win by wit or wile. 
Her threw into a dongeon deepe and 

blind. 
And there in chaynes her cruelly did bind, 
In hope thereby her to his bent to draw : 
For, when as neither gifts nor graces kind 
Her constant mind could move at all he 

saw. 
He thought her to compell by crueltie and 

awe. 

ni. 

Deepe in the bottom e of an huge great 

rocke 
The dongeon was, in which her bound he 

left. 
That neither yronbarres, nor brasenlocke, 
Did neede to gard from force, or secret 

theft 
Of all her lovers which would her have 

reft: 
For wall'd it was with waves, which 

rag'd and ror'd 
As they the cliffe in peeces would have 

cleft ; 



Besides ten thousand monsters foule ab- 

hor'd 
Did waite about it, gaping griesly, all be- 

gor'd; 

IV. 

And in the midst thereof did horror 

dwell. 
And darkenesse dredd that never viewed 

day. 
Like to the balefull house of lowest hell. 
In which old Styx her aged bones alway, 
Old Styx the Grandame of the Gods, doth 

lay. 
There did this lucklesse mayd seven 

months abide, 
Ne ever evening saw, ne mornings ray, 
Ne ever from the day the night descride, 
But thought it all one night that did no 

houres divide. 



And all this was for love of Marinell , 
Who her despysd (ah! who would her de- 

spyse •?) 
And wemens love did from his hart expell. 
And all those joyes that weake mankind 

entyse. 
Nathlesse his pryde full dearely he did 

pryse ; 
For of a woman s hand it was ywroke. 
That of the wound he yet in languor lyes, 
Ne can be cured of that cruell stroke 
Which Britomart him gave, when he did 

her provoke. 



Yet farre and neare the Nymph his 

mother sought, 
And many salves did to his sore applie, 
And many herbes did use. But when as 

nought, 
She saw, could ease his rankling maladie, 



360 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book IV. 



At last to Tryphon she for helpe did hie, 
(This Tryphou is the seagods surgeon 

hight,) 
Whom she besought to find some remedie, 
And for his paines a whistle him hehight, 
That of a fishes shell was wrought with 

rare delight. 



So well that Leach did hearke to her re- 
quest, 
And did so well employ his carefull paine, 
That in short space his hurts he had re- 

drest, 
And him restor'd to healthfull state 

againe : 
In which he long time after did remaine 
There with the Nymph his mother, like 

her thrall ; 
Who sore against his will did him retaine, 
For feare of perill which to him mote fall 
Through his too ventrous prowesse proved 
over all. 

VIII. 

It fortmi'd then, a solemne feast was 
there 
To all the Sea-gods and their fruitfull 



In honour of the spousalls which then 

were 
Betwixt the Medway and the Thames 

agreed. 
Long had the Thames (as we in records 

reed) 
Before that day her wooed to his bed. 
But the proud Nymph would for no 

worldly meed. 
Nor no entreatie, to his love be led ; 
Till now, at last relenting, she to him 

was wed. 

IX. 

So both agreed that this their bridale 

feast 
Should for the Gods in Proteus house be 

made; 
To which they all repayr'd, both most and 

least. 
As well which in the mightie Ocean trade. 
As that in rivers swim, or brookes doe 

wade; 
All which, not if an hundred tongues to 

tell, 
And hundred mouthes, and voice of 

brasse I had, 
And endlesse memorie that mote excell, 
In order as they came could I recount 

them well. 

X. 

Helpe, therefore, O ! thou sacred imp of 
Jove 



The noursliugof Dame Memorie his deare. 

To whom those roUes, layd up in heaven 
above. 

And records of antiquitie appeare. 

To which no wit of man may comen neare ; 

Helpe me to tell the names of all those 
floods 

And all those Nymphes, which then as- 
sembled were 

To that great banquet of the watry Gods, 

And all their sundry kinds, and all their 
hid abodes. 

XI. 

First came great Neptune, with his 

threeforkt mace, 
That rules the Seas and makes them rise 

or fall ; 
His dewy lockes did drop with brine apace 
Under his Diademe imperiall : 
And by his side his Queeue with coronall, 
Faire Amphitrite, most divinely faire, 
Whose yvorie shoulders weren covered 

all. 
As with a robe, with her owne silver haire, 
And deckt with pearles which th' Indian 

seas for her prepaire. 

XII. 

These marched farre afore the other 

crew: 
And all the way before them, as they 

went, 
Triton his trompet shrill before them 

blew, 
For goodly triumj^h and great jollyment, 
That made the rockes to roare as they 

were rent. 
And after them the royall issue came, 
Which of them sprung by lineall descent : 
First the Sea-gods, which to themselves 

doe clame 
The powre to rule the billowes, and the 

waves to tame. 

XIII. 

Phorcys, the father of that fatall brood. 

By whom those old Heroes wonne such 
fame; 

And Glaucus, that wise southsayes under- 
stood ; 

And tragicke Inoes sonne, the which be- 
came 

A God of seas through his mad mothers 
blame. 

Now hight Palemon, and is saylers frend ; 

Great Brontes; and Astraeus, that did 
shame 

Himselfe with incest of his kin unkend ; 

And huge Orion, that doth tempests still 
portend ; 



CANTO XI.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



361 



The rich Cteatus ; and Eurytus long ; 
Neleus and Pelias, lovely brethren both ; 
Mightie Chrysaor; and Caicus strong; 
Eurypulus, that ealmes the waters wroth ; 
And faire Euphcemus, that upon them goth 
As on the ground, without dismay or 

dread ; 
Fierce Eryx : and Alebius, that know'th 
The waters depth, and doth their bottome 

tread ; 
And sad Asopus, comely with his hoarie 

head. 

XV. 

There also some most famous founders 

were 
Of puissant Nations which the world pos- 

sest, 
Yet sonnes of Neptune, now assembled 

here : 
Ancient Ogyges, even th' auncientest ; 
And Inachus renowmd above the rest ; 
Phojnix, and Aon, and Pelasgus old ; 
Great Belus, Phoeax, and Agenor best ; 
And mightie Albion, father of the bold 
And warlike people which the Britaine 

Islands hold : 



For Albion the sonne of Neptune was, 
"Who, for the proof e of his great puissance, 
Out of his Albion did on dry-foot pas 
Into old Gall, that now is cleeped France, 
To fight with Hercules, that did advance 
To vanquish all the world with match- 

lesse might ; 
And there his mortall part by great 

mischance 
Was slaine ; but that which is th' immor- 

tall spright 
Lives still, and to this feast with Nep- 

tunes seed was dight. 

XVII. 

But what doe I their names seeke to 

reherse, 
Which all the world have with their issue 

fild? 
How can they all in this so narrow verse 
Contayned be, and in small compasse 

hild? 
Let them record them that are better 

skild. 
And know the moniments of passed 

age: 
Onely what needeth shall be here fuMld, 
T' expresse some part of that great equi- 
page 
Which from great Neptune do derive 

their parentage. 



XVIII. 

Next came the aged Ocean and his 

Dame 
Old Tethys, th' oldest two of all the rest ; 
For all the rest of those two parents 

came. 
Which afterward both sea and land 

possest ; 
Of all which Nereus, th' eldest and the 

best. 
Did first proceed, then which none more 

upright, 
Ne more sincere in word and deed pro- 

fest; 
Most voide of guile, most free from fowle 

despight, 
Doing him selfe, and teaching others to 

doe right. 

XIX. 

Thereto he was expert in prophecies, 
And could the ledden of the gods unfold ; 
Through which, when Paris brought his 

famous prise, 
The faire Tiudarid lasse, he him fortold 
That her all Greece with many a cham- 
pion bold 
Should fetch againe, and finally destroy 
Proud Priams towne. So wise is Nereus 

old, 
And so well skild ; nathlesse he takes 

great joy 
Oft-times amongst the wanton Nymphs 
to sport and toy. 

XX. 

And after him the famous rivers came, 
Which doe the earth enrich and beautifie : 
The fertile Nile, which creatures new 

doth frame; 
Long Rhodanus, whose sourse springs 

from the skie ; 
Faire Ister, flowing from the mountaines 

hie: 
Divine Scamander, purpled yet with 

blood 
Of Greeks and Trojans which therein did 

die; 
Pactolus glistring with his golden flood ; 
And Tygris fierce, whose streames of 

none may be withstood; 

XXI. 

Great Ganges, and immortall Euphra- 
tes, 
Deepe Indus, andMaeander intricate. 
Slow Peneus, and tempestuous Phasides, 
Swift Rhene, and Alpheus still immacu- 
late, 
Ooraxes, feared for great Cyrus fate, 



362 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book IV. 



Tybris, renowmed for the Eomaines fame, 
Rich Oranochy, though but knowen late ; 
Aud that huge River, which doth beare 

his name 
Of warlike Amazons, who doe possesse 

the same. 

XXII. 

Joy on those warlike women, which so 

long 
Can from all men so rich a kingdome 

hold! 
And shame on you, O men ! which boast 

your strong 
And valiant hearts, in thoughts lesse 

hard and bold, 
Yet quaile in conquest of that land of 

gold. 
But this to you, O Britons! most per- 

taines. 
To whom the right hereof it selfe hath 

sold. 
The which, for sparing litle cost or 

paines. 
Loose so immortall glory, and so endlesse 

gaines. 

XXIII. 

Then there was heard a most celestiall 

sound 
Of dainty musicke, which did next ensew 
Before the spouse : that was Arion 

crownd ; 
Who, playing on his harpe, unto him 

drew 
The eares and hearts of all that goodly 

crew, 
That even yet the Dolphin, which him 

bore 
Through the Agaean seas from Pirates 

vew. 
Stood still by him astonisht at his lore, 
And all the raging seas for joy forgot to 

rore. 

XXIV. 

So went he playing on the watery 

plaine ; 
Soone after whom the lovely Bridegrooms 

came. 
The . noble Thamis, with all his goodly 

traine ; 
But him before there went, as best be- 
came, 
His auncient parents, namely th' aun- 

cient Thame. 
But much more aged was his wife then he, 
The Ouze, whom men doe Isis rightly 

name; 
Full weeke and crooked creature seemed 

shee, 
And almost blind through eld, that scarce 

her way could see. 



Therefore on either side she was sus- 
tained 
Of two smal grooms, which by their 

names were hight 
The Churue aud Charwell, two small 

, streames, which pained 
Them selves her footing to direct aright, 
Which fayled oft through faint and feeble 

plight : 
But Thame was stronger, and of better 

stay ; 
Yet seem'd full aged by his outward 

sight. 
With head all hoary, and his beard all 

gray, 
Deawed with silver drops that trickled 

downe alway. 



And eke he somewhat seem'd to stoupe 

afore 
With bowed backe, by reason of the lode 
And auncient heavy burden which he bore 
Of that faire City, wherein make abode 
So many learned impes, that shoote 

abrode. 
And with their braunches spred all 

Britany, 
No lesse then do her elder sisters broode. 
Joy to you both, ye double noursery 
Of Arts! but, Oxford, thine doth Thame 

most glorify. 

xxvn. 

But he their sonne full fresh and jolly 

was, 
All decked in a robe of watchet hew. 
On which the weaves, glittering like 

Christall glas, 
So cunningly enwoven were, that few 
Could weenen whether they were false or 

trew : 
And on his head like to a Coronet 
He wore, that seemed strange to common 

vew. 
In which were many towres and castels 

set, 
That it encompast round as with a golden 

fret. 

XXVIII. 

Like as the mother of the Gods, they 

say. 
In her great iron charet wonts to ride, 
When to Joves pallace she doth take her 

way. 
Old Cybele, arayd with pompous pride, 
Wearing a Diademe embattild wide 
With hundred turrets, like a Turribant; 
With such an one was Thamis beautifide ; 



CANTO XI.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



Z^Z 



That was to weet the famous Troynovant, 
In which her kingdomes throne is chiefly 
resiant. 

XXIX. 

And round about him many a pretty 

Page 
Attended duely, ready to obay ; 
All little Rivers which owe vassallage 
To him, as to their Lord, and tribute pay: 
The chaulky Kenet, and the Thetis gray, 
The morisli Cole, and the soft sliding 

Breane, 
The "wanton Lee, that oft doth loose his 

way ; 
And the still Darent, m whose waters 

cleane 
Ten thousand fishes play and decke his 

pleasant streame. 

XXX, 

Then came his neighbour flouds which 
nigh him dwell. 

And water all the English soile through- 
out: 

They all on him this day attended well. 

And with meet service waited him about, 

Ne none disdained low to lout : 

No, not the stately Severue grudg'd at 
all, 

Ne storming Humber, though he looked 
stout ; 

But both him honor'd as their principall, 

And let their swelling waters low before 
him fall. 

XXXI. 

There was the speedy Tamar, which de- 

vides 
The Cornish and the Devonish confines; 
Through both whose borders swiftly 

downe it glides. 
And, meeting Plim', to Plimmouth thence 

declines : 
And Dart, nigh chockt with sands of tinny 

mines. 
But Avon marched in more stately path, 
Proud of his Adamants with which he 

shines 
And glisters wide, as als' of wondrous 

Bath, 
And Bristow faire, which on his waves he 

builded hath. 



And there came Stoure with terrible 

aspect. 
Bearing his sixe deformed heads on hye. 
That doth his course through Blandford 

plains direct, 
And washeth Winborne meades in season 

drye. 



Next him went Wylibourne with passage 

slye, 
That of his wylinesse his name doth take, 
And of him selfe doth name the shire 

thereby : 
And Mole, that like a nousling Mole doth 

make 
His way still under ground, till Thamis 

he overtake. 

XXXIII. 

Then came the Rother, decked all with 

woods 
Like a wood God, and flowing fast to 

Rhy; 
And Sture, that pareth with his pleasant 

floods 
The Easterne Saxons from the Southerne 

uy, 
And Clare and Harwitch both doth beau- 
tify: 
Him follow'd Yar, soft washing Norwitch 

wall. 
And with him brought a present joyfully 
Of his owne fish unto their festivall. 
Whose like none else could shew, the 

which they Ruffins call. 



Next these the plenteous Ouse came far 
from land. 
By many a city and by many a towne 
And many rivers taking under-hand 
Into his waters as he passeth downe, 
The Cle, the Were, the Grant, the Sture, 

the Rowne. 
Thence doth by Huntingdon and Cam- 
bridge flit. 
My mother Cambridge, whom as with a 

Crowne 
He doth adorne, and is adorn'd of it 
With many a gentle Muse and many a 
learned wit. 

XXXV. 

And after him the fatall Welland went, 
That, if old sawes prove true (which God 

forbid!) 
Shall drowne all Holland with his excre- 
ment, 
And shall see Stamford, though novv' 

homely hid, 
Then shine in learning, more than ever 

did 
Cambridge or Oxford, Englands goodly 

beames. 
And next to him the Nene downe softly 

slid; 
And bounteous Trent, that in him selfe 

enseames 



3^4 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book IV. 



Both thirty sorts of fish, and thirty sun- 
dry streames. 



Next these came Tyne, along whose 

stony bancke 
That Romaine Monarch builtabrasen wall, 
Which mote the feebled Britons strongly 

flancke 
Against the Picts that swarmed over-all, 
Which yet thereof Gualsever they doe call : 
And Twede, the limit betwixt Logris land 
And Albany: And Eden, though but 

small, 
Yet often stainde with bloud of many a 

band 
Of Scots and English both, that tyned on 

his strand. 



Then came those sixe sad brethren, like 

forlorne, 
That whilome were (as antique fathers 

tell) 
Sixe valiant Knights of one faire Nymphe 

yborne, 
Which did in noble deedes of armes excell, 
And wonned there where now Yorke peo- 
ple dwell ; 
Still Ure, swift Werfe, and Oze the most 

of might. 
High Swale, unquiet Nide, and troublous 

Skell; 
All whom a Scythian king, that Humber 

bight, 
Slew cruelly, and in the river drowned 

quight. 

XXXVIII. 

But past not long ere Brutus warlicke 

Sonne, 
Locrinus, them aveng'd, and the same 

date, 
Which the proud Humber unto them had 

donne, 
By equall dome repayd on his owue pate : 
For in the selfe same river, where he late 
Had drenched them, he drowned him 

againe. 
And nam'd the river of his wretched fate 
Whose bad condition yet it doth retaine, 
Oft tossed with his stormes which therein 

still remaine. 

xxxrx. 

These after came the stony shallow 

Lone, 
That to old Loncaster his name doth lend ; 
And following Dee, which Britons long 

ygone 
Did call divine, that doth by Chester tend ; 



And Conway, which out of his stream e 
doth send 

Plenty of pearles to decke his dames 
withall ; 

And Lindus that his pikes doth most com- 
mend. 

Of which the auncient Lincolne men doe 
call: 

All these together marched toward Pro- 
teus hall. 

XL. 

Ne thence the Irishe Rivers absent were, 
Sith no lesse famous then the rest they 

bee. 
And joyne in neighbourhood of kingdome 

nere, 
Why should they not likewise in love 

agree, 
And joy likewise this solemne day to see ? 
They saw it all, and present were in place ; 
Though I them all according their degree 
Cannot recount, nor tell their hidden race, 
Nor read the salvage cuntreis thorough 

which they pace. 



There was the Liffy rolling downe the 

lea, 
The sandy Slane, the stony Aubrian, 
The spacious Shenan spreading like a sea, 
The pleasant Boyne, the fishy fruitfull 

Ban, 
Swift Awniduff , which of the English man 
Is cal'de Blacke-water, and the Liffar deep, 
Sad Trowis, that once his people over-ran. 
Strong Alio tombling from Slewlogher 

steep. 
And Mulla mine, whose waves I whilom 

taught to weep. 

XLn. 

And there the three renowmed brethren 
were, 
Which that great Gyant Blomius begot 
Of the faire Nimph Rheusa wandring 

there. 
One day, as she to shunne the season whot 
Under Slewboome in shady grove was got. 
This Gyant found her and by force de- 

flowr'd ; 
Whereof conceiving, she in time forth 

brought 
These three faire sons, which being thence- 
forth powrd 
In three great rivers ran, and many coun- 
treis scowrd. 

XLIII. 

The first the gentle Shure that, making 
way 



CANTO XI.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



365 



By sweet Clonmell, adornes rich Water- 
ford ; 

The next, the stubborne Newre whose 
waters gray 

By faire Kilkenny and Rosseponte boord ; 

The third, the goodly Barow which doth 
hoord 

Great heapes of salmons in his deepe 
bosome : 

All which, long sundred, doe at last accord 

To joyne in one, ere to the sea they come ; 

So, flowing all from one, all one at last 
become. 

XLIV. 

There also was the wide embayed Mayre ; 

The pleasaunt Bandon crownd with many 
a wood ; 

The spreading Lee that , like an Island fayre, 

Encloseth Corke with his derided flood ; 

And balefull Oure, late staind with Eng- 
lish blood, 

With many more whose names no tongue 
can tell : 

All which that day in order seemly good 

Did on the Thamis attend, and waited 
well 

To doe their dueful service, as to them 
befell. 

XLV. 

Then came the Bride, the lovely Medna 

came, 
Clad in a vesture of unknowen geare 
And uncouth fashion, yet her well became, 
That seem'd like silver, sprinckled here 

and theare 
With glittering spangs that did like starres 

appeare, 
And wav'd upon, like water Chamelot, 
To hide the metall, which yet everywhere 
Bewrayd it selfe, to let men plainely wot 
It was no mortall worke, that seem'd and 

yet was not. 



Her goodly lockes adowne her backe did 

flow 
Unto her waste, with flowres bescattered. 
The which ambrosiall odours forth did 

throw 
To all about, and all her shoulders spred 
As a new spring ; and likewise on her hed 
A Chapelet of sundry flowers she wore. 
From under which the deawy humour shed 
Did tricle downe her haire, like to the 

bore 
Congealed litle drops which doe the morne 

adore. 

XLVII. 

On her two pretty handmaides did at- 
tend, 



One cald the Theise, the other cald the 

Crane, 
Which on her waited things amisse to 

mend, 
And both behind upheld her spredding 

traine ; 
Under the which her feet appeared plain e. 
Her silver feet, faire washt against this 

day: 
And her before there paced Pages twaine. 
Both clad in colours like, and like array. 
The Doune and eke the Frith, both which 

prepard her way. 



And after these the Sea Nymphs 

marched all, 
All goodly damzels, deckt with long 

greene haire, 
Whom of their sire Nereides men call, 
All which the Oceans daughter to him 

bare. 
The gray-eyde Doris ; all which fifty are, 
All which she there on her attending had : 
Swift Proto, milde Eucrate, Thetis faire. 
Soft Spio, sweete Endore, Sao sad, 
Light Do to, wanton Glauce, and Galene 

glad : 

XLIX. 

White hand Eunica, proud Dynamene, 
Joyous Thalia, goodly Amphitrite, 
Lovely Pasithee, kinde Eulimene, 
Lightioote Cymothoe, and sweete Melite, 
Fairest Pherusa, Phao lilly white, 
Wondred Agave, Poris, and Nespea, 
W^ith Erato that doth in love delite, 
And Panopae, and wise Protomedaea, 
And snowy neckd Doris, and milkewhite 
Galathaea : 



Speedy Hippothoe, and chaste Actea, 
Large Lisianassa, and Pronsea sage, 
Eua^ore, and light Pontoporea, 
And she that with her least word can 

asswage 
The surging seas, when they do sorest 

rage, 
Cymodoce, and stout Autonoe, 
And Neso, and Eione well in age. 
And, seeming still to smile, Glauconome, 
And she that bight of many heastes Poly- 

nome; 



Fresh Alimeda deckt with girlond 
greene ; 
Hyponeo with salt-bedewed wrests ; 
Laomedia like the christall sheene; 
Liagore much praisd for wise behests ; 
And Psamathe for her brode snowy brests ; 



366 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book IV. 



Cymo, Euponipe, and Themiste just; 

And, she that vertue loves and vice de- 
tests, 

Enarna, and Menippe true in trust. 

And Nemertea learned well to rule her 
lust. 

LII. 

All these the daughters of old Nereus 
were, 

Which have the sea in charge to them 
assinde, 

To rule his tides, and surges to uprere, 

To bring forth stormes, or fast them to 
upbinde, 

And sailers save from wreckes of wrath- 
full winde. 

And yet, besides, three thousand more 
there were 

Of th' Oceans seede, but Joves and Phoe- 
bus kinde : 



The which in floods and fountaines doe 

appere. 
And all mankinde do nourish with their 

waters clere. 

LIII. 

The which, more eath it were for mor- 

tall wight 
To tell the sands, or count the starres on 

liye, 
Or ought more hard, then thinke to reckon 

right. 
But well I wote that these, which I descry, 
Were present at this great solemnity: 
And there, amongst the rest, the mother 

was 
Of luckelesse Marinell, Cymodoce ; 
Which, for my Muse her selfe now tyred 

has. 
Unto an other Canto I will overpas. 



CANTO XII. 

Marin for love of Florimell 
In languor wastes his life : 

The Nymph, his mother, getteth her 
And gives to him for wfie. 



! WHAT an endlesse worke have I in 

hand. 
To count the seas abundant progeny, 
Whose fruitfull seede farre passeth those 

in land, 
And also those which wonne in th' azure 

sky: 
For much more eath to tell the starres on 

hy, 
Albe they endlesse seeme in estimation. 
Then to recount the Seas posterity : 
So fertile be the flouds in generation. 
So huge their numbers, and so humber- 

lesse their nation. 



Therefore the antique wisards well in- 
vented 

That Venus of the fomy sea was bred. 

For that the seas by her are most aug- 
mented: 

Witnesse th' exceeding fry which there are 
fed. 

And wondrous sholes which may of none 
be red. 

Then, blame me not if I have err'd in 
count 

Of Gods, of Nymphs, of rivers, yetunred ; 

For though their numbers do much more 
surmount, 

Yet all those same were there which erst 
I did recount. 



All those were there, and many other 

more. 
Whose names and nations were too long 

to tell. 
That Proteus house they fild even to the 

dore ; 
Yet were they all in order, as befell. 
According their degrees disposed well. 
Amongst the rest was faire Cymodoce, 
The mother of unlucky Marinell, 
Who thither with her came, to learne and 

see 
The manner of the Gods when they at 

banquet be. 

IV. 

But for he was halfe mortall, being 

bred 
Of mortall sire, though of immortall 

wombe. 
He might not with immortall food be fed, 
Ne with th' eternall Gods to bancket 

come; 
But walkt abrode, and roimd about did 

rome 
To view the building of that uncouth 

place. 
That seem'd unlike unto his earthly home : 
Where, as he to and fro by chaunce did 

trace. 
There unto him betid a disaventrous 

case. 



CANTO XII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



367 



Under the hanging of an hideous clieffe 
He heard the lamentable voice of one, 
That piteously complaiud her carefull 

grieffe, 
Which never she before disclosd to none, 
But to her selfe her sorrow did bemooe : 
So feelingly her case she did complaine, 
That ruth it moved in the rocky stone, 
And made it seeme to feele her grievous 

paine, 
And oft to grone with billowes beating 

from the maine : 



* Though vaine, I see, my sorrowes to 

unfold, 
And count my cares when none is nigh to 

heare, 
Yet, hoping griefe may lessen being told, 
I will them tell though unto no man neare : 
For heaven, that unto all lends equall 

eare. 
Is f arre from hearing of my heavy plight ; 
And lowest hell, to which I lie most neare. 
Cares not what evils hap to wretched 

wight ; 
And greedy seas doe in the spoile of life 

delight. 

vn. 

* Yet loe ! the seas, I see, by often beat- 

ing 
Doe pearce the rockes, and hardest mar- 
ble weares : 
But his hard rocky hart for no entreating 
Will yeeld, but when my piteous plaints 

he heares, 
Is hardned more with my aboundant 

teares : 
Yet though he never list to me relent. 
But let me waste in woe my wretched 

yeares, 
Yet will I never of my love repent, 
But joy that for his sake I suffer prison- 
ment. 

vni. 

* And when my weary ghost, with griefe 

outworne. 

By timely death shall winne her wished 
rest. 

Let then this plaint unto his eares be 
borne. 

That blame it is to him, that armes pro- 
test. 

To let her die whom he might have re- 
drest.' 

There did she pause, inforced to give place 

Unto the passion that her heart opprest ; 

And, after she had wept and wail'd a 
space. 



She gan afresh thus to renew her wretched 
case. 

rx, 

' Ye Gods of seas, if any Gods at all 
Have care of right, or ruth of wretches 

wrong, 
By one or other way me, woefull thrall. 
Deliver hence out of this dungeon strong. 
In which I daily dying am too long : 
And if ye deeme me death for loving one 
That loves not me, then doe it not pro- 
long, 
But let me die and end my dales attone, 
And let him live unlov'd, or love him 
selfe alone. 

X. 

' But if that life ye unto me decree. 
Then let mee live as lovers ought to do, 
And of my lifes deare love beloved be : 
And if he should through pride your 

doome undo. 
Do you by duresse him compell thereto, 
And in this prison put him here with me ; 
One prison fittest is to hold us two. 
So had I rather to be thrall then free ; 
Such thraldome or such freedome let it 

surely be. 

XI. 

* But O vaine judgement, and conditions 

vaine, 
The which the prisoner points unto the 

free ! 
The whiles I him condemne, and deeme 

his paine. 
He where he list goes loose, and laughes 

at me. 
So ever loose, so ever happy be! 
But where so loose or happy that thou art, 
Know, Marinell, that all this is for thee.' 
With that she wept and wail'd, as if her 

hart 
Would quite have burst through great 

abundance of her smart. 



All which complaint when Marinell bad 
heard. 
And understood the cause of all her care 
To come of him for using her so hard, 
His stubborne heart, that never felt mis- 
fare. 
Was toucht with soft remorse and pitiy 

rare; 
That even for griefe of minde he oft did 

grone. 
And inly wish that in his powre it weare 
Her to redresse : but since he meanes 

found none, 
He could no more but her great miserj^ 
bemone. 



368 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book IV. 



Thus whilst his stony heart with tender 

ruth 
"Was toucht, and mighty courage mollifide, 
Dame Venus sonue, that tameth stubborne 

youth 
With iron bit, and maketh him abide 
Till like a victor on his backe he ride, 
Into his mouth his maystriug bridle threw, 
That made him stoupe, till he did him 

bestride : 
Then gan he make him tread his steps 

anew, 
And learne to love by learning lovers 

paines to rew. 

XIV. 

Now gan he in his grieved minde devise. 
How from that dungeon he might her en- 
large. 
Some while he thought, by faire and 

humble wise 
To Proteus selfe to sue for her discharge : 
But then he fear'd his mothers former 

charge 
Gainst womens love, long given him in 

vaine : 
Then gan he thinke, perforce with sword 

and targe 
Her forth to fetch, and Proteus to con- 

straine ; 
But soone he gan such folly to forthinke 

againe. 

XV. 

Then did he cast to steale her thence 

away, 
And with him beare where none of her 

might know : 
But all in vaine, for-why he found no way 
To enter in, or issue forth below ; 
For all about that rocke the sea did flow : 
And though unto his will she given were, 
Yet without ship or bote her thence to row. 
He wist not how her thence away to here, 
And daunger well he wist long to continue 

there. 

XVI. 

At last, when as no meanes he could 

invent, 
Backe to him selfe he gan returne the 

blame. 
That was the author of her punishment ; 
And with vile curses and reprochfull 

shame 
To damne him selfe by every evil name. 
And deeme unworthy or of love or life, 
That had despisde so chast and faire a 

dame. 
Which him had sought through trouble 

and long strife, 



Yet had ref usde a God that her had sought 
to wife. 

XVII. 

In this sad plight he walked here and 

there, 
And romed round about the rocke in 

vaine. 
As he had lost him selfe he wist not 

where ; 
Oft listening if he mote her heare againe, 
And still bemoning her unworthy paine. 
Like as an Hynde, whose calfe has falne 

un wares 
Into some pit, where she him heares com- 

plaine. 
An hundred times about the pit side fares 
Right sorrowfully mourning her bereaved 

cares. 

xvin. 

And now by this the feast was throughly 

ended, 
And every one gan homeward to resort: 
Which seeing, Marinell was sore offended 
That his departure thence should be so 

short, 
And leave his love in that sea-walled fort. 
Yet durst he not his mother disobay. 
But her attending in full seemly sort. 
Did march amongst the many all the 

way. 
And all the way did inly mourne, like one 

astray. 



Being returned to his mothers bowre, 
In solitary silence, far from wight, 
He gan record the lamentable stowre, 
In which his wretched love lay day and 

night 
For his deare sake, that ill deserv'd that 

plight : 
The thought whereof empierst his hart so 

deepe, 
That of no worldly thing he tooke delight ; 
Ne dayly food did take, ne nightly sleepe, 
But pyn'd, and mourn'd, and languisht, 

and alone did weepe. 



That in short space his wonted cheare- 

full hew 
Gan fade, and lively spirits deaded quight: 
His cheeke-bones raw, and eie-pits hollow 

grew, 
And brawney armes had lost their knowen 

might, 
That nothing like himself e he seem'd in 

sight. 
Ere long so weake of limbe, and sicke of 

love 



CANTO XII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



369 



He woxe, that lenger he note stand 

upright, 
But to his bed was brought, and layd 

above, 
Like ruefull ghost, unable once to stirre 

or move. 

XXI. 

Which when his mother saw, she in her 

mind 
Was troubled sore, ne wist well what to 

weene ; 
Ne could by search nor any meanes out find 
The secret cause and nature of his teene, 
Whereby she might apply some medicine ; 
But weeping day and night did him attend. 
And mourn 'd to see her losse before her 

eyne, 
Which griev'd her more that she it could 

not mend : 
To see an helplesse evill double grief e doth 

lend. 

XXII. 

Nought could she read the roote of his 



Ne weene what mister maladie it is, 
Whereby to seeke some meanes it to 

appease. 
Most did she thinke, but most she thought 

amis. 
That that same former fatall wound of his 
Whyleare by Tryphon was not throughly 

healed. 
But closely rankled under th' orifis : 
Least did she thinke, that which he most 

concealed. 
That love it was, which in his hart lay 

uurevealed. 

XXIII. 

Therefore to Tryphon she againe doth 
hast, 

And him doth chyde as false and fraudu- 
lent, 

That fay Id the trust which she in him had 
plast, 

To cure her sonne, as he his faith had lent, 

Who now was f alne into new languishment 

Of his old hurt, which was notthroughly 
cured. 

So backe he came unto her patient ; 

Where searching every part, her well 
assured 

That it was no old sore which his new 
paine procured ; 

XXIV. 

But that it was some other maladie, 
Or grief unknowne, which he could not 

discerne : 
So left he her withouten remedie. 



Then gan her heart to faint, and quake, 

and earne, 
And inly troubled was the truth to learne. 
Unto himselfe she came, and him besought, 
Now with faire speches, now with threat- 

nings Sterne, 
If ought lay hidden in his grieved thought, 
It toreveale ; who still her answered, there 

was nought. 



Nathlesse she rested not so satisfide ; 
But leaving watry gods, as booting 

nought, 
Unto the shinie heaven in haste she hide. 
And thence Apollo, King of Leaches, 

brought. 
Apollo came ; who, soone as he had sought 
Through his disease, did by and by out 

find 
That he did languish of some inward 

thought. 
The which afiiicted his engrieved mind ; 
Which love he red to be, that leads each 

living kind. 

XXVI. 

Which when he had unto his mother 

told. 
She gan thereat to fret and greatly grieve ; 
And, comming to her Sonne, gan first to 

scold 
And chyde at him that made her mis- 
believe : 
But afterwards she gan him soft to 

shrieve, 
And wooe with fair intreatie, to disclose 
Which of the Nymphes his heart so sore 

did mieve ; 
For sure she weend it was some one of 

those. 
Which he had lately scene, that for his 

love he chose. 

XXVII. 

Now lesse she feared that same fatall 

read, 
That warned him of womens love beware. 
Which being ment of mortall creatures 

sead. 
For love of Nymphes she thought she need 

not care, 
But promist him, whatever wight she 

weare, 
That she her love to him would shortly 

gaine. 
So he her told : but soone as she did heare 
That Florimell it was which wrought his 

paine, 
She gan afresh to chafe, and grieve in 

every vaine. 



370 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book IV. 



Yet since she saw the streiglit extremitie, 
In which his life unluckily was layd, 
It was no time to scan the prophecie, 
Whether old Proteus true or false had sayd, 
That his decay should happen by a mayd. 
It's late in death of daunger to advize, 
Or love forbid him, that is life denayd ; 
But rather gan in troubled mind devize 
How she that Ladies libertie might enter- 
prize. 

XXIX. 

To Proteus selfe to sew she thought it 

value. 
Who was the root and worker of her woe, 
Nor unto any meaner to complainej 
But unto great king Neptune selfe did goe, 
And, on her knee before him falling lowe, 
Made humble suit unto his Majestic 
To graunt to her her sonnes life, which 

his foe, 
A cruell Tyrant, had presumpteouslie 
By wicked doome condemn' d a wretched 

death to die. 



To whom God Neptune, softly smyling, 

thus: 
'Daughter, me seemes of double wrong 

ye plaine. 
Gainst one that hath both wronged you 

and us; 
For death t' adward I ween'd did apper- 

taine 
To none but to the seas sole Soveraine. 
Read therefore who it is which this hath 

wrought, 
And for what cause; the truth discover 

plaine. 
For never wight so evill did or thought. 
But would some rightf nil cause pretend, 

though rightly nought.' 

XXXI. 

To whom she answer'd : * Then, it is by 

name 
Proteus, that hath ordayn'd my sonne to 

die; 
For that a waift, the which by fortune 

came 
Upon your seas, he claym'd as propertie : 
And yet nor his, nor his in equitie, 
But yours the waift by high prerogative. 
Therefore I humbly crave your Majestic 
It to replevie, and my sonne reprive. * 
So shall you by one gift save all us three 

alive.' 

XXXII. 

He graunted it: and streight his war- 
rant made, 



Under the Sea-gods seale autenticall, 

Commaunding Proteus straight t' enlarge 
the mayd. 

Which wandring on his seas imperiall 

He lately tooke, and sithence kept as 
thrall. 

Which she receiving with meete thanke- 
fulnesse. 

Departed straight to Proteus there- 
withal! ; 

Who, reading it with inward loathful- 
nesse. 

Was grieved to restore the pledge he did 



Yet durst he not the warrant to with- 
stand. 

But unto her delivered Florimell : 

Whom she receiving by the lilly hand, 

Admyr'd her beautie much, as she mote 
well, 

For she all living creatures did excell ; 

And was right joyous that she gotten 
had 

So faire a wife for her sonne Marinell. 

So home with her she streight the virgin 
lad. 

And shewed her to him, then being sore 
bestad. 

XXXIV. 

Who soone as he beheld that angels face 
Adorn'd with all divine perfection. 
His cheared hart eftsoones away gan chace 
Sad death, revived with her sweet inspec- 
tion. 
And feeble spirit inly felt refection : 
As withered weed through cruell winters 

tine. 
That feeles the warmth of sunny beames 

reflection, 
Liftes up his head that did before decline, 
And gins to spread his leafe before the 
faire sunshine. 



Right so himselfe did Marinell up- 
reare, 
When he in place his dearest love did 
spy; 

And though his limbs could not his bodie 

beare, 
Ne former strength returne so suddenly. 
Yet chearefull signes he shewed out- 
wardly. 
Ne lesse was she in secret hart affected, 
But that she masked it with modestie. 
For feare she should of lightnesse be 

detected : 
Which to another place I leave to be per- 
fected. 



THE FIFTH BOOKE 

OF 

THE FAERIE QUEENE 

CONTATNING THE LEGEND OF ARTEGALL OR OF JUSTICE. 



I. 

So oft as I with state of present time 
The image of the antique world compare, 
When as mans age was in his freshest 

prime, 
And the first blossome of f aire vertue bare ; 
Such oddes I finde twixt those, and these 

which are, 
As that, through long continuance of his 

course, 
Me seemes the world is runne quite out of 

square 
From the first point of his appointed 

sourse ; 
And being once amisse growes daily 

wourse and wourse : 



For from the golden age, that first was 

named, 
It's now at earst become a stonie one ; 
And men themselves, the which at first 

were framed 
Of earthly mould, and form'd of flesh and 

bone. 
Are now transformed into hardest stone ; 
Such as behind their backs (so backward 

bred) 
Were throwne by Pyrrha and Deucalione : 
And if then those may any worse be red. 
They into that ere long will be degen- 

dered. 

III. 

Let none then blame me, if in discipline 
Of vertue and of civill uses lore, 
I doe not forme them to the common line 
Of present dayes, which are corrupted 

sore, 
But to the antique use which was of yore, 
When good was onely for it selfe desyred. 
And all men sought their owne, and none 

no more; 
When Justice was not for most meed out- 

hyred, 
But simple Truth did rayne, and was of 

all admyred. 



For that which all men then did vertue 
call, 
Is now cald vice; and that which vice 

was bight. 
Is now bight vertue, and so us'd of all : 
Eight now is wrong, and wrong that was 

is right ; 
As all things else in time are chaunged 

quight : 
Ne wonder ; for the heavens revolution 
Is wandred farre from where it first was 

pight, 
And so doe make contrarie constitution 
Of all this lower world, toward his disso- 
lution. 

V. 

For who so list into the heavens looke. 
And search the courses of the rowling 

spheares. 
Shall find that from the point where they 

first tooke 
Their setting forth, in these few thousand 

yeares 
They all are wandred much ; that plaine 

appeares : 
For that same golden fleecy Ram, which 

bore 
Phrixus aud Helle from their stepdames 

feares. 
Hath now forgot where he was plast of 

yore, 
And shouldred hath the Bull which fayre 

Europa bore : 



And eke the Bull hath with his bow-bent 

borne 
So hardly butted those two twinnes of 

Jove, 
That they have crusht the Crab, and quite 

him borne 
Into the great Nemsean lions grove. 
So now all range, and doe at randon 

rove 
Out of their proper places farre away, 

371 



372 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book v. 



And all this world with them amisse doe 

move, 
And all his creatures from their course 

astray, 
Till they arrive at their last ruiuous decay. 

VII, 

Ne is that same great glorious lampe of 

light. 
That doth enlumine all these lesser fyres. 
In better case, ne keepes his course more 

right, 
But is miscaried with the other Spheres : 
For since the terme of fourteene hundred 

yeres. 
That learned Ptolomaee his hight did 

take, 
He is declyned from that marke of theirs 
Nigh thirtie minutes to the Southerne 

lake; 
That makes me feare in time he will us 

quite forsake. 

VIII. 

And if to those ^Egyptian wisards old, 
Which in Star-read were wont have best 

insight, 
Faith may be given, it is by them told 
That since the time they first tooke the 

Sunnes hight, 
Foure times his place he shifted hath in 

sight. 
And twice hath risen where he now doth 

West, 
And wested twice where he ought rise 

aright : 
But most is Mars amisse of all the rest, 
And next to him old Saturne, that was 

wont be best. 

IX. 

For during Saturnes ancient raigne it's 
sayd 
That all the world with gooduesse did 
abound : 



All loved vertue, no man was affrayd 
Of force, ne fraud in wight was to be 

found : 
No warre was known e, no dreadfull trom- 

pets sound ; 
Peace universall rayn'd mongst men and 

beasts, 
And all things freely grew out of the 

ground : 
Justice sate high ador'd with solemne 

feasts. 
And to all people did divide her died be- 

heasts : 

X. 

Most sacred vertue she of all the rest, 
Resembling God in his imperiall might ; 
Whose soveraine powre is herein most 

exprest. 
That both to good and bad he dealeth 

right, 
And airiiis workes with Justice hath be- 

dight. 
That powre he also doth to Princes lend. 
And makes them like himselfe in glorious 

sight 
To sit in his own seate, his cause to end, 
And rule his people right, as he doth 

recommend. 



Dread Soverayne Goddesse, that doest 

highest sit 
In seate of judgement in th' Almighties 

stead. 
And with magnificke might and wondrous 

wit 
Doest to thy people righteous doome 

aread, 
That furthest Nations fiUes with awful 

dread. 
Pardon the boldnesse of thy basest thrall. 
That dare discourse of so divine a read 
As thy great justice, praysed over-all ; 
The instrument whereof loe! here thy 

Artegall. 



CANTO I. 

Artegall trayn'd in Justice lore 
Irenaes quest pursewed ; 

He doth avenge on Sanglier 
His Ladies bloud embrewed. 



Though vertue then were held in high- 
est price, 
In those old times of which I doe entreat, 
Yet then likewise the wicked seede of vice 
Began to spring ; which shortly grew full 
great, 



And with their boughes the gentle plants 

did beat : 
But evermore some of the vertuous race 
Rose up, inspired with heroieke heat, 
That cropt the branches of the sient base. 
And with strong hand their fruitful ranck- 

nes did deface. 



CANTO I.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



373 



II. 
Such first was Bacchus, that with furi- 
ous might 

All th' East, before untam'd, did over- 
ronne, 

Aud wrong repressed, and establisht right, 

Which lawlesse men had formerly for- 
donne: 

There Justice first her princely rule he- 
gonne. 

Next Hercules his like en sample shewed, 

Who all the West with equall conquest 
wonne, 

And monstrous tyrants with his club sub- 
dewed : 

The club of Justice dread with kingly 
powre endewed. 

ni. 

And such was he of whom I have to 
- tell, 
The Champion of true Justice, Artegall : 
Whom (as ye lately mote remember well) 
An hard adventure, which did then befall, 
Into redoubted perill forth did call ; 
That was to succour a distressed Dame 
Whom a strong tyrant did unjustly 

thrall. 
And from the heritage, which she did 

clame. 
Did with strong hand withhold ; Grantorto 

was his name. 



Wherefore the Lady, which Irena hight, 
Did to the Faery Queene her way ad- 

dresse, 
To whom complayning her afflicted 

plight. 
She her besought of gratious redresse. 
That soveraine Queene, that mightie Em- 

peresse. 
Whose glorie is to aide all suppliants 

pore. 
And of weake Princes to be Patron esse. 
Chose Artegall to right her to restore ; 
For that to her he seem'd best skild in 

righteous lore. 



For Artegall in justice was upbrought 
Even from the cradle of his infancie, 
And all the depth of rightful! doome was 

taught 
By faire Astrsea with great Industrie, 
Whilest here on earth she lived mortallie : 
For till the world from his perfection fell 
Into all filth and foule iniquitie, 
Astrsea here mongst earthly men did 
dwell. 



And in the rules of justice them in- 
structed well. 



Whiles through the world she walked 

in this sort, 
Upon a day she found this gentle childe 
Amongst his peres playing his childish 

sport ; 
Whom seeing fit, and with no crime de- 

filde. 
She did allure with gifts and speaches 

milde 
To wend with her. So thence him farre 

she brought 
Into a cave from companie exilde, 
In which she noursled him till yeares he 

raught, 
And all the discipline of justice there him 

taught. 

vn. 

There she him taught to weigh both 
right and wrong 
In equall ballance with due recompence, 
And equitie to measure out along 
According to the line of conscience, 
When so it needs with rigour to dispence : 
Of all the which, for want there of man- 
kind, 
She caused him to make experience 
Upon wyld beasts, which she in woods 

did find 
With wrongfull powre oppressing others 
of their kind. 

vin. 

Thus she him trayned, and thus she him 

taught 
In all the skill of deeming wrong and 

right, 
Untill the ripenesse of mans yeares he 

raught ; 
That even wilde beasts did feare his 

awfull sight. 
And men admyr'd his over-ruling might; 
Ne any liv'd on ground that durst with- 
stand 
His dreadf ull heast, much lesse him match 

in fight. 
Or bide the horror of his wreakfull hand. 
When so he list in wrath lift up his steely 

brand, 

IX. 

Which steely brand, to make him 

dreaded more. 
She gave unto him, gotten by her slight 
And earnest search, where it v>'as kept in 

store 
In Joves eternall house, unwist of wight. 



374 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book V, 



Siuce he himselfe it us'd in that great 
tight 

Against the Titans, that whylome re- 
belled 

Gainst highest heaven : Chrysaor it was 
hight; 

Chrysaor, that all other swords excelled, 

Well prov'd in that same day when Jove 
those Gyants quelled : 



For of most perfect metall it was made, 
Tempred with Adamant amongst the 

same. 
And garuisht all with gold upon the blade 
In goodly wise, whereof it tooke his 

name, 
And was of no lesse vertue then of fame ; 
For there no substance was so firme and 

hard, 
But it would pierce or cleave, where so it 

came, 
Ne any armour could his dint out-ward ; 
But wheresoever it did light, it throughly 

shard. 

XI. 

Now, when the world with sinne gan to 

abound, 
Astrsea loathing lenger here to space 
Mongst wicked men, in whom no truth 

she found. 
Return 'd to heaven, whence she deriv'd 

her race ; 
Where she hath now an everlasting place 
Mongst those twelve sigues, which nightly 

we doe see 
The heavens bright-shining baudricke 

to enchace ; 
And is the Virgin, sixt in her degree, 
And next her selfe her righteous ballance 

hanging bee. 



But when she parted hence she left her 

groome 
An yron man, which did on her attend 
Alwayes to execute her stedfast doome. 
And willed him with Artegall to wend. 
And doe what ever thing he did intend : 
His name was Talus, made of yron mould, 
Immoveable, resistlesse, without end; 
Who in his hand an yron fiale did hould. 
With which he thresht out falshood, and 

did truth unfould. 

xni. 

He now went with him in this new 
inquest. 
Him for to aide, if aide he chaunce to 
neede, 



Against that cruell Tyrant, which opprest 
The faire Ireua with his foule misdeede. 
And kept the crowne in which she should 

succeed : 
And now together on their way they bin. 
When as they saw a Squire in squallid 

weed 
Lamenting sore his sorrowful! sad tyne, 
With many bitter teares shed from his 

blubbred eyne. 



To whom as they approched, they 
espide 
A sorie sight as ever seene with eye. 
An headlesse Ladie lying him beside 
In her owne blood all wallow'd wofully, 
That her gay clothes did in discolour 

die. 
Much was he moved at that ruefull sight ; 
And flam'd with zeale of vengeance in- 
wardly. 
He askt who had that Dame so fouly 

dight. 
Or whether his owne hand, or whether 
other wight ? 



' Ah ! woe is me, and well-away ! ' (quoth 

hee, 
Bursting forth teares like springs out of a 

banke), 
' That ever I this dismall day did see ! 
Full farre was I from thinking such a 

pranke ; 
Yet litle losse it were, and mickle thanke. 
If I should graunt that I have doen the 

same. 
That I mote drinke the cup whereof she 

dranke. 
But that I should die guiltie of the blame 
The which another did, who now is fled 

with shame.' 



' Who was it then,' (sayd Artegall) * that 
wrought ? 

And why? doe it declare unto me trew.* 

' A knight,' (said he) ' if knight he may 
be thought 

That did his hand in Ladies bloud em- 
brew. 

And for no cause, but as I shall you shew. 

This day as I in solace sate hereby 

With a fayre love, whose losse I now do 
rew. 

There came this knight, having in com- 
panie 

This lucklesse Ladie which nowhere doth 
headlesse lie. 



CANTO I.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



375 



XVII. 

' He, whether miue seem'd fayrer in his 

eye, 
Or that he wexed weary of his owne. 
Would chauge with me, but I did it 

denye, 
So did the Ladies both, as may be 

known e : 
But he, whose spirit was with pride up- 

blowue, 
Would not so rest contented with his 

right ; 
But, having from his courser her downe 

throwne, 
Fro me reft mine away by lawlesse 

might. 
And on his steed her set to beare her out 

of sight. 

XVIII. 

' Which when his Ladie saw, she fol- 
- low'd fast. 
And on him catching hold gan loud to 

crie 
Not so to leave her, nor away to cast, 
But rather of his hand besought to die. 
With that his sword he drew all wrath- 

fully. 
And at one stroke cropt off her head with 

scorne. 
In that same place whereas it now doth 

lie. 
So he my love away with him hath borne. 
And left me here both his and mine owne 

love to mourne.' 



' Aread' (sayd he) ' which way then did 
he make ? 
And by what markes may he be knowne 

againe ? ' 
' To hope ' (quoth he) ' him soone to over- 
take 
That hence so long departed, is but 

vaine ; 
But yet he pricked over yonder plaine, 
And, as I marked, bore upon his shield, 
By which it's easie him to know againe, 
A broken sword within a bloodie field ; 
Expressing well his nature which the 
same did wield.' 



No sooner sayd, but streight he after 

sent 
His yron page, who him pursew'd so 

light, 
As that it seem'd above the ground he 

went; 
For he was swift as swallow in her flight, 
And strong as Lyon in his lordly might. 



It was not long before he overtooke 

Sir Sauglier, (so cleeped was that Knight) 

Whom at the first he ghessed by his 

looke. 
And by the other markes which of his 

shield he tooke. 



He bad him stay, and backe with him 

i-etire ; 
Who, full of scorne to be commaunded so. 
The Lady to alight did eft require, 
W^hilest he reformed that uncivill fo, 
And streight at him with all his force did 

go; 
Who mov'd no more therewith, then 

when a rocke 
Is lightly stricken with some stones 

throw ; 
But to him leaping lent him such a knocke. 
That on the ground he layd him like a 

sencelesse blocke. 

XXII. 

But, ere he could him selfe recure 

againe. 
Him in his iron paw he seized had ; 
That when he wak't out of his warelesse 

paine. 
He found him selfe unwist so ill bestad, 
That lim he could not wag: Thence he 

him lad. 
Bound like a beast appointed to the stall : 
The sight whereof the Lady sore adrad. 
And fain'd to fly for feare of being thrall ; 
But he her quickly stayd, and forst to 

wend withall. 



When to the place they came, where 
Artegall 

By that same carefull Squire did then 
abide, 

He gently gan him to demaund of all 

That did betwixt him and that Squire 
betide : 

Who with Sterne countenance and indig- 
nant pride 

Did aunswere, that of all he guiltlesse 
stood. 

And his accuser thereuppon defide ; 

For neither he did shed that Ladies bloud, 

Nor tooke away his love, but his owne 
proper good. 



Well did the Squire perceive him selfe 

too weake 
To aunswere his defiaunce in the field, 
And rather chose his challenge off to 

breake. 



376 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book v. 



Then to approve his right with speare and 

shield, 
And rather guilty chose hiraselfe to yield : 
But Artegall by signes perceiving plaine 
That he it was not w^hich that Lady kild, 
But that strange Knight, the fairer love 

to gaine, 
Didst cast about by sleight the truth 

thereout to straine ; 



And sayd ; ' Now sure this doubtfull 

causes right 
Can hardly but by Sacrament be tride, 
Or else by ordele, or by blooddy fight, 
That ill perhaps mote fall to either side ; 
But if ye please that I your cause decide, 
Perhaps I may all further quarrell end. 
So ye will sweare my judgement to abide.' 
Thereto they both did "iranckly condi- 

scend, 
And to his doome with listfull eares did 

both attend. 



' Sith then,' (sayd he) ' ye both the dead 

deny, 
And both the living Lady claime your 

right, 
Let both the dead and living equally 
Devided be betwixt you here in sight, 
And each of either take his share aright : 
But looke, who does dissent from this my 

read. 
He for a twelve moneths day shall in de- 

spight 
Beare for his penaunce that same Ladies 

head. 
To witnesse to the world that she by him 

is dead.' 

XXVII. 

Well pleased with that doome was San- 

gliere, 
And ofired streight the Lady to be slaine ; 
But that same Squire, to whom she was 

more dere. 
When as he saw she should be cut in 

twaine. 
Did yield she rather should with him re- 

maine 



Alive, then to him selfe be shared dead ; 
And rather then his love should suffer 

paine, 
He chose with shame to beare'that Ladies 

head : 
True lo ve despiseth shame, when life is cald 

in dread. 

XXVIII. 

Whom when so willing Artegall per- 

ceaved ; 
* Not so, thou Squire,' (he sayd) * but 

thine I deeme 
The living Lady, which from thee he 

reaved. 
For worthy thou of her doest rightly seeme. 
And you, Sir Knight, that love so light 

esteeme. 
As that ye would for little leave the same, 
Take here your owne, that doth you best 

beseeme, 
And with it beare the burden of defame, 
Your owne dead Ladies head, to tell abrode 

your shame.' 



But Sangliere disdained much his doome, 
And sternly gan repine at his beheast ; 
Ne would for ought obay, as did become, 
To beare that Ladies head before his 

breast. 
Until that Talus had his pride represt. 
And forced him, maulgre, it lip to reare. 
Who when he saw it bootelesse to resist, 
He tooke it up, and thence with, him did 

beare, 
As rated Spaniell takes his burden up for 

feare. 

XXX. 

Much did that Squire Sir Artegall adore 
For his great justice, held in high regard. 
And as his Squire him off red evermore 
To serve, for want of other meete reward, 
And wend with him on his adventure hard ; 
But he thereto would by no meanes con- 
sent, 
But leaving him forth on his journey far'd : 
Ne wight with him but onely Talus went ; 
They two enough t' encounter an whole 
Regiment. 



CANTO n. 

Arteg'all heares of Florimell, 
Does with the Pagan fight : 

Him slaies, drownes Lady Munera, 
Does race her castle quight. 



Nought is more honorable to a knight, 
Ne better doth beseeme brave chevalry, 



Then to defend the feeble in their right. 
And wrong redresse in such as wend 
awry : 



CANTO II.] 



THE P^AERIE QUEENE. 



377 



Whilome those great Heroes got thereby 
Their greatest glory for their rightfull 

deedes, 
And place deserved with the Gods ou hy. 
Herein the noblesse of this knight ex- 

ceedes, 
Who now to perils great for justice sake 

proceedes. 

II. 
To which as he now was uppon the way, 
He chaunst to meet a Dwarfe in hasty 

course, 
Whom he requir'd his forward hast to stay. 
Till he of tidings mote with him discourse. 
Loth was the Dwarfe, yet did he stay per- 

forse, 
And gan of sundry newes his store to tell, 
As to his memory they had recourse ; 
But chiefly of the fairest Florimell, 
How sbe was found againe, and spousde 

to Marinell. 

III. 
For this was Dony, Florimels owne 

Dwarfe, 
Whom having lost, (as ye have heard 

whyleare) 
And finding in the way the scattred scarf e, 
The fortune of her life long time did f eare : 
But of her health when Artegall did heare, 
And safe returne, he was full inly glad. 
And askt him where and when her bridale 

cheare 
Should be solemniz'd ; for, if time he had, 
He would be there, and honor to her 

spousall ad. 

IV. 

* Within three dales,* (quoth he) ' as I 

do here. 
It will be at the Castle of the Strond ; 
What time, if naught me let, I will be 

there 
To doe her service so as I am bond : 
But in my way, a little here beyond, 
A cursed cruell Sarazin doth wonne. 
That keepes a Bridges passage by strong 

bond. 
And many errant Knights hath there for- 

donne ; 
That makes all men for f eare that passage 

for to shonne.' 



' What mister wight,' (quoth he) ' and 

how far hence 
Is he, that doth to travellers such 

harmes ? ' 
' He is ' (said he) ' a man of great defence, 
Expert in battel! and in deedes of armes ; 
And more emboldned by the wicked 

charmes, 



With which his daughter doth him still 

support ; 
Having great Lordships got and goodly 

farmes, 
Through strong oppression of his powre 

extort, 
By which he stil them holds, and keepes 

with strong effort. 



* And dayly he his wrongs encreaseth 

more ; 
For never wight he lets to passe that way 
Over his Bridge, albee he rich or poore, 
But he him makes his passage-penny pay : 
Else he doth hold him backe or beat away. 
Thereto he hath a groome of evill guize, 
Whose scalp is bare, that bondage doth 

bewray. 
Which pols and pils the poore in piteous 

wize; 
But he him selfe uppon the rich doth 

tyrannize. 

VII. 

* His name is bight Pollente, rightly so. 
For that he is so puissant and strong, 
That with his powre he all doth overgo. 
And makes them subject to his mighty 

wrong ; 
And some by sleight he eke doth under- 

fong. 
For ou a Bridge he custometh to fight. 
Which is but narrow, but exceeding long ; 
And iu the same are many trap-fals pight, 
Through which the rider downe doth fall 

through oversight. 

VIII. 

* And underneath the same a river 

flowes 
That is both swift and dangerous deepe 

withall ; 
Into the which whom so he overthrowes. 
All destitute of helpe doth headlong fall; 
But he him selfe through practise usuall, 
Leapes forth into the floud, and there 

assaies 
His foe confused through his sodaine fall, 
That horse and man he equally dismaies, 
And either both them drownes, or tray- 

terously slaies. 

IX. 

' Then doth he take the spoile of them 
at will. 

And to his daughter brings, that dwels 
thereby ; 

Who all that comes doth take, and there- 
with fill 

The coffers of her wicked threasury, 



378 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book v. 



"Which she with wrongs hath heaped up 

so hy 
That many Princes she in wealth exceedes, 
And purchast all the countrey lying ny 
With the revenue of her plenteous meedes : 
Her name is Munera, agreeing with her 

deedes. 



* Thereto she is full faire, and rich at- 
tired, 
With golden hands and silver feete beside, 
That many Lords have her to wife desired. 
But she them all despiseth for great pride.' 
' Now by my life,' (sayd he) ' and God to 
^- guide, 

None other way will I this day betake. 
But by that Bridge whereas he doth abide : 
Therefore me thither lead.' No more he 

spake. 
But thitherward forthright his ready way 
did make. 

XI. 

Unto the place he came within a while, 
Where on the Bridge he ready armed saw 
The Sarazin, away ting for some spoile : 
When as they to the passage gan to draw, 
A villaine to them came with scull all raw, 
That passage money did of them require, 
According to the custome of their law : 
To whom he aunswerd wroth, 'Loe! there 

thy hire ; ' 
And with that word him strooke, that 
streight he did expire. 



Which when the Pagan saw he wexed 

wroth, 
And streight him selfe unto the fight 

addrest, 
Ne was Sir Artegall behinde : so both 
Together ran with ready speares in rest. 
Right in the midst, whereas they brest to 

brest 
Should meete, a trap was letten downe to 

fall 
Into the floud: streight leapt the Carle 

unblest, 
Well weening that his foe was f alne with- 

all; 
But he was well aware, and leapt before 

his fall. 

XIII. 

There being both together in the fioud. 
They each at other tyrannously flew ; 
Ne ought the water cooled their whot 

bloud. 
But rather in them kindled choler new: 
But there the Paynim, who that use well 

knew 
To fight in water, great advantage had, 



That oftentimes him nigh he overthrew : 
And eke the courser whereuppon he rad 
Could swim like to a fish, whiles he his 
backe bestrad. 



Which oddes when as Sir Artegall es- 

pide. 
He saw no way but close with him in hast ; 
And to him driving strongly downe the 

tide 
Uppon his iron coUer griped fast. 
That with the straint his wesand nigh he 

brast. 
There they together strove and struggled 

long 
Either the other from his steede to cast ; 
Ne ever Artegall his griple strong 
For any thing wold slacke, but still upon 

him hong. 

XV. 

As when a Dolphin and a Sele are met 
In the wide champian of the Ocean plaine. 
With cruell chaufe their courages they 

whet, 
The maysterdome of each by force to 

gaine, 
And dreadfull battaile twixt them do 

darraine : 
They snuf, they snort, they bounce, they 

rage, they rore, 
That all the sea, disturbed with their 

traine, 
Doth frie with f ome above the surges hore, 
Such was betwixt these two the trouble- 
some uprore. 



So Artegall at length him forst forsake 
His horses backe for dread of being 

drownd, 
And to his handy swimming him betake. 
Eftsoones him selfe he from his hold un- 

bownd, 
And then no ods at all in him he fownd ; 
For Artegall in swimming skilfull was. 
And durst the depth of any water sownd. 
So ought each Knight, that use of perill 

has, 
In swimming be expert, through waters 

force to pas. 



Then very doubtfull was the warres 

event, 
Uncertaine whether had the better side ; 
For both were skild in that experiment, 
And both in armes well traind, and 

throughly tride : 
But Artegall was better breath'd beside, 



CANTO II.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



379 



And towards th' end grew greater in his 

might, 
That his faint foe no longer could abide 
His puissance, ne beare him selfe upright ; 
But from the water to the land betooke 

his flight. 

XVIII. 

But Artegall pursewd him still so neare 
With bright Chrysaor in his cruell hand, 
That as his head he gan a litle reare 
Above the brincke to tread upon the land, 
He smote it off, that tumbling on the 

strand 
It bit the earth for very fell despight, 
And gnashed with his teeth, as if he band 
High God, whose goodnesse he despaired 

quight. 
Or curst the hand which did that ven- 
geance on him dight. 



His corps was carried downe along the 
Lee, 

Whose waters with his filthy bloud it 
stayned ; 

But his blasphemous head, that all might 
see. 

He pitcht upon a pole on high ordayned ; 

Where many years it afterwards re- 
may ned, 

To be a mirrour to all mighty men. 

In whose right hands great power is con- 
tayned, 

That none of them the feeble over-ren. 

But alwaies doe their powre within just 
compasse pen. 



That done, unto the Castle he did wend. 
In which the Paynims daughter did abide, 
Guarded of many which did her defend : 
Of whom he entrance sought, but was 

denide. 
And with reprochfull blasphemy defide. 
Beaten with stones downe from the battil- 

ment, 
That he was forced to withdraw aside, 
And bad his servant Talus to invent 
Which way he enter might without en- 

dangerment. 



Eftsoones his Page drew to the Castle 

gate, 
And with his iron flale at it let flie. 
That all the warders it did sore amate, 
The which erewhile spake so reprochfully , 
And made them stoupe that looked earst 

so hie. 
Yet still he bet and bounst uppon the dore. 



And thundred strokes thereon so hide- 

ouslie. 
That all the peece he shaked from the 

flore. 
And filled all the house with feare and 

great uprore. 

XXII. 

With noise whereof the Lady forth ap- 
peared 

Uppon the Castle wall ; and, when she saw 

The daungerous state in which she stood, 
she feared 

The sad effect of her neare overthrow ; 

And gan entreat that iron man below 

To cease his outrage, and him faire be- 
sought ; 

Sith neither force of stones which they 
did throw, 

Nor powr of charms, which she against 
,, ^ him wrought, 

Mi|^t" Otherwise prevaile, or make him 
cease for ought. 



But, when as yet she saw him to pro- 

ceede 
Unmov'd with praiers or with piteous 

thought. 
She ment him to corrupt with goodly 

meede ; 
And causde great sackes with endlesse 

riches fraught 
Unto the battilment to be upbrought, 
And powred forth over the Castle wall. 
That she might win some time, though 

dearly bought, 
Whilest he to gathering of the gold did 

fall: 
But he was nothing mov'd nor tempted 

therewithal! : 



But still continu'd his assault the more, 
And layd on load with his huge yron flaile, 
That at the length he has yrent the dore, 
And made way for his maister to assaile ; 
Who being entred, nought did them availe 
For wight against his powre them selves 

to reare. 
Each one did flie; their hearts began to 

faile. 
And hid them selves in corners here and 

there ; 
And eke their dame halfe dead did hide 

her self for feare. 



Long they her sought, yet no where 
could they finde her. 



38o 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book v. 



That sure they ween'd she was escapt 
away ; 

But Talus, that could like a lime-hound 
wiude her, 

And all things secrete wisely could be- 
wray, 

At length found out whereas she hidden 
lay 

Under an heape of gold. Thence he her 
drew 

By the faire lockes, and fowly did array 

Withouten pitty of her goodly hew, 

That Artegall him selfe her seemelesse 
plight did rew. 



Yet for no pitty would he change the 

course 
Of Justice, which in Talus hand did lye ; 
Who rudely hayld her forth without re 

morse, i^. | 

Still holding up her suppliant ha]iair,.oii 

hye, 
And kneeling at his f eete submissively : 
But he her suppliant hands, those hands 

of gold , 
And eke her feete, those feete of silver 

trye. 
Which sought unrighteousnesse, and jus- 
tice sold, 
Chopt off, and nayld on high that all 

might them behold. 



Her selfe then tooke he by the sclender 

wast. 
In vaine loud crying, and into the flood 
Over the Castle wall adowne her cast. 
And there her drowned in the durty mud ; 
But the streame washt away her guilty 

blood. 
Thereafter all that mucky pelfe he tooke, 
The spoile of peoples evil gotten good, 
The which her sire had scrap't by hooke 

and crooke, 
And burning all to ashes powr'd it downe 

the brooke. 

XXVIII. 

And lastly all that Castle quite he raced, 
Even from the sole of his foundation. 
And all the hewen stones thereof defaced, 
That there mote be no hope of reparation. 
Nor memory thereof to any nation. 
All which when Talus throughly had per- 

fourmed. 
Sir Artegall undid the evill fashion, 
And wicked customes of that Bridge re- 

fourmed ; 
Which done, unto his former journey he 

retourned : 



4, 



XXIX. 

In which they measur'd mickle weary 
way, 

Till that at length nigh to the sea they 
drew ; 

By which as they did travell on a day. 

They saw before them, far as they could 
vew. 

Full many people gathered in a crew ; 

Whose great assembly they did much ad- 
mire. 

For never there the like resort they 
knew. 

So towardes them they coasted, to enquire 

What thing so many nations met did there 
/ desire. 

/ XXX. 

There they beheld a mighty Gyant stand 
pon a rocke, and holding forth on hie 
An huge great paire of ballance in his 

hand. 
With which he boasted, in his surquedrie, 
That all the Avorld he would weigh equallie. 
If ought he had the same to counterpoys ; 
For want whereof he weighed vanity. 
And fild his ballaunce full of idle toys : 
Yet was admired much of fooles, women, 

and boys. 

XXXI. 

He sayd that he would all the earth up- 
take 
And all the sea, divided each from either : 
So would he of the lire one ballaunce 

make, 
And one of th' ayre, without or wind or 

wether : 
Then would he ballaunce heaven and hell 

together. 
And all that did within them all containe. 
Of all whose weight he would not misse a 

fether : 
And looke what surplus did of each re- 

maine. 
He would to his owne part restore the 

same againe: 

XXXII. 

For- why, he sayd, they all unequall 

were. 
And had encroched upon others share ; 
Like as the sea (which plaine he shewed 

there) 
Had worne the earth ; so did the fire the 

aire ; 
So all the rest did others parts empaire, 
And so were realmes and nations run 

awry. 
All which he undertooke for to repaire, 
In sort as they were formed aunciently, 
And all things would reduce unto equality. 



CANTO II.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



381 



Therefore the vulgar did about him 

flocke, 
And cluster thicke unto his leasings vaine, 
Like foolish flies about an hony-crocke; 
In hope by him great benetite to gaine, 
And uncontrolled freedome to obtaine. 
All which when Artegall did see and heare, 
How he mis-led the simple peoples traine, 
In sdeignfull wize he drew unto him neare, 
And thus unto him spake, without regard 

or feare. 

XXXIV. 

* Thou that presum'st to weigh the world 

anew, 
And all things to an equall to restore, 
Instead of right me seemes great wrong 

dost shew. 
And far above thy forces pitch to sore ; 
For- ere thou limit what is lesse or more 
In every thing, thou oughtest first to know 
"What was the poyse of every part of 

yore : 
And looke then how much it doth over- 
flow 
Or faile thereof, so much is more then just 
to trow. 

XXXV. 

* For at the first they all created were 
In goodly measure by their Makers might ; 
And weighed out in ballaunces so nere, 
That not a dram was missing of their 

right : 
The earth was in the middle centre pight, 
In which it doth immoveable abide, 
Hemd in with waters like a wall in sight, 
And they with aire, that not a drop can 

slide : 
Al which the heavens containe, and in 

their courses guide. 

XXXVI. 

* 6uch heavenly justice doth among them 

raine. 
That every one doe know their certaine 

bound. 
In which they doe these many yeares re- 

maine, 
And mongst them al no change hath yet 

beene found ; 
But if thou now shouldst weigh them new 

in pound. 
We are not sure they would so long re- 

maine : 
All change is pei'illous, and all chaunce 

unsound. 
Therefore leave off to weigh them all 

againe, 
Till we may be assur'd they shall their 

course retaine.' 



' Thou foolishe Elfe,' (said then the Gy- 

ant wroth) 
* Seest not how badly all things present 

bee, 
And each estate quite out of order goth ? 
The sea it selfe doest thou not plainely see 
Encroch uppon the land there under thee ? 
And th' earth it selfe how daily its increast 
By all that dying to it turned be : 
Were it not good that wrong were then 

surceast. 
And from the most that some were given 

to the least ? 



' Therefore I will throw downe these 

mountaines hie. 
And make them levell with the lowly 

plaine ; 
These towring rocks, which reach unto 

the skie, 
I will thrust downe into the deepest maine. 
And, as they were, them equalize againe. 
Tyrants, that make men subject to their 

law, 
I will suppresse, that they no more may 

raine; 
And Lordings curbe that commons over-aw. 
And all the wealth of rich men to the poore 

will draw.' 



* Of things unseene how canst thou deeme 

aright,' 
Then answered the righteous Artegall, 
' Sith thou misdeem'st so much of things 

in sight? 
What though the sea with waves continu- 

all 
Doe eate the earth, it is no more at all ; 
Ne is the earth the lesse, or loseth ought. 
For whatsoever from one place doth fall 
Is with the tide unto another brought : 
For there is nothing lost, that may be 

found if sought. 

Xli. 

' Likewise the earth is not augmented 

more 
By all that dying into it doe fade ; 
For of the earth they formed were of yore : 
How ever gay their blossome or their 

blade 
Doe flourish now, they into dust shall vade. 
What wrong then is it, if that when they 

die 
They turne to that whereof they first were 

made? 
All in the powre of their great Maker lie : 



382 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book v. 



All creatures must obey the voice of the 
Most Hie. 

XLI. 

* They live, they die, like as he doth or- 

daine, 
Ne ever any asketh reason why. 
The hils doe not the lowly dales disdaine, 
The dales doe not the lofty hils envy. 
He maketh Kings to sit in soverainty; 
He maketh subjects to their powre obay ; 
He pulleth dowue, he setteth up on by ; 
He gives to this, from that he takes away. 
For all we have is his : what he list doe, 

he may. 

XLII, 

* What ever thing is done by him is 

doune, 
Ne any may his mighty will withstand ; 
Ne any may his soveraine power shonne, 
Ne loose that he hath bound with stedfast 

band. 
In vaine therefore doest thou now take in 

hand 
To call to count, or weigh his workes anew. 
Whose counsels depth thou canst not un- 
derstand ; 
Sith of things subject to thy daily vew 
Thou doest not know the causes, nor their 
courses dew. 

XLIII. 

* For take thy ballaunce, if thou be so 

wise. 
And weigh the winde that under heaven 

doth blow ; 
Or weigh the light that in the East doth 

rise; 
Or weigh the thought that from mans 

mind doth flow: 
But if the weight of these thou canst not 

show, 
Weigh but one word which from thy lips 

doth fall : 
For how canst thou those greater secrets 

know, 
That doest not know the least thing of 

them all? 
Ill can he rule the great that cannot reach 

the small.' 

XLIV. 

Therewith the Gyant much abashed 

sayd. 
That he of little things made reckoning 

light; 
Yet the least word that ever could be layd 
Within his ballaunce he could way aright. 
' Which is ' (sayd he) ' more heavy then 

in weight. 
The right or wrong, the false or else the 

trew ? ' 



He answered that he would try it streight ; 
So he the words into his ballaunce threw, 
But streight the winged words out of his 
ballaunce flew. 



Wroth wext he then, and sayd that 

words were light, 
Ne would within his ballaunce well abide : 
But he could justly weigh the wrong or 

right. 
* Well then,' sayd Artegall, * let it be tride : 
First in one ballance set the true aside.' 
He did so first, and then the false he layd 
In th' other scale ; but still it downe did 

slide, 
And by no meane could in the weight be 

stayd ; 
For by no meanes the false will with the 

truth be wayd. 

XLVI. 

'Now take the right likewise,' sayd 

Artegale, 
' And counterpeise the same with so much 

wrong.' 
So first the right he put into one scale, 
And then the Gyant strove with puissance 

strong 
To fill the other scale with so much wrong ; 
But all the wrongs that he therein could 

lay 
Might not it peise ; yet did he labour long, 
And swat, and chauf'd, and proved every 

way: 
Yet all the wrongs could not a litle right 

downe way. 

XLVII. 

Which when he saw he greatly grew in 

rage, 
And almost would his balances have 

broken ; 
But Artegall him fairely gan asswage, 
And said, ' Be not upon thy balance 

wroken, 
For they doe nought but right or wrong 

betoken ; 
But in the mind the doome of right must 

bee: 
And so likewise of words, the which be 

spoken, 
The eare must be the ballance, to decree 
And judge, whether with truth or fals- 

hood they agree. 

XLVIII. 

' But set the truth and set the right 
aside, 
For they with wrong or falshood will not 
fare, 



CANTO II.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



3^3 



And put two wrongs together to be tride, 
Or else two falses, of eac-h equall share, 
And then together doe them both compare ; 
For truth is one, and right is ever one.' 
So did he ; and tlien plaiue it did appeare. 
Whether of them the greater were attone ; 
But right sate in the middest of the beame 
alone. 

XLIX. 

But he the right from thence did thrust 

away. 
For it was not the right which he did 

seeke, 
But rather strove extremities to way, 
Th' one to diminish, th' other for to eeke ; 
For of the meane he greatly did misleeke. 
Whom when so lewdly minded Talus 

found, 
Approching nigh unto him, cheeke by 

cheeke. 
He shouldered him from off the higher 

ground, 
And, down the rock him throwing, in the 

sea him dround. 



Like as a ship, whom eruell tempest 

drives 
Upon a rocke with horrible dismay, 
Her shattered ribs in thousand peeces 

rives, 
And spoyling all her geares and goodly ray 
Does make her selfe misfortunes piteous 

pray. 
So downe the cliffe the wretched Gyant 

tumbled ; 
His battred ballances in peeces lay, 
His timbered bones all broken rudely 

rumbled : 
So was the high-aspyring with huge mine 

humbled. 

LI. 

That when the people, which had there 
about 
Long wayted, saw his sudden desolation. 
They gan to gather in tumultuous rout, 
And mutining to stirre up civill faction 
For certaine losse of so great expectation : 
For well they hoped to have got great 

good. 
And wondrous riches by his innovation. 



Therefore resolving to revenge his blood 
They rose in armes, and all in battell order 
stood. 

LII. 

Which lawlesse multitude him comming 

too 
In warlike wise when Artegall did vew, 
He much was troubled, ne wist what to 

doo: 
For loth he was his noble hands t' embrew 
In the base blood of such a rascall crew ; 
And otherwise, if that he should retire. 
He fear'd least they with shame would him 

pursew : 
Therefore he Talus to them sent t' inquire 
The cause of their array, and truce for to 

desire. 

LIII. 

But soone as they him nigh approching 
spide, 
They gan with all their weapons him 



And rudely stroke at him on every side ; 
Yet nought they could him hurt, ne ought 

dismay : 
But when at them he with his flaile gan 

lay. 
He like a swarme of flyes them overthrew ; 
Ne any of them durst come in his way. 
But here and there before his presence 

flew, 
And hid themselves in holes and bushes 

from his vew. 



As when a Faulcon hath with nimble 

flight 
Flowne at a flush of Ducks foreby the 

brooke, 
The trembling foule dismayd with dread- 
full sight 
Of death, the which them almost over- 

tooke, 
Doe hide themselves from her astonying 

looke 
Amongst the flags and covert round about. 
When Talus saw they all the field for- 

sooke, 
And none appear'd of all that raskall rout, 
To Artegall he turn'd and went with him 

throughout. 



384 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book v. 



CANTO III. 

The spousals of faire Florimell, 
Where turney many knights : 

There Braggadochio is uncas'd 
In all the Ladies sights. 



After long stormes and tempests over- 

blo^Tie 
The sunne at length his joyous face doth 

clears : 
So when as fortune all her spight hath 

showne, 
Some blisfull houres at last must needes 

appeare ; 
Else should afflicted wights oftimes de- 

speire : 
So comes it now to Florimell by tourne, 
After long sorrowes suffered whyleare, 
In which captiv'd she many moneths did 

mourne, 
To tast of joy, and to wont pleasures to 

retourne. 

II. 
Who being freed from Proteus cruell 

band 
By Marinell was unto him affide, 
And by him brought againe to Faerie land, 
Where he her spous'd, and made his joy- 
ous bride. 
The time and place was blazed farre and 

wide, 
And solemne feasts and giusts ordain'd 

therefore : 
To which there did resort from every side 
Of Lords and Ladies infinite great store ; 
Ne any Knight was absent that brave 

courage bore. 



To tell the glorie of the feast that day, 
The goodly service, the devicefull sights. 
The bridegromes state, the brides most 

rich aray, 
The pride of Ladies, and the worth of 

knights. 
The royall banquets, and the rare delights. 
Were worke fit for an Herauld, not for me : 
But for so much as to my lot here lights, 
That with this present treatise doth agree, 
True vertue to advance, shall here re- 
counted bee. 



i 



When all men had with full satietie 
Of meates and drinkes their appetites 

suffiz'd, 
To deedes of armes and proofe of chevalrie 



They gan themselves addresse, full rich 

aguiz'd 
As each one had his furnitures deviz'd. 
And first of all issu'd Sir Marinell, 
And with him sixe knights more, which 

enterpriz'd 
To chalenge all in right of Florimell, 
And to maintaine that she all others did 

excell. 

V. 

The first of them was liight Sir Orimont, 
A noble Knight, and tride in hard assayes ; 
The second had to name Sir Bellisont, 
But second unto none in prowesse prayse ; 
The third was Brunell, famous in his 

dayes ; 
The fourth Ecastor, of exceeding might ; 
The fift Armeddan, skild in lovely layes ; 
The sixt was Lansack, a redoubted 

Knight ; 
All sixe well-seene in armes, and prov'd 

in many a fight. 



And them against came all that list to 

giust, 
From every coast and countrie under 

sunne : 
None was debard, but all had leave that 

lust. 
The trompets sound, then all together 

ronne. 
Full many deeds of armes that day were 

doune, 
And many knights unhorst, and many 

wounded. 
As fortune fell; yet little lost or wonne : 
But all that day the greatest prayse 

redounded 
To Marinell, whose name the Heralds loud 

resounded. 

VII. 

The second day, so soone as morrow light 
Appear 'd in heaven, into the field they 

came, 
And there all day continew'd cruell fight, 
With divers fortune fit for such a game. 
In which all strove with perill to winne 

fame; 
Yei whether side was victor note be ghest : 
But at the last the trompets (fid proclame 
That Marinell that day deserved best. 



CANTO III.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



385 



So they disparted were, and all men went 
to rest. 

VIII. 

The third day came, that should due 

tryall lend 
Of all the rest ; and then this warlike crew 
Together met of all to make an end. 
There Mariuell great deeds of armes did 

shew, 
And through the thickest like a Lyon flew, 
Rashing off helmes, and ryving plates 

asonder, 
That every one his daunger did eschew : 
So terribly his deadf uU strokes did thon- 

der, 
That all men stood amaz'd, and at his 

might did wonder. 



But what on earth can alwayes happie 
stand ? 
The greater prowesse greater perils find. 
So f arre he past amongst his enemies band, 
That they have him enclosed so behind, 
As by no meanes he can himselfe outwind : 
And now perforce they have him prisoner 

taken ; 
And now they doe with captive bands him 

bind ; 
And now they lead him thence, of all for- 
saken, 
Unlesse some succour had in time him 
overtaken. 

X. 

It fortun'd, whylest they were thus ill 

beset, 
Sir Artegall into the Tilt-yard came, 
AVith Braggadochio, whom he lately met 
Upon the way with that his snowy Dame : 
Where when he understood by common 

fame 
What evil hap to Marinell betid. 
He much was mov'd at so unworthie 

shame, 
And streight that boaster prayd, with 

whom he rid, 
To change his shield with him, to be the 

better hid. 

XI. 

So forth he went, and soone them over- 

hent, 
Wliere they were leading Marinell away ; 
Whom he assayld with dreadlesse hardi- 

ment. 
And forst the burden of their prize to 

stay. 
They were an hundred knights of that 

array, 
Of which th' one halfe upon himselfe did 

set, 



The other stayd behind to gavd the pray: 
But he ere long the former liftie bet, 
And from the other fiftie soone the pris- 
oner fet. 

XII. 

So backe he brought SirMarinell againe ; 
Whom having quickly arm'd againe anew, 
They both together joyned might and 

maine, 
To set afresh on all the other crew : 
Whom with sore havocke soone they over- 
threw, 
And chaced quite out of the field, that 

none 
Against them durst his bead to perill 

shew. 
So were they left Lords of the field alone : 
So Marinell by him was rescu'd from his 
fone. 

XIII. 

Which when he had perform'd, then 
backe againe 

To Braggadoi'hio did his shield restore ; 

Who all this while behind him did re- 
maine. 

Keeping there close with him in pretious 
store 

That his false Ladie, as ye heard afore. 

Then did the trompets sound, and Judges 
rose. 

And all these knights, which that day 
armour bore. 

Came to the open hall to listen whose 

The honour of the prize should be ad- 
judged by those. 



And thether also came in open sight 
Fayre Florimell. into the common hall. 
To greet his guerdon unto every knight. 
And best to him to whom the best should 

fall. 
Then for that stranger knight they loud 

did call, 
To whom that day they should the girlond 

yield, 
Wlio came not forth ; but for Sir Artegall 
Came Braggadochio, and did shew his 

shield^ 
Which bore the Sunne brode blazed in a 

golden field. 

XV. 

The sight whereof did all with gladnesse 

fill: 
So unto him they did addeeme the prise 
Of all that Tryumph. Then the trompets 

shrill 
Don Braggadochios name resounded 

thrise : 
So courage lent a cloke to cowardise. 



3S6 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book v. 



And then to him came fayrest Florimell, 
And goodly gan to greet his brave emprise, 
And thousand thankes him yeeld, that 

had so well 
Approv'd that day that she all others did 

excell. 

XVI. 

To vrhom the boaster, that all knights 
did blot 
With proud disdaine did scornefull an- 
swer e make, 
That what he did that day, he did it not 
For her, but for his owne deare Ladies 

sake, 
Whom on his perill he did undertake 
Both her and eke all others to excell : 
And further did uncomely speaches crake. 
Much did his words the gentle Ladie 

quell, 
And turn'd aside for shame to heare what 
he did tell. 

XVII. 

Then forth he brought his snowy Flori- 
mele. 

Whom Trompart had in keeping there be- 
side, 

Covered from peoples gazement with a 
vele: 

Whom when discovered they had throughly 
eide, 

With great amazement they were stupe- 
tide ; 

And said, that surely Florimell it was, 

Or if it were not Florimell so tride, 

That Florimell her selfe she then did pas. 

So feeble skill of perfect things the vulgar 
has. 

XVIII. 

Which when as Marinell beheld like- 
wise, 
He was therewith exceedingly dismayd, 
Ne wist he what to thinke, or to devise ; 
But, like as one whom feends had made 

affrayd, 
He long astonisht stood, ne ought he sayd, 
Ne ought he did, but with fast fixed eies 
He gazed still upon that snowy mayd ; 
Whom ever as he did the more avize, 
The more to be true Florimell he did sur- 
mize. 

xrx. 

As when two sunnes appeare in the 

asure skye, 
INIounted in Phoebus charet fierie bright, 
Both darting forth faire beames to each 

mans eye, 
And both adorn'd with lampes of flaming 

light; 
All that behold so strange prodigious 

sight, 



Not knowing natures works, nor what to 

weene. 
Are rapt with wonder and with rare 

affright. 
So stood Sir Marinell, when he had scene 
The semblant of this false by his faire 

beauties Queene. 



All which when Artegall, who all this 

while 
Stood in the preasse close covered, well 

advewed, 
And saw that boasters pride and grace- 

lesse guile. 
He could no longer beare, but forth is- 

sewed, 
And unto all himself e there open shewed. 
And to the boaster said; 'Thou losell 



That hast with borrowed plumes thy selfe 
endewed, 

And others worth with leasings doest de- 
face, 

When they are all restor'd thou shalt rest 
in disgrace. 

XXI. 

' That shield, which thou doest beare, 
was it indeed 

Which this dayes honour sav'd, to Mari- 
nell: 

But not that arme, nor thou the man, I 
reed, 

Which didst that service unto Florimell. 

For proof e shew forth thy sword, and let 
it tell 

What strokes, what dreadfull stoure, it 
stird this day; 

Or shew the wounds which unto thee be- 
fell; 

Or shew the sweat with which thou did- 
dest sway 

So sharpe a battell, that so many did 
dismay. 

XXII. 

* But this the sword which wrought 
those cruell stounds, 

And this the arme the which that shield 
did beare. 

And these the signs * (so shewed forth his 
wounds) 

' By which that glorie gotten doth ap- 
peare. 

As for this Ladie, which he sheweth here, 

Is not (I wager) Florimell at all ; 

But some fayre Franion, fit for such a 
fere. 

That by misfortune in his hand did fall.' 

For proofe whereof he bad them Flori- 
mell forth call. 



CANTO III.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



387 



So forth the noble Ladie was ybrought, 
Adorn'd with honor and all comely grace : 
Whereto her bashful shamefastnesse 

ywrought 
A great increase in her faire blushing 

face, 
As roses did with lilies interlace ; 
For of those words, the which that boaster 

threw, 
She inly yet conceived great disgrace : 
Whom when as all the people such did 

vew, 
They shouted loud, and signes of glad- 

nesse all did shew. 



Then did he set her by that snowy one, 
Like the true saint beside the image set. 
Of both their beauties to make paragoue 
And triall, whether should the honor get. 
Streight-way, so soone as both together 

met, 
Th' enchaunted Damzell vanisht into 

nought : 
Her snowy substance melted as with heat, 
Ne of that goodly hew remayned ought, 
But th' emptie girdle which about her 

wast was wrought. 



As when the daughter of Thaumantes 

faire 
Hath in a watry cloud displayed wide 
Her goodly bow, which paints the liquid 

ay re. 
That all men wonder at her colours pride ; 
All suddenly, ere one can looke aside, 
The glorious picture vanisheth away, 
Ne any token doth thereof abide : 
So did this Ladies goodly forme decay. 
And into nothing goe, ere one could it 

bewray. 

XXVI. 

Which when as all that present were 
beheld, 
They stricken were with great astonish- 
ment, 
And their faint harts with senselesse hor- 

rour queld, 
To see the thing, that seem'd so excellent. 
So stolen from their fancies wonderment 
That what of it became none understood : 
And Braggadochio selfe with dreriment 
So daunted was in his despeyring mood. 
That like a lifelesse corse immoveable he 
stood. 

xxvii. 

But Artegall that golden belt uptooke, 

The which of all her spoyle was onely left ; 



Which was not hers, as manjr it mistooke, 
But Florimells owne girdle, from her 

reft 
While she was flying, like a weary weft. 
From that foule monster which did her 

compel 
To perils great; which he unbuckling 

eft 
Presented to the fayrest Florimell, 
Who round about her tender wast it fitted 

well. 

XX VIII. 

Full many Ladies often had assayd 
About their middles that faire belt to 

knit; 
And many a one suppos'd to be a mayd : 
Yet it to none of all their loynes would 

fit, 
Till Florimell about her fastned it. 
Such power it had , that to no womans wast 
By any skill or labour it would sit, 
Unlesse that she were continent and chast, 
But it would lose or breake, that many had 

disgrast. 

XXIX. 

Whilst thus they busied were bout Flori- 
mell, 
And boastfull Braggadochio to defame, 
Sir Guyou, as by fortune then befell, 
Forth from the thickest preasse of people 

came. 
His owne good steed, which he had stolne, 

to clame ; 
And th' one hand seizing on his golden bit, 
With th' other drew his sword ; for with 

the same 
He ment the thiefe there deadly to have 

smit : 
And, had he not bene held, he nought had 
fayld of it. 

XXX. 

Thereof great hurly-burly moved was 

Throughout the hall for that same warlike 
horse ; 

For Braggadochio would not let him pas, 

And Guyon would him algates have per- 
forse. 

Or it approve upon his carrion corse. 

Which troublous stirre when Artegall per- 
ceived. 

He nigh them drew to stay th' avengers 
forse. 

And gan inquire how was that steed be- 
reaved. 

Whether by might extort, or else by slight 
deceaved ? 

XXXI. 

Who all that piteous storie, which befell 
About that woiull couple which were 
slaine. 



388 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book v. 



And their young bloodie babe to him gan 

tell; 
"With whom whiles he did in the wood re- 

maiue, 
His horse purloyned was by subtill traine, 
For which he chalenged the thiefe to light : 
But he for nought could him thereto con- 

straine ; 
For as the death he hated such despight, 
And rather had to lose then trie in armes 

his right. 

xxxn. 

Which Artegall well hearing, (though 

no more 
By law of armes there neede ones right to 

trie, 
As was the won t of warlike knights of yore , 
Then that his foe should him the field 

denie,) 
Yet, further right by tokens to descrie, 
He askt what privie tokens he did beare ? 
' If that ' (said Guyon) ' may you satisfie, 
Within his mouth a blacke spot doth ap- 

peare, 
Shapt like a horses shoe, who list to seeke 

it there.' 

XXXIII. 

Whereof to make due tryall, one did take 
The horse in hand within his mouth to 

looke : 
But with his heeles so sorely he him strake. 
That all his ribs he quite in peeces broke, 
That never word from that day forth he 

spoke. 
Another, that would seeme to have more 

wit, 
Him by the bright embrodered hed-stall 

tooke ; 
But by the shoulder him so sore he bit, 
That he him maymed quite, and all his 

shoulder split. 



Ne he his mouth would open unto wight, 
Uutill that Guyon selfe unto him spake, 
And called Brigadore, (so was he hight,) 
Whose voice so sooue as he did undertake, 
Eftsoones he stood as still as any stake. 
And suffred all his secret marke to see : 
And, when as he him nam'd, for joy he 

brake 
His bands, and follow'd him with gladfull 

glee, 
And f riskt, and flong aloft, and louted low 

on knee. 

XXXV. 

Thereby Sir Artegall did plaine areed 
That unto him the horse belong'd, and 

sayd; 
' Lo there ! Sir Guyon, take to you the steed, 



As he with golden saddle is arayd, 

And let that losell, plainely now displayd. 

Hence fare on foot, till he an horse have 

gayued.' 
But the proud boaster gan his doome up- 

brayd, 
And him revil'd, and rated, and disdayned. 
That judgement so unjust against him 

had ordayned. 



Much was the knight incenst with his 

lewd word 
To have revenged that his villeny ; 
And thrise did lay his hand upon his 

sword. 
To have him slaine, or dearely doen aby : 
But Guyon did his choler pacify, 
Saying, ' Sir knight, it would dishonour 

bee 
To you that are our judge of equity. 
To wreake your wrath on such a carle as 

hee: 
It's punishment enough that all his shame 

doe see.' 

XXXVII. 

So did he mitigate Sir Artegall ; 
But Talus by the backe the boaster hent, 
And drawing him out of the open hall 
Upon him did inflict this punishment : 
First he his beard did shave, and fowly 

shent, 
Then from him reft his shield, and it ren- 

verst. 
And blotted out his armes with falshood 

blent. 
And himselfe baffuld, and his armes un- 

herst, 
And broke his sword in twaine, and all his 

armour sperst. 

XXXVIII. 

The whiles his guilef uU groome was fled 

away. 
But vaine it was to thinke from him to 

flie; 
Who overtaking him did disaray, 
And all his face deform'd with infamie. 
And out of court him scourged openly. 
So ought all fay tours that true knighthood 

shame, 
And armes dishonour with base villanie. 
From all brave knights be banisht with 

defame ; 
For oft their lewdnes blotteth good deserts 

with blame. 

XXXIX. 

Now when these counterfeits were thus 
uncased 



CANTO III.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



389 



Out of the fore-side of their forgerie, 
Aud in the sight of all men cleaue dis- 
graced, 
All gan to jest and gibe full merilie 
At the remembrance of their knaverie : 
Ladies can laugh at Ladies, Knights at 

Knights, 
To thinke with howgreat vauntof braverie 
He them abused through his subtill slights, 
Aud what a glorious shew he made in all 
their sights. 

XL. 

There leave we them in pleasure aud 
repast, 



Spending their jo^j-ous dayes and gladfuU 
nights. 

And taking usurie of time fore-past. 

With all deare delices and rare delights, 

Fit for such Ladies and such lovely 
knights; 

And turne we here to this faire furrowes 
end 

Our wearie yokes, to gather fresher 
sprights. 

That, when as time to Artegall shall 
tend, 

We on his first adventure may him for- 
ward send. 



CANTO IV. 

Artegall dealeth right betwixt 
Two brethren that doe strive : 

Saves Terpine from the gallow tree, 
Aud doth from death roprive. 



Whoso upon him selfe will take the skill 
True Justice unto people to divide. 
Had neede have mightie hands for to ful- 
fill 
That which he doth with righteous doome 

decide, 
And for to maister wrong and puissant 

pride : 
For value it is to deeme of things aright. 
And makes wrong doers justice to deride, 
Unlesse it be perform'd with dreadlesse 

might ; 
For powre is the right hand of Justice 
truly hight. 

II. 

Therefore whylome to knights of great 
emprise 
The charge of Justice given was in trust. 
That they might execute her judgements 

wise, 
And with their might beat downe licen- 
tious lust. 
Which proudly did impugne her sentence 

just: 
Whereof no braver president this day 
Remaines on earth, preserv'd from yron 

rust 
Of rude oblivion and long times decay, 
Then this of Artegall, which here we have 
to say. 

in. 

Wlio having lately left that lovely pay re, 
Enlincked fast in wedlockes loyall bond, 
Bold Marinell with Florimell the fayre. 
With whom great feast and goodly glee he 

fond. 
Departed from the Castle of the Strond 



To follow his adventures first intent, 
Which long agoe he taken had in bond : 
Ne wight with him for his assistance went, 
But that great yron groome, his gard and 
government. 



With whom, as he did passe by the sea 

shore, 
He chaunst to come whereas two comely 

Squires, 
Both brethren, whom one wombe together 

bore. 
But stirred up with different desires. 
Together strove, and kindled wrathfull 

fires: 
And them beside two seemely damzells 

stood, 
By all meanes seeking to ass wage their 

ires ; 
Now with faire words, but words did lit- 
tle good, 
Now with sharpe threats, but threats the 

more increast their mood. 



And there before them stood a Coffer 

strong 
Fast bound on every side with iron bands, 
But seeming to have suffred mickle 

wrong. 
Either by being wreckt uppon t'lie sands, 
Or being carried farre from forraine lands. 
Seem'd that for it these Squires at ods 

did fall. 
And bent against them selves their cruel I 

hands ; 
But evermore those Damzells did forestall 



390 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book v. 



Their furious encounter, and tlieir fierce- 
nesse pall. 

VI. 

But firmely fixt they M'^ere with dint of 

sword 
And battailes doubtf ull proofe their rights 

to try, 
Ne other end their fury would afford, 
But what to them Fortune would justify: 
So stood they both in readinesse thereby 
To joyne the coinbate with cruell intent, 
When Artegall, arriving happily, 
Did stay a while their greedy bickerment, 
Till he had questioned the cause of their 

dissent. 

VII. 

To whome the elder did this aunswere 
frame : 
' Then weete ye, Sir, that we two breth- 
ren be, 
To whom our sire, Milesio by name. 
Did equally bequeath his lands in fee. 
Two Ilands, which ye there before you 

see 
Not farre in sea; of which the one ap- 

peares 
But like a little Mount of small degree. 
Yet was as great and wide, ere many 

yeares, 
As that same other Isle, that greater 
bredth now beares. 



* But tract of time, that all things doth 

decay, 
And this devouring Sea, that naught doth 

spare, 
The most part of my land hath washt 

away. 
And throwne it up unto my brothers share : 
So his encreased, but mine did empaire. 
Before which time I lov'd, as was my lot. 
That further mayd, hight Philtera the 

faire. 
With whom a goodly doure I should have 

got. 
And should have joyned bene to her in 

wedlocks knot. 



' Then did my younger brother, Amidas, 
Love that same other Damzell, Lucy 

bright, 
To whom but little dowre allotted was : 
Her vertue was the dowre that did de- 
light. 
What better dowre can to a dame be hight ? 
But now, when Philtra saw my lands de- 
cay 



And former livelod fayle, she left me 

quight. 
And to my brother did ellope streight way ; 
Who, taking her frojn me, his owne love 

left astray. 

X. 

' She, seeing then her selfe forsaken so, 

Through dolorous despaire which she con- 
ceyved, 

Into the Sea her selfe did headlong throw. 

Thinking to have her griefe by death be- 
reaved : 

But see how much her purpose was de- 
ceaved ! 

Whilest thus, amidst the billowes beat- 
ing of her, 

Twixt life and death long to and fro she 
weaved. 

She chaunst unwares to light uppon this 
coffer, 

Which to her in that daunger hope of life 
did offer. 

XI. 

* The wretched mayd, that earstdesir'd 

to die, 
When as the paine of death she tasted had, 
And but halfe scene his ugly visnomie, 
Gan to repent that she had beene so mad 
For any death to chaunge life, though 

most bad : 
And catching hold of this Sea-beaten chest, 
(The lucky Pylot of her passage sad,) 
After long tossing in the seas distrest. 
Her weary barke at last uppon mine Isle 

did rest. 

XII. 

* Where I by chaunce then wandring on 

the shore 

Did her espy, and through my good en- 
devour 

From dreadfull mouth of death, which 
threatned sore 

Her to have swallow' d up, did helpe to 
save her. 

She then, in recompence of that great 
favour, 

Which I on her bestow^ed, bestowed on me 

The portion of that good which Fortune 
gave her. 

Together with her selfe in dowry free ; 

Both goodly portions, but of both the bet- 
ter she. 

XIII. 

' Yet in this coffer which she with her 
brought 

Great threasure sithence we did finde con- 
tained. 

Which as our owne we tooke, and so it 
thought ; 



CANTO IV.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



391 



But this same other Damzell since hath 

fained 
That to her selfe that threasure apper- 
tained ; 
And that she did transport the same by 

sea. 
To bring it to her husband new ordained, 
But suff red cruell shipwracke by the way : 
But whether it be so or no, I can not say. 

XIV. 

* But, whether it indeede be so or no, 
This doe I say, that what so good or ill 
Or God or Fortune unto me did throw, 
Not wronging any other by my will, 
I hold mine owne, and so will hold it still. 
And though my land he first did winne 

away. 
And then my love, (though now it little 

skill) 
Yet my good lucke he shall not likewise 

pray, 
But I will it defend whilst ever that I may.' 



So having sayd, the younger did ensew: 
* Full true it is what so about our land 
My brother here declared hath to you : 
But not for it this ods twixt us doth stand, 
But for this threasure throwne uppon his 

strand ; 
Which well I prove, as shall appeare by 

triall, 
To be this maides with whom I fastned 

hand. 
Known by good markes and perfect good 

espiall : 
Therefore it ought be rendred her without 

deniall. 

XVI. 

When they thus ended had, the Knight 

began : 

'Certes, your strife were easie to accord. 

Would ye remit it to some righteous man.' 

' Unto yourselfe,' said they, 'we give our 

word. 
To bide that judgement ye shall us afford.' 
' Then for assurance to my doome to 

stand. 
Under my foote let each lay downe his 

sword ; 
And then you shall my sentence under- 
stand.' 
So each of them layd downe his sword out 
of his hand. 

XVII. 

Then Artegall thus to the younger sayd : 
' Now tell me, Amidas, if that ye may. 
Your brothers land the which the sea hath 
layd 



Unto your part, and pluckt from his away. 
By what good right doe you withhold this 

day?' 
'What other right,' (quoth he) 'should 

you esteeme. 
But that the sea it to my share did lay ? ' 
' Your right is good,' (sayd he) ' and so I 

deeme. 
That what the sea unto you sent your 

own should seeme.' 

XVIII. 

Then turning to the elder thus he sayd : 
' Now, Bracidas, let this likewise be 

showne ; 
Your brothers threasure, which from him 

is strayd. 
Being the dowry of his wife well knowne. 
By what right doe you claime to be your 

owne ? ' 
' What other right,' (quoth he) ' should 

you esteeme, 
But that the sea hath it unto me throwne ? ' 
' Your right is good,' (sayd he) ' and so I 

deeme. 
That what the sea unto you sent your 

own should seeme. 

XIX. 

* For equall right in equall things doth 

stand ; 
For what the mighty Sea hath once pos- 

sest. 
And plucked quite from all possessors 

hand, 
Whether by rage of waves that never rest, 
Or else by wracke that wretches hath dis- 

trest, 
He may dispose by his imperiall might, 
As thing at randon left, to whom he list. 
So, Amidas, the land was yours first 

hight ; 
And so the threasure yours is, Bracidas, 

by right.' 

XX. 

When he his sentence thus pronounced 
had. 

Both Amidas and Philtra were displeased ; 

But Bracidas and Lucy were right glad, 

And on the threasure by that judgement 
seased. 

So was their discord by this doome ap- 
peased, 

And each one had his right. Then Arte- 
gall, 

When as their sharpe contention he had 
ceased, 

Departed on his way, as did befall. 

To follow his old quest, the which him 
forth did call. 



392 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book v. 



So as he travelled uppon the way, 
He chaunst to come, where happily he 

spide 
A rout of many peeple farre away ; 
To whom his course he hastily ai^plide, 
To weete the cause of their assemblauuce 

wide : 
To whom When he approched neare in 

sight, 
(An uncouth sight) he plainely then de- 

scride 
To he a troupe of women, warlike dight, 
With weapons in their hands as ready for 

to fight. 

XXII. 

And in the midst of them he saw a 

Knight, 
With both his hands behinde him pinnoed 

hard. 
And round about his necke an halter 

tight, 
And ready for the gallow-tree prepard : 
His face was covered, and his head was 

bar'd. 
That who he was uneath was to descry ; 
And with full heavy heart with them he 

far'd, 
Griev'd to the soule, and groning in- 
wardly, 
That he of womens hands so base a death 

should dy. 

xxin. 

But they, like tyrants mercilesse, the 
more 
Rejoyced at his miserable case, 
And him reviled, and reproched sore 
With bitter taunts and termes of vile dis- 
grace. 
Now when as Artegall, arriv'd in place. 
Did aske what cause brought that man to 

decay. 
They round about him gan to swarme 

apace, 
Meaning on him their cruell hands to lay. 
And to have wrought unwares some vil- 
lanous assay. 

xxiv. 

But he was soone aware of their ill 

minde. 
And drawing backe deceived their intent: 
Yet, though him selfe did shame on 

woman-kinde 
His mighty hand to shend, he Talus sent 
To wrecke on them their follies hardy- 

ment: 
Who with few sowces of his yron flale 
Dispersed all their troupe incontinent. 
And sent them home to tell a piteous tale 



Of their value prowesse turned to their 
proper bale. 



But that same wretched man, ordayued 

to die, 
They left behind them, glad to be so quit : 
Him Talus tooke out of perplexitie, 
And horrour of fowle death for Knight 

unfit, 
Who more then losse of life ydreaded it; 
And, him restoring unto living light, 
So brought unto his Lord, where he did 

sit 
Beholding all that womanish weake fight ; 
Whom soone as he beheld he knew, and 

thus behight : 



* Sir Turpine ! haplesse man, what make 

you here ? 

Or have you lost your selfe and your dis- 
cretion. 

That ever in this wretched case ye were ? 

Or have ye yeelded you to proude op- 
pression 

Of womens powre, that boast of mens 
subjection ? 

Or else what other deadly dismall day 

Is falne on you by heavens hard direc- 
tion 

That ye were runne so fondly far astray 

As for to lead your selfe unto your owne 
decay ? ' 

XXVII. 

Much was the man confounded in his 

mind. 
Partly with shame, and partly with dis- 
may, 
That all astonisht he him selfe did find. 
And little had for his excuse to say. 
But onely thus : * Most haplesse well ye 

may 
Me justly terme, that to this shame am 

brought. 
And made the scorne of Knighthod this 

same day : 
But who can scape what his owne fate 

hath wrought ? 
The worke of heavens will surpasseth 

humane thought.' 

xxvni. 

* Right true : but faulty men use often- 

times 
To attribute their folly unto fate, 
And lay on heaven the guilt of their owne 

crimes. 
But tell, Sir Terpin ne let you amate 
Your misery, how fell ye in this state ? * 



CANTO IV.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



393 



' Then sith ye needs ' (quoth he) ' will 

know my shame, 
And all the ill which chaunst to me of 

late, 
I shortly will to you rehearse the same, 
In hope ye will not turne misfortune to 

my blame. 

XXIX. 

* Being desirous (as all Knights are 

woont) 
Through hard adventures deedes of armes 

to try. 
And after fame and honour for to hunt, 
I heard report that farre abrode did fly. 
That a proud Amazon did late defy 
All the brave Knights that hold of 

Maidenhead, 
And unto them wrought all the villany 
That she could forge in her malicious 

head. 
Which some hath put to shame, and 

many done be dead. 



' The cause, they say, of this her cruell 

hate 
Is for the sake of Bellodant the bold. 
To whom she bore most fervent love of 

late, 
And, wooed him by all the wales she 

could : 
But when she saw at last that he ne 

would 
For ought or nought be wonne unto 

her will. 
She turn'd her love to hatred manifold, 
And for his sake vow'd to doe all the ill 
Which she could doe to Knights ; which 

now she doth fulfill. 



* For all those Knights, the which by 

force or guile 

She doth subdue, she fowly doth entreate. 

First, she doth them of warlike armes 
despoile, 

And cloth in womens weedes : And then 
with threat 

Doth them compell to worke, to earne 
their meat, 

To spin, to card, to sew, to wash, to 
wring ; 

Ne doth she give them other thing to eat 

But bread and water or like feeble thing. 

Them to disable from revenge adventur- 
ing. 

XXXII. 

* But if through stout disdaine of manly 

mind 
Any her proud observaunce will withstand , 



Uppon that gibbet, which is there be- 
hind, 
She causeth them be hang'd up out of 

hand; 
In which condition I right now did stand ; 
For, being overcome by her in fight, 
And put to that base service of her band, 
I rather chose to die in lives despight, 
Then lead that shamefull life, unworthy of 
a Knight.' 

XXXIII. 

* How hight that Amazon ? ' (sayd Arte- 

gall) 
' And where and how far hence does she 

abide?' 
' Her name ' (quoth he) ' they Radigund 

doe call, 
A Princesse of great powre and greater 

pride. 
And Queene of Amazons, in armes well 

tride 
And sundry battels, which she hath 

atchieved 
With great successe, that her hath 

glorifide, 
And made her famous, more then is 

believed ; 
Ne would I it have ween'd, had I not late 

it prieved.' 

XXXIV. 

' Now sure,' (said he) * and by the faith 

that I 
To Maydenhead and noble knighthood 

owe, 
I will not rest till I her might doe trie. 
And venge the shame that she to Knights 

doth show. 
Therefore, Sir Terpin, from you lightly 

throw 
This squalid weede, the patterne of dis- 

paire. 
And wend with me, that ye may see and 

know 
How Fortune will your ruin'd name re- 

paire 
And knights of Maidenhead, whose praise 

she would empaire.' 

XXXV. 

With that, like one that hopelesse was 

depryv'd 
From deathes dore at which he lately lay. 
Those yron fetters wherewith he was 

gyv'd. 
The badges of reproch, he threw away, 
And nimbly did him dight to guide the 

way 
Unto the dwelling of that Amazone: 
Which was from thence not past a mile or 

tway. 



394 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book v. 



A goodly citty and a mighty one, 
The which, of her owne name, she called 
Radegone. 

XXXVI. 

Where they arriving by the watchman 

were 
Descried streight; who all the city 

warned 
How that three warlike persons did 

appeare, 
Of which the one him seem'd a Knight all 

armed, 
And th' other two well likely to have 

harmed. 
Eftsoones the people all to harnesse ran, 
And like a sort of Bees in clusters 

swarmed : 
Erelong their Queene her selfe, halfe like 

a man, 
Came forth into the rout, and them 

t' array began. 

XXXVII. 

And now the Eaiights, being arrived 

neare. 
Did beat uppon the gates to enter in ; 
And at the Porter, skorning them so few, 
Threw many threats, if they the towne 

did win, 
To teare his flesh in peeces for his sin : 
Which when as Radigund there comming 

heard. 
Her heart for rage did grate, and teeth 

did grin. 
She bad that streight the gates should be 

unbard, 
And to them way to make with weapons 

well prepard. 



Soone as the gates were open to them 

set, 
They pressed forward, entraunce to have 

made ; 
But in the middle way they were ymet 
With a sharpe showre of arrowes, which 

them staid, 
And better bad advise, ere they assaid 
Unknowen perill of bold womens pride. 
Then all that rout uppon them rudely 

laid. 
And heaped strokes so fast on every side. 
And arrowes haild so thicke, that they 

could not abide. 



But Radigund her selfe, when she es- 
pide 
Sir Terpin, from her direfuU doome 
acquit, 



So cruell doale amongst her maides 
divide 

T' avenge that shame they did on him 
commit. 

All sodainely enfiam'd with furious fit 

Like a fell Lionesse at him she flew. 

And on his head-peece him so fiercely 
smit. 

That to the ground him quite she over- 
threw, 

Dismayd so with the stroke that he no 
colours knew. 

XL. 

Soone as she saw him on the ground to 

grovel]. 
She lightly to him leapt; and in his 

necke 
Her proud foote setting, at his head did 

levell, 
Weening at once her wrath on him to 

wreake 
And his contempt, that did her judg'ment 

breake. 
As when a Beare hath seiz'd her cruell 

clawes 
Uppon the carkasse of some beast too 

weake. 
Proudly stands over, and a while doth 

pause 
To heare the piteous beast pleading her 

plaintiff e cause. 



Whom when as Artegall in that distresse 
By chaunce beheld, he left the bloudy 

slaughter 
In which he swam, and ranne to his re- 

dresse : 
There her assayling fiercely fresh, he 

raught her 
Such an huge stroke, that it of sence dis- 
traught her ; 
And had she not it warded warily, 
It had depriv'd her mother of a daughter : 
Nathlesse for all the powre she did apply 
It made her stagger oft, and stare with 
ghastly eye. 

XLII. 

Like to an Eagle, in his kingly pride 
Soring through his wide Empire of the 

aire 
To weather his brode sailes, by chaunce 

hath spide 
A Goshauke, which hath seized for her 

share 
Uppon some fowle that should her feast 

prepare ; 
With dreadfull force he flies at her by live, 



CANTO IV.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



395 



That with his souce, which none endureu 

dare, 
Her from the quarrey he away doth drive, 
And from her griping pounce the greedy 

prey doth rive. 

xxni. 

But, sooue as she her sence recover'd 

had, 
She fiercely towards him her selfe gan 

dight. 
Through vengeful wrath and sdeignfull 

pride half mad ; 
For never had she suff red such despight : 
But ere she could joj'ue hand with him to 

fight, 
Her warlike maides about her flockt so 

fast, 
That they disparted them, maugre their 

might, 
And with their troupes did far asunder 

cast; 
But moDgst the rest the fight did untill 

evening last. 

XLIV. 

And every while that mighty yron man 
With his strange weapon, never wont in 

warre. 
Them sorely vext, and courst, and over- 
ran, 
And broke their bowes, and did their 

shooting marre. 
That none of all the many once did darre 
Him to assault, nor once approach him 

nie; 
But like a sort of sheepe dispersed farre 
For dread of their devouring enemie, 
Through all the fields and vallies did before 
him file. 

XLV. 

But when as dales faire shinie-beame, 

yclowded 
With fearefull shadowes of deformed 

night, 
Warn'd'man and beast in quiet rest be 

shrowded, 
Bold Radigund with sound of trumpe on 

hight, 
Causd all her people to surcease from 

fight: 
And gathering them unto her citties gate, 
]Made them all enter in before her sight ; 
And all the wounded, and the weake in 

state. 
To be convayed in, ere she would once 

retrate. 

XL VI. 



When thus the field 
away. 



was voided all 



And all things quieted, the Elfin Knight, 
Weary of toile and travell of that day, 
Causd his pavilion to be richly pight 
Before the city gate, in open sight; 
Where he him selfe did rest in safety 
Together with Sir Terpin all that night : 
But Talus usde, in times of jeopardy, 
To keepe a nightly watch for dread of 
treachery. 



But Radigund, full of heart-gnawing 
griefe 
For the rebuke which she sustain'd that 

day. 
Could take no rest, ne would receive re- 
lief e ; 
But tossed in her troublous minde what 

way 
She mote revenge that blot which on her 

lay. 
There she resolv'd her selfe in single fight 
To try her Fortune, and his force assay, 
Rather then see her peoj)le spoiled quight. 
As she had scene that day, a disaven'ter- 
ous sight. 

. xLvni. 

^She called forth to her a trusty mayd, 
ni\Tiom she thought fittest for that busi- 

nesse ; 
Her name was Clarin, and thus to her 

sayd : 
' Goe, damzell, quickly, doe thy selfe ad- 

dresse 
To doe the message which I shall expresse. 
Goe thou unto that stranger Faery Knight, 
Who yeester day drove us to such dis- 

tresse : 
Tell, that to morrow I with him wil fight, 
And try in equall field whether hath 

greater might. 



'But these conditions doe to him pro- 
pound : 
That if I vanquishe him, he shall obay 
My law, and ever to my lore be bound ; 
And so will I, if me he vanquish may, 
"What ever he shall like to doe or say. 
Goe streight, and take with thee to wit- 

nesse it 
Sixe of thy fellowes of the best array, 
And beare with you both wine and jun- 

cates fit. 
And bid him eate : henceforth he oft shall 
hungry sit.' 

L. 

The Damzell streight obayd, and put- 
ting all 



396 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book v. 



In readinesse, forth to the Towne-gate 

went ; 
Where, sounding loud a Trumpet from the 

wall, 
Unto those warlike Knights she warning 

sent. 
Then Talus forth issuing from the 

tent 
Unto the wall his way did fearelesse 

take, 
To weeten what that trumpets sounding 

ment : 
Where that same Damzell lowdly him be- 
spake. 
And shew'd that with his Lord she would 

emparlaunce make. 



So he them streight conducted to his Lord ; 
Who, as he could, them goodly well did 

greete, 
Till they had told their message word by 

word : 
Which he accepting well, ashe could weete. 
Them fairely entertaynd with curt'sies 

meete. 
And gave them gifts and things of deare 

delight. 
So backe againe they homeward turnd 

their feete ; 
But Artegall him selfe to rest did dight, 
That he mote fresher be against the next 

dales fight. 



CANTO V. 

Artegall lights with Kadigund, 
And is subdewd by guile : 

He is by her imprisoned, 
But wrought by Clarins wile. 



So soone as day forth dawning from the 
East 

Nights humid curtaine from the heavens 
withdrew, 

And earely calling forth both man and 
beast 

Comaunded them their daily workes re- 
new, 

These noble warriors, mindef ull to pursew 

The last dales purpose of their vowed 
fight. 

Them selves thereto preparde in order 
dew; 

The Knight, as best was seeming for a 
Knight, 

And th' Amazon, as best it likt her selfe 
to dight? 

II. 
All in a Camis light of purple silke 

Woven uppon with silver, subtly wrought. 

And quilted uppon sattin white as milke ; 

Trayled with ribbands diversly dis- 
traught. 

Like as the workeman had their courses 
taught ; 

Which was short tucked for light motion 

Up to her ham ; but, when "she list, it 
raught 

Downe to her lowest heele; and there- 
uppon 

She wore for her defence a mayled haber- 
geon. 

III. 
And on her legs she painted buskins 
wore, 



Basted with bends of gold on every side, 
And mailes betweene, and laced close 

afore ; 
Uppon her thigh her Cemitare was tide 
With an embrodered belt of mickell pride ; 
And on her shoulder hung her shield, be- 

deckt 
Uppon the bosse with stones that shined 

wide. 
As the faire Moone in her most full aspect 
That to the Moone it mote be like in each 

respect. 

IV. 

So forth she came out of the citty gate 
With stately port and proud magnificence, 
Guarded with many Damzels that did 

waite 
Uppon her person for her sure defence. 
Playing on shaumes and trumpets, that 

from hence 
Their sound did reach unto the heavens 

bight : 
So forth into the field she marched thence. 
Where was a rich Pavilion ready pight 
Her to receive, till time they should begin 

the fight. 

V. 

Then forth came Artegall out of his tent, 
All arm'd to point, and first the Lists did 

enter : 
Soone after eke came she, with fell intent 
And countenaunce fierce, as having fully 

bent her 
That battells utmost triall to adventer. 
The Lists were closed fast, to barre the 

rout 



CANTO v.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



397 



From rudelj^ pressing to the middle center ; 
Which in great heapes them circled all 

about, 
Wayting how Fortune would resolve that 

dauugerous dout. 



The Trumpets sounded, and the field 

began ; 
With bitter strokes it both began and 

ended. 
She at the first encounter on him ran 
With furious rage, as if she had intended 
Out of his breast the very heart have 

rended : 
But he, that had like tempests often tride. 
From that first flaw him selfe right well 

defended. 
The more she rag'd, the more he did 

abide ; 
She hewd, she foynd, she lasht, she laid 

on every side. 

vu. 
Yet still her blowes he bore, and her for- 
bore, 
W^eening at last to win advantage new ; 
Yet still her crueltie increased more, 
And, though powre faild, her courage did 

accrew ; 
Which fayling, he gan fiercely her pur- 
sew. 
Like as a Smith that to his cunning feat 
The stubborne mettall seeketh to subdew, 
Soone as he feeles it mollifide with heat, 
SVith his great yron sledge doth strongly 
on it beat. 

vm. 

So did Sir Artegall upon her lay, 
As if she had an yron andvile beene, 
That flakes of fire, bright as the sunny 

ray, 
Out of her steely armes were flashing 

seene. 
That all on fire ye would her surely 

weene ; 
But with her shield so well her selfe she 

warded 
From the dread daunger of his weapon 

keene. 
That all that while her life she safely 

garded ; 
But he that helpe from her against her 

will discarded. 

IX. 

For with his trenchant blade at the 
next blow 
Halfe of her shield he shared quite away. 
That halfe her side it selfe did naked show. 



And thenceforth unto daunger opened 

way. 
Much was she moved with the mightie 

sway 
Of that sad stroke, that halfe enrag'd she 

grew. 
And, like a greedie Beare unto her pray, 
With her sliarpe Cemitare at him she flew, 
That glauncing downe his thigh the purple 

bloud forth drew. 



Thereat she gan to triumph with great 

boast. 
And to upbrayd that chaunce which him 

misfell. 
As if the prize she gotten had almost. 
With spightfull speaches, fitting with her 

weh ; 
That his great hart gan inwardly to swell 
AVith indignation at her vaunting vaine, 
And at her strooke with puissauuce feare- 

full fell: 
Yet with her shield she warded it againe, 
That shattered all to peeces round about 

the plaine. 

XI. 

Having her thus disarmed of her shield, 
Upon her helmet he againe her strooke. 
That downe she fell upon the grassie 

field 
In sencelesse swoune, as if her life for- 

sooke, 
And pangs of death her spirit overtooke. 
Whom when he saw before his foote pros- 
trated. 
He to her lept with deadly dreadfull 

looke. 
And her sunshynie helmet soone unlaced, 
Thinking at once both head and helmet 
to have raced. 

XII. 

But, when as he discovered had her 

face. 
He saw, his senses straunge astonishment, 
A miracle of natures goodly grace 
In her faire visage voide of ornament, 
But bath'd in blond and sweat together 

ment ; 
\Miich in the rudenesse of that evill 

plight 
Bewrayd the signes of feature excellent : 
Like as the Moone in foggie winters night 
Doth seeme to be her selfe, though 

darkued be her light. 



At sight thereof his crnell minded hart 
Erapierced was with pittifull regard, 



39S 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book V 



Tliat his sharpe sword he threw from him 

apart, 
Cursing his hand that had that visage 

mard : 
No hand so cruell, nor no hart so hard, 
But ruth of beautie will it mollifie. 
By this, upstarting from her swoime, she 

star'd 
A while about her with confused eye ; 
Like one that from his dreame is waked 

suddenlye. 

XIV. 

Soone as the knight she there by her 

did spy 
Standing with emptie hands all weapon- 

lesse, 
With fresh assault upon him she did fly, 
And gan renew her former cruelnesse : 
And though he still retyr'd, yet nathelesse 
With huge redoubled strokes she on him 

layd; 
And more increast her outrage mercilesse, 
The more that he with meeke intreatie 

prayd 
Her wrathful hand from greedy vengeance 

to have stayd. 



Like as a Puttocke having spyde in 

sight 
A gentle Faulcon sitting on an hill, 
Whose other wing, now made unmeete 

for flight, 
Was lately broken by some fortune ill ; 
The foolish Kyte, led with licentious will, 
Doth beat upon the gentle bird in vaine, 
With many idle stoups her troubling still : 
Even so did Radigund with bootlesse 

paine 
Annoy this noble Knight, and sorely him 

constraine. 

XVI. 

Nought could he do but shun the dred 

despight 
Of her fierce wrath, and backward still 

retyre ; 
And with his single shield, well as he 

might, 
Beare off the burden of her raging yre : 
And evermore he gently did desyre 
To stay her stroks, and he himselfe would 

yield ; 
Yet nould she hearke, ne let him once 

respyre. 
Till he to her delivered had his shield, 
And to her mercie him submitted in plain e 

field. 

XVII. 

So was he overcome ; not overcome, 
But to her yeelded of his owne accord ; 



Yet w^as he justly damned by the doome 
Of his owne mouth, that spake so ware- 

lesse word, 
To be her thrall and service her afford : 
For though that he first victorie obtayned, 
Yet after, by abandoning his sword, 
He wilf ull lost that he before attayned : 
No fayrer conquest then that with good- 
will is gayned. 



Tho with her sword on him she flatliug 

strooke. 
In signe of true subjection to her powre, 
And as her vassall him to thraldome 

tooke : 
But Terpine, borne to' a more imhappy 

howre. 
As he on whom the lucklesse stars did 

lowre, 
She caused to be attacht, and forthwith 

led 
Unto the crooke, t' abide the baleful! 

stowre 
From which he lately had through reskew 

fled: 
Where he full shamefully was hanged by 

the bed. 

xrx. 

But when they thought on Talus hands 

to lay. 
He with his yron flaile amongst them 

thondred. 
That they were fayne to let him scape 

away, 
Glad from his companie to be so sondred ; 
Whose presence all their troups so much 

encombred, 
That th' heapes of those which he did 

wound and slay, 
Besides the rest dismayd, might not be 

nombred : 
Yet all that while he would not once as- 
say 
To reskew his owne Lord, but thought it 

just t' obay. 



Then tooke the Amazon this noble 

knight, 
Left to her will by his owne wilf ull blame. 
And caused him to be disarmed quiglit 
Of all the ornaments of knightly name. 
With which whylome he gotten had great 

fame: 
Instead whereof she made him to be dight 
In womans weeds, that is to manhood 

shame. 
And put before his lap a napron white, 
Instead of Curiets and bases fit for fight. 



CANTO v.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



399 



So being clad she brought him from the 

field, 
In which he had bene trayned many a 

day, 
Into a long large chamber, which was 

sield 
With moninients of many Kiiights decay, 
By her subdewed in victorious fray : 
Amongst the which she causd his warlike 

armes 
Be hang'd on high, that mote his shame 

bewray ; 
And broke his sword, for feare of further 

harmes, 
With which he wont to stirre up battail- 
ous alarmes. 

XXII. 

There entred in he round about him saw 
Many brave knights, whose names right 

well he knew. 
There bound t' obay that Amazons proud 

law. 
Spinning and carding all in comely rew. 
That his bigge hart loth'd so uncomely 

vew: 
But they were forst, through penurie and 

pyne, 
To doe those workes to them appointed 

dew; 
For nought was given them to sup or 

dyne, 
But what their hands could earne by 

twisting linnen twyne. 

XXIII. 

Amongst them all she placed him most 
low, 
And in his hand a distaff e to him gave, 
That he thereon should spin both flax and 

tow; 
A sordid office for a mind so brave : 
So hard it is to be a womans slave. 
Yet he it tooke in his owne selfes despight, 
And thereto did himselfe right well be- 
have 
Her to obay, sith he his faith had plight 
Her vassall to become, if she him wonne 
in fight. 

XXIV. 

Who had him scene imagine mote there- 
by 
That whylome hath of Hercules bene told, 
How for lolas sake he did apply 
His mightie hands the distaffe vile to hold 
For his huge club, which had subdew'd of 

old 
So many monsters which the world an- 
noyed. 



His Lyons skin chaungd to a pall of gold. 
In which, forgetting warres, he onely 

joyed 
In combats of sweet love, and with his 

mistresse toyed. 



Such is the crueltie of womenkynd. 
When they have shaken off the shamefast 

band, 
With which wise Nature did them strongly 

bynd 
T' obay the beasts of mans well-ruling 

hand. 
That then all rule and reason they with- 
stand 
To purchase a. licentious libertie : 
But vertuous women wisely understand. 
That they were borne to base humilitie, 
Unlesse the heavens them lift to lawf ull 
soveraintie. 



Thus there long while continu'd Artegall, 
Serving proud Radigund with true sub- 
jection. 
How ever it his noble heart did gall 
T' obay a womans tyrannous direction. 
That might have had of life or death 

election : 
But, having chosen, now he might not 

chaunge. 
During which time the warlike Amazon, 
Whose wandring fancie after lust did 

raunge, 
Gan cast a secret liking to this captive 
straunge. 

XXVII. 

Which long concealing in h er covert bres t, 
She chaw'd the cud of lover's carefull 

plight ; 
Yet could it not so thoroughly digest, 
Being fast fixed in her wovinded spright. 
But it tormented her both day and night : 
Yet would she not thereto yeeld free 

accord 
To serve the lowly vassall of her might. 
And of her servant make her soverayne 

Lord: 
So great her pride that she such basenesse 

much abhord . 

xxvin. 
So much the greater still her anguish 
grew. 
Through stubborne handling of her love- 

sicke hart ; 
And still the more she strove it to subdew, 
The more she still augmented her owne 
smart. 



400 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book v. 



And wyder made the wound of th' hiddeu 
dart. 

At last, when long she struggled had in 
vaine, 

She gan to stoupe, and her proud mind 
convert 

To meekeobeysance of loves migh tie raine, 

And him entreat for grace that had pro- 
cur 'd her paiue. 



Unto her selfe in secret she did call 
Her nearest handmayd, whom she most 

did trust, 
And to her said : ' Clarinda, whom of all 
I trust alive, sith I thee fostred first, 
Now is the time that I untimely must 
Thereof make tryall in my greatest need. 
It is so hapned that the heavens unjust, 
Spighting my happie freedome, have 

agreed 
To thrall my looser life, or my last bale 

to breed.' 

XXX. 

With that she turn'd her head, as halfe 
abashed, 

To hide the blush which in her visage rose 

And through her eyes like sudden light- 
ning flashed. 

Decking her cheeke with a vermilion rose ; 

But soone she did her countenance com- 
pose, 

And to her turning thus began againe : 

' This grief es deepe wound I would to thee 
disclose, 

Thereto comj)elled through hart-murdring 
paiue ; 

But dread of shame my doubtfull lips doth 
still restrained 



' Ah! my deare dread,' (said then the 

faithf ull Mayd) 
' Can dread of ought your dreadlesse hart 

withhold. 
That many hath with dread of death dis- 

mayd, 
And dare even deathes most dreadfull face 

behold ? 
Say on, my soverayne Ladie, and be bold : 
Doth not your handmayds life at your 

foot lie ? ' 
Therewith much comforted she gan unfold 
The cause of her conceived maladie, 
As one that would confesse, yet faine 

would it denie. 



Clarin,' (said she) 
Fayry Knight, 



thou seest yond 



Whom not my valour, but his owne brave 

mind 
Subjected hath to my unequall might. 
What right is it, that he should thraldoms 

find 
For lending life to me, a wretch unkind, 
That for such good him recompence with 

ill? 
Therefore I cast how I may him unbind, 
And by his freedome get his free goodwill ; 
Yet so, as bound to me he may continue 

still : 

xxxni. 

* Bound unto me but not with such hard 
bands 
Of strong compulsion and streight 

violence, 
As now in miserable state he stands ; 
But with sweet love and sure benevolence, 
Voide of malitious miud or f oule offence : 
To which if thou canst win him any way 
Without discoverie of my thoughts pre- 
tence, 
Both goodly meede of him it purchase 

may. 
And eke with gratefull service me right 
well apay. 



' Which that thou mayst the better bring 
to pas, 
Loe ! here this ring, which shall thy war- 
rant bee, 
And token true to old Eumenias, 
From time to time, when thou it best 

shalt see. 
That in and out thou mayst have passage 

free. 
Goe now, Clarinda; well thy wits advise, 
And all thy forces gather unto thee. 
Armies of lovely lookes, and speeches wise, 
With which thou canst even Jove himselfe 
to love entise.' 

xxxv. 

The trustie Mayd, conceiving her intent, 

Did with sure promise of her good en- 
devour 

Give her great comfort and some harts 
content. 

So, from her parting, she thenceforth did 
labour 

By all the meanes she might to curry 
favour 

With th' Elfin Knight, her Ladies best 
beloved : 

With daily shew of courteous kind be- 
haviour. 

Even at the marke-white of his hart she 
roved, 



CANTO v.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



401 



And with wide-glauucing words one day 
she thus him proved. 



'Unhappie Knight! upon whose hope- 

lesse state 
Fortune, envying good, 'hath felly 

frowned, 
And cruell heavens have heapt an heavy 

fate ; 
I rew that thus thy better dayes are 

drowned 
In saddespaire, and all thy senses swowned 
In stupid sorow, sith thy juster merit 
Might else have with felicitie bene 

ci'owued : 
Looke up at last, and wake thy dulled 

spirit 
To thinke how this long death thou might- 

est disinherit.' 

XXXVII. 

Much did he marvell at her uncouth 

speach, 
Whose hidden drift he could not well per- 
ceive ; 
And gan to doubt least she him sought t' 

appeach 
Of treason, or some guilefull traine did 

weave. 
Through which she might his wretched 

life bereave. 
Both which to barre he with this answere 

met her : 
' Faire Damzell, that with ruth (as I per- 

ceave) 
Of my mishaps art mov'd to wish me 

better, 
For such your kind regard I can but rest 

your detter. 

xxxvni, 
' Yet, weet ye well, that to a courage 
great 

It is no lesse beseeming well to beare 

The storme of fortunes frowne or heavens 
threat. 

Then in the sunshine of her countenance 
cleare 

Timely to joy and carrie comely cheare : 

For though this cloud have now me over- 
cast. 

Yet doe I not of better times despeyre ; 

And though (unlike) they should for ever 
last, 

Yet in my truthes assurance I rest fixed 
fast.' 

XXXIX. 

* But what so stonie minde,' (she then 
replyde) 



' But if in his owne powre occasion lay, 
Would to his hope a wiudowe open wj^de, 
And to his fortunes helpe make readie 

way? ' 
* Unworthy sure ' (quoth he) * of better 

day. 
That will not take the offer of good hope. 
And eke purse w, if he attaine it may.' 
Which speaches she applying to the scope 
Of her intent, this further purpose to him 

shope. 

XL. 

' Then why doest not, thou ill advized 

man, 
Make meanes to win thy libertie forlorne. 
And try if thou by faire eutreatie can 
Move Radigund? who, though she still 

have worne 
Her dayes in warre, yet (weet thou) was 

not borne 
Of Beares and Tygres, nor so salvage 

mynded 
As that, albe all love of men she scorne. 
She yet forgets that she of men was 

kynded : 
And sooth oft scene, that proudest harts 

base love hath blynded.' 



' Certes, Clarinda, not of cancred will,' 
(Saydhe) ' nor obstinate disdainefull mind, 
I have forbore this duetie to fulfill ; 
For well I may this weene by that t fynd, 
That she a Queene, and come of Priucely 

kynd. 
Both worthie is for to be sewd unto, 
Chiefely by him whose life her law doth 

bynd. 
And eke of powre her owne doome to undo, 
And als' of princely grace to be iuclyn'd 

thereto. 

XLII. 

' But want of meanes hath bene mine 
onely let 
From seeking favour where it doth 

abound ; 
^Vhich if I might by your good oflice get, 
I to your selfe should rest for ever bound, 
And readie to deserve what grace I found.' 
She feeling him thus bite upon the bayt, 
Yet doubting least his hold was but un- 
sound 
And not well fastened, would not strike 

him stray t, 
But drew him on with hope fit leasure to 
awayt. 

XLni. 
But, foolish Mayd ! whyles heedlesse of 
the hooke 
She thus oft times was beating off and on^ 



402 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book v. 



Through slipperie footing fell iuto the 

brooke, 
And there was caught to her confusion : 
For, seeking thus to salve the Amazon, 
She wounded was with her deceipts owne 

dart. 
And gan thenceforth to cast affection, 
Conceived close in her beguiled hart, 
To Artegall, through pittie of his cause- 

lesse smart. 



Yet durst she not disclose her fancies 
wound, 
Ne to himself e, for doubt of being sdayned, 
Ne yet to any other wight on ground. 
For feare her mistresse shold have knowl- 
edge gayned ; 
But to her selfe it secretly retayned 
Within the closet of her covert brest, 
The more thereby her tender hart was 

payned ; 
Yet to awayt fit time she weened best, 
And f airely did dissemble her sad thoughts 
unrest. 

XLV. 

One day her Ladie, calling her apart, 
Gan to demaund of her some tydings good. 
Touching her loves successe, her lingring 

smart. 
Therewith she gan at first to change her 

mood, 
As one adaw'd, and halfe confused stood; 
But quickly she it overpast, so sooue 
As she her face had wypt to fresh her 

blood : 
Tho gan she tell her all that she had donne. 
And all the wayes she sought his love for 

to have wonne : 



But sayd that he was obstinate and 

Sterne, 
Scorning her offers and conditions vaine ; 
Ne would be taught with any terms to 

lerne 
So fond a lesson as to love againe : 
Die rather would he in penurious paine, 
And his abridged dayes in dolour wast. 
Then his foes love or liking entertaine. 
His resolution was, both first and last, 
His bodie was her thrall, his hart was 

freely plast. 

XLvn. 

Which when the cruell Amazon per- 
ceived. 

She gan to storme, and rage, and rend her 
gall. 

For very fell despight which she conceived. 



To be so scorned of a base-borne thrall, 
Whose life did lie in her least eye-lids fall ; 
Of which she vow'd, with many a cursed 

threat, 
That she therefore would him ere long f or- 

stall. 
Nathlesse, when calmed was her furious 

heat, 
She chang'd that threatfull mood, and 

mildly gan entreat: 

XLVIII. 

* What now is left, Clarinda ? what re- 

maines. 
That we may compasse this our enter- 
prize ? 
Great shame to lose so long employed 

paines. 
And greater shame t' abide so great mis- 
prize, 
With which he dares our offers thus de- 

spize : 
Yet that his guilt the greater may appeare, 
And more my gratious mercie by this wize, 
I will a while with his first folly beare, 
Till thou have tride againe, and tempted 
him more neare. 

XLIX. 

* Say and do all that may thereto pre- 

vail e ; 
Leave nought unpromist that may him 

perswade, 
Life, freedome, grace, and gifts of great 

availe. 
With which the Gods themselves are 

mylder made : 
Thereto adde art, even womens witty 

trade, 
The art of mightie words that men can 

charm e ; 
With which in case thou canst him not in- 
vade, 
Let him feele hardnesse of thy heavie 

arme: 
Who will not stoupe with good shall be 

made stoupe with harme. 



' Some of his diet doe from him with- 
draw, 
For I him find to be too proudly fed : 
Give him more labour, and with streighter 

law, 
That he with worke may be forwearied : 
Let him lodge hard, and lie in strawen 

bed, 
That may pull downe the courage of his 

pride ; 
And lay upon him, for his greater dread, 



CANTO v.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



403 



Cold yron chaines with which let him be 

tide; 
And let what ever he desires be him deuide. 



'Wlieu thou hast all this doen, then 

bring me uewes 
Of his demeane: thenceforth not like a 

lover, 
But like a rebell stout, I will him use ; 
For I resolve this siege not to give over, 
Till I the conquest of my will recover.' 
So she departed full of grief e and sdaine. 
Which inly did to great impatience move 

her: 
But the false maydeu shortly turn'd againe 
Unto the prison , where her hart did thrall 

remaine. 

LII, 

There all her subtill nets she did unfold, 
And all the eugins of her wit display ; 
In M'hich she meant him warelesse to en- 
fold, 
And of his innocence to make her pray. 
So cunningly she wrought her crafts assay. 
That both her Ladie, and her selfe withall, 
And eke the knight attouce she did betray ; 
But most the knight, whom she with guile- 
full call 
Did cast for to allure into her trap to fall. 

LIII. 

As a bad Nurse, which, fayning to re- 
ceive 

In her owne mouth the food ment for her 
chyld, 

Withholdes it to her selfe, and doeth de- 
ceive 

The infant, so for want of nourture spoyld ; 

Even so Clarinda her owne Dame beguyld. 

And turn'd the trust which was in her 
affyde. 

To feeding of her private fire, which boyld 

Her inward brest, and in her entrayles 
fryde, 

The more that she it sought to cover and 
to hyde. 

LIV. 

For, comming to this knight, she pur- 
pose fajmed. 

How earnest suit she earst for him had 
made 

Unto her Queene, his freedome to have 
gayned, 



But by no meanes could her thereto per- 

swade ; 
But that instead thereof she sternely bade 
His miserie to be augmented more. 
And many yron bands on him to lade : 
All which nathlesse she for his love for- 
bore; 
So praying him t' accept her service ever- 
more. 

LV. 

And, more then that, she promist that 

she would, 
In case she might finde favour in his eye, 
Devize how to enlarge him out of hould. 
The Fayrie, glad to gaine his libertie. 
Can yeeld great thaukes for such her 

curtesie ; 
And with faire words, fit for the time and 

place, 
To feede the humour of her maladie, 
Promist, if she would free him from that 

case, 
He wold, by all good means he might, 

deserve such grace. 



So daily he faire semblant did her shew, 
Yet never meant he in his noble mind 
To his owne absent love to be untrew: 
Ne never did deceiptfull Clarin find 
In her false hart his bondage to unbind, 
But rather how she mote him faster tye. 
Therefore unto her mistresse most unkind 
She daily told her love he did defye ; 
And him she told her Dame his freedome 
did denye. 

LVII. 

Yet thus much friendship she to him did 
show, 

That his scarse diet somewhat was 
amended, 

And his worke lessened, that his love mote 
grow: 

Yet to her Dame him still she discom- 
mended. 

That she with him mote be the more of- 
fended. 

Thus he long while in thraldome there re- 
mayned. 

Of both beloved well, but litle frended, 

Untill his owne true love his freedome 
gayned : 

Which in an other Canto will be best con- 
tayned. 



404 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book v. 



CANTO VI. 

Talus brings newes to Britomart 

Of Artegals mishap : 
She goes to seeke him, Dolon meetes, 

Who seekes her to entrap. 



Some men, I wote, will deeme in Arte- 

gall 
Great weaknesse, and report of him much 

ill, 
For yeelding so himself e a wretched thrall 
To th' insolent commaund of womens will ; 
That all his former praise doth f owly spill : 
But he the man, that say or doe so dare, 
Be well adviz'd that he stand stedfast still ; 
For never yet was wight so well aware. 
But he, at first or last, was trapt in womens 

snare. 

II. 

Yet in the streightnesse of that captive 
state 
This gentle knight himselfe so well be- 
haved, 
That notwithstanding all the subtill bait 
With which those Amazons his love still 

craved. 
To his owne love his loialtie he saved : 
Whose character in th' Adamantine mould 
Of his true hart so firmely was engraved, 
That no new loves impression ever could 
Bereave it thence: such blot his honour 
blemish should. 



Yet his owne love, the noble Britomart, 
Scarse so conceived in her jealous thought, 
What time sad tydiugs of his balefuU 

smart 
In womans bondage Talus to her brought ; 
Brought in untimely houre, ere it was 

sought : 
For, after that the utmost date assynde 
For his returne she waited had for nought. 
She gan to cast in her misdoubtf nil mynde 
A thousand feares, that love-sicke fancies 

faine to fynde. 

IV. 

Sometime she feared least some hard 

mishap 
Had him misfalne in his adventurous 

quest ; 
Sometime least his false foe did him entrap 
In traytrous traine, or had unwares op- 

prest ; 
But most she did her troubled mynd molest, 



And secretly afflict with jealous feare. 
Least some new love had him from her 

possest : 
Yet loth she was, since she no ill did 

heare. 
To thinke of him so ill ; yet could she not 

forbeare. 

V. 

One while she blam'd her self e; another 

whyle 
She him condemn'd as trustlesse and un- 

trew ; 
And then, her griefe with errour to be- 

guyle, 
She fayn'd to count the time againe anew, 
As if before she had not counted trew : 
For houres, but dayes; for weekes that 

passed were. 
She told but moneths, to make them 

seeme more few ; 
Yet when she reckned them, still draw- 
ing neare. 
Each hour did seeme a moneth, and every 

moneth a yeare. 

VI. 

But when as yet she saw him not re- 
turne. 

She thought to send some one to seeke 
him out ; 

But none she found so fit to serve that 
turne. 

As her owne selfe, to ease her selfe of dout. 

Now she deviz'd, amongst the warlike 
rout 

Of errant Knights, to seeke her errant 
Kjiight ; 

And then againe resolv'd to hunt him out, 

Amongst loose Ladies lapped in delight : 

And then both Knights envide, and Lad- 
dies eke did spight. 



One day when as she long had sought 

for ease 
In every place, and every place thought 

best. 
Yet found no place that could her liking 

please, 
She to a window came that opened West, 
Towards which coast her love his way ad- 

drest : 



CANTO VI.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



405 



There looking forth, shee in her heart did 

find 
Many vaine fancies working her unrest ; 
And sent her winged thoughts, more swift 

then wind, 
To bcare unto her love the message of her 

mind. 

VIII. 

There as she looked long, at last she 
spide 
One comming towards her with hasty 



Well weeud she then, ere him she plaine 

descride. 
That it was one sent from her love in- 

deede ; 
Who when he nigh approcht, shee mote 

arede 
That it was Talus, Artegall his groome : 
Whereat her heart was fild with hope and 

drede ; 
Ne would she stay till he in place could 

come. 
But ran to meete him forth to know his 

tidings somme. 



Even in the dore him meeting, she be- 
gun: 

* And where is he thy Lord, and how far 
hence ? 

Declare at once: and hath he lost or 
wun?' 

The yron man, albe he wanted sence 

And sorrowes feeling, yet, with con- 
science 

Of his ill newes, did inly chill and 
quake, 

And stood still mute, as one in great sus- 
pence ; 

As if that by his silence he would make 

Her rather reade his meaning then him 
selfe it spake. 



Till she againe thus sayd: 'Talus, be 

bold, 
And tell what ever it be, good or bad, 
That from thy tongue thy hearts intent 

doth hold.' 
To whom he thus at length : ' The tidings 

sad. 
That I would hide, will needs, I see, be 

rad. 
My Lord, your love, by hard mishap doth 

lie 
In wretched bondage, wofully bestad.' 
'Ay me,' (quoth she) 'what wicked des- 

tiuie! 
And is he vanquisht by his tyrant enemy ? ' 



' Not by that Tyrant, his intended foe, 
But by a Tyrannesse,' (he then replide) 
' That him captived hath in haplesse woe.' 
' Cease, thou bad u ewes-man ! badly doest 

thou hide 
Thy maisters shame, in harlots bondage 

tide : 
The rest my selfe too readily can spell.' 
With that in rage she turn'd from him 

aside. 
Forcing in vaine the rest to her to tell ; 
And to her chamber went like solitary cell. 



There she began to make her monefull 

plaint 
Against her Knight for being so untrew; 
And him to touch with falshoods fowle 

attaint. 
That all his other honour overthrew. 
Olt did she blame her selfe, and often rew, 
For yeelding to a strauugers love so light. 
Whose life and manners straunge she 

never knew ; 
And evermore she did him sharpely twight 
For breach of faith to her, which he had 

firmely plight. 



And then she in her wrathfull will did 
cast 
How to revenge that blot of honour blent, 
To fight with him, and goodly die her last : 
And then againe she did her selfe tor- 
ment, 
Inflicting on her selfe his punishment. 
A while she walkt, and chauf t ; a while 

she threw 
Her selfe uppon her bed, and did lament : 
Yet did she not lament with loude alew, 
As women wont, but with deepe sighes 
and singults few. 

xrv. 

Like as a wayward childe, whose 

sounder sleepe 
Is broken with some fearefull dreames 

affright. 
With froward will doth set him selfe to 

weepe, 
Ne can be stild for all his nurses might. 
But kicks, and squals, and shriekes for 

fell despight ; 
Now scratching her, and her loose locks 

misusing. 
Now seeking darkenesse, and now seek- 
ing light. 
Then craving sucke, and then the sucke 

refusing : 



4o6 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book v. 



Such was this Ladies fit in her loves fond 
accusing. 

XV. 

But when she had with such unquiet fits 
Her selfe there close afflicted long in vaine, 
Yet found uo easement in her troubled 

wits, 
She unto Talus forth return'd againe, 
By change of place seeking to ease her 

paine ; 
And gan enquire of him with mylder mood 
The certaine cause of Artegals detaine, 
And what he did, and in what state he 

stood, 
And whether he did woo, or whether he 

were woo'd? 



* Ah wellaway ! ' (sayd then the yron 

man) 
* That he is not the while in state to woo ; 
But lies in wretched thraldome, weake 

and wan. 
Not by strong hand compelled thereunto, 
But his owne doome, that none can now 

undoo.' 
'Sayd I not then' (quoth shee), ' erwhile 

aright, 
That this is things compacte betwixt you 

two. 
Me to deceive of faith unto me plight, 
Since that he was not f orst, nor overcome 

in fight ? ' 

XVII. 

With that he gan at large to her dilate 
The whole discourse of his captivance sad. 
In sort as ye have heard the same of late : 
All which when she with hard enduraunce 

had 
Heard to the end, she was right sore be- 

stad. 
With sodaine stounds of wrath and griefe 

attone ; 
Ne would abide, till she had aunswere 

made, 
But streight her selfe did dight, and armor 

don, 
And mounting to her steede bade Talus 

guide her on. 



So forth she rode uppon her ready 

way. 
To seeke her Knight, as Talus her did 

guide. 
Sadly she rode, and never word did say 
Nor good nor bad, ne ever lookt aside, 
But still right downe ; and in her thought 

did hide 
The felnesse of her heart, right fully bent 



To fierce avengement of that womans 

pride, 
Which had her Lord in her base prison 

pent. 
And so great honour with so fowle re- 

proch had blent. 



So as she thus melancholicke did ride. 
Chawing the cud of griefe and inward 

paine. 
She chaunst to meete, toward the even- 
tide, 
A Knight that softly paced on the plaine, 
As if him selfe to solace he were f aine : 
Well shot in yeares he seem'd, and rather 

bent 
To peace then needlesse trouble to con- 

straine. 
As well by view of that his vestiment. 
As by his modest semblant that no evill 
ment. 

XX. 

He comming neare gan gently her sa- 
lute 

With curteous words, in the most comely 
wize; 

Who though desirous rather to rest mute, 

Then termes to entertaine of common 
guize. 

Yet rather then she kindnesse would de- 
spize, 

She would her selfe displease, so him re- 
quite. 

Then gan the other further to devize 

Of things abrode, as next to hand did 
light, 

And many things demaund, to which she 
answer'd light. 

XXI. 

For little lust had she to talke of ought, 
Or ought to heare that mote delightfull 

bee: 
Her minde was whole possessed of one 

thought. 
That gave none other place. Which when 

as hee 
By outward signes (as well he might) did ' 

see, 
He list no lenger to use lothfull speach. 
But her besought to take it well in gree, 
Sith shady dampe had dimd the heavens 

reach, 
To lodge with him that night, unles good 

cause empeach. 



The Championesse, now seeing night at 
dore. 



CANTO VI.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



407 



"Was glad to yeeld unto his good request, 
And With him weut without gaiue-saying 

more. 
Not farre away, but little wide by West, 
His dwelling was, to which he him ad- 

drest : 
Where sooue arriving they received were 
lu seemely wise, as fhem beseemed best : 
For he, their host, them goodly well did 

cheare, 
And talk't of pleasant things the night 

away to wears. 



Thus passing th' evening well, till time 

of rest. 
Then Britomart unto a bowre was brought, 
AVhere groomes awayted her to have un- 

drest ; 
But she ue would undressed be for ought, 
NedotTe her armes, though he her much 

besought : 
For she had vow'd, she sayd, not to forgo 
Those warlike weedes, till she revenge 

had wrought 
Of a late wrong uppon a mortall foe ; 
Which she would sure performe, betide 

her wele or wo, 

xxrv, 

"\^Tlich when their Host perceiv'd, right 

discontent 
In minde he grew, for feare least by that 

art 
He should his purpose misse, -which close 

he ment : 
Yet taking leave of her he did depart. 
There all that night remained Britomart, 
Restlesse, recomfortlesse, with heart deepe 

grieved, 
Nor suffering the least twinckling sleeps 

to start 
Into her eye, which th' heart mote have 

relieved ; 
But if the least appear'd, her eyes she 

streight reprieved : 

XXV. 

* Ye guilty eyes,' (sayd she) ' the which 

with guyls 
My heart at first betrayd, will ye betray 
!My life now too, for which a little whyfe 
Ye will not watch ? false watches, weila- 

way! 
I wote when ye did watch both night and 

day 
Unto your losse ; and now needes will ye 

sleepe ? 
Xow ye have made my heart to wake al- 

way. 



Now will ye sleepe ? ah ! wake, and rather 

weepe 
To thinke of your nights want, that 

should yee waking keepe.' 



Thus did she watch, and weare the 
weary night 
In waylfuU plaints that none was to ap- 
pease ; 
Now walking soft, now sitting still up- 
right, 
As sundry chaunge her seemed best to 

ease. 
Xe lesse did Talus suffer sleepe to seaze 
His eye-lids sad. but watoht continually. 
Lying without her dore in great disease: 
Like to a Spaniell wayting carefully 
Least any should betray his Lady treach- 
erously. 

XXVIT. 

"VMiat time the native Belman of the 

night. 
The bird that warned Peter of his fall, 
First rings his silver Bell t' each sleepy 

wight, 
That should their mindes up to devotion 

call, 
She heard a wondrous noise below the 

haU: 
All sodainelv the bed, where she should 

lie, 
By a false trap was let adowne to fall 
Into a lower roome, and by and by 
The loft was raysd againe, that no man 

could it spie. 

xxvni. 

With sight whereof she was dismayd 

right sore, 
Percei-sing well the treason which was 

ment ; 
Yet stirred not at all for doubt of more, 
But kept her place with courage confident, 
Wayting what would ensue of that event. 
It was not long before she heard the sound 
Of armed men comming with close intent 
Towards her chamber ;"at which dreadfull 

stound 
She quickly caught her sword, and shield 

aboat her bound. 

xxrx. 

With that there came unto her chamber 

dore 
Two Knights all armed ready for to fight ; 
And after them full many other moreT 
A raskall rout, with weapons rudely dight : 
Whom soone as Talus spide by glims of 

ni>iht. 



4o8 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book v. 



He started up, there where on ground he 

lay, 
And in his hand his thresher ready keight. 
They seeing that let drive at him streight- 

way,' 
And round about him preace in riotous 

a ray. 

XXX. 

But, soone as he began to lay about 
With his rude yron flaile, they gan to ilie, 
Both armed Knights and eke unarmed rout ; 
Yet Talus after them apace did plie, 
Where ever in the darke he could them 

spie, 
That here and there like scattred sheepe 

they lay : 
Then, backe returning where his Dame 

did lie. 
He to her told the story of that fray, 
And all that treason there intended did 

bewray. 

XXXI. 

Wherewith though wondrous wroth, 

and inly burning. 
To be avenged for so fowle a deede. 
Yet being forst to abide the daies return- 
ing. 
She there remain 'd : but with right wary 

heede, 
Least any more such practise should pro- 

ceede. 
Now mote ye know (that which to Brito- 

mart 
Unknowen was) whence all this did 

proceede ; 
And for what cause so great mischievous 

smart 
Was ment to her that never evill ment in 

hart. 

XXXII. 

The good man of this house was Dolon 

hight ; 
A man of subtill wit and wicked minde, 
That whilome in his youth had bene a 

Knight, 
And armes had borne, but little good could 

finde, 
And much lesse honour by that warlike 

kinde 
Of life : for he was nothing valorous, 
But with slie shif tes and wiles did under- 

minde 
All noble Knights, which were adventur- 
ous, 
And many brought to shame by treason 

treacherous. 

XXXIII. 

He had three sonnes, all three like 
fathers sonnes, 



Like treacherous, like full of fraud and 

guile, 
Of all that on this earthly compasse 

wonnes; 
The eldest of the which was slaine ere- 

while 
By Artegall, through his owne guilty wile : 
His name was Guizor ; whose untimely fate 
For to avenge, full many treasons vile 
His father Dolou had deviz'd of late 
With these his wicked sons, and shewd 

his cankred hate. 

XXXIV. 

For sure he weend that this his present 

guest 
Was Artegall, by many tokens plaine ; 
But chiefly by that yron page he ghest, 
Which still was wont with Artegall re- 

maiue ; 
And therefore ment him surely to have 

slaine : 
But by Gods grace, and her good heedi- 

nesse, 
She was preserved from their traytrous 

train e. 
Thus she all night wore out in watchful- 



Ne suffred slothfull sleepe her eyelids to 
oppresse. 

XXXV. 

The morrow next, so soone as dawning 

houre 
Discovered had the light to living eye, 
She forth yssew'd out of her loathed bowre, 
With full intent t' avenge that villany 
On that vilde man and all his family ; 
And, comming down to seeke them where 

they wond. 
Nor sire, nor sonnes, nor any could she 

spie: 
Each rowme she sought, but them all 

empty fond. 
They all were fled for feare ; but whether, 

nether kond. 

XXXVI. 

She saw it vaine to make there lenger 
stay. 

But tooke her steede ; and thereon mount- 
ing light 

Gan her addresse unto her former way. 

She had not rid the mountenance of a 
flight. 

But that she saw there present in her sight 

Those two false brethren on that perillous 
Bridge, 

On which Pollente with Artegall did fight. 

Streight was the passage, like a ploughed 
ridge. 



CANTO VI.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



409 



That, if two met, the one mote needes fall 
over the lidge. 

XXXVII. 

There they did thinke them selves on 

her to wreake ; 
Who as she uigh luito them drew, the one 
These vile reproches gan unto her speake : 
' Thou recreant false traytor, that with 

lone 
Of armes hast knighthood stolne, yet 

Knight art none. 
No more shall now the darkenesse of the 

night 
Defend thee from the vengeance of thy 

fone; 
But with thy bloud- thou shalt appease the 

spright 
Of Guizor by thee slaine, and murdred by 

thy slight.' 

xxxvm. 

Strange were the words in Britomartis 

eare, 
Yet stayd she not for them, but forward 

fared, 
Till to the perillous Bridge she came ; and 

there 
Talus desir'd that he might have prepared 
The way to her, and those two losels 

scared ; 
But she thereat was wroth, that for de- 

spight 
The glauncing sparkles through her bever 

glared. 
And from her eies did flash out fiery light, 



Like coles that through 
sparkle bright. 



a silver Censer 



XXXIX. 

She stayd not to advise which way to 
take. 

But putting spurres unto her fiery beast, 

Thorough the midst of them she way did 
make. 

The one of them, which most her wrath 
increast, 

Uppon her speare she bore before her 
breast, 

Till to the Bridges further end she past ; 

Where falling downe his challenge he re- 
least : 

The other over side the Bridge she cast 

Into the river, w^here he drunke his deadly 
last. 

XL. 

As when the flashing Levin haps to light 
Uppon two stubborn e oakes, which stand 

so neare 
That way betwixt them none appeares in 

sight ; 
The Engin, fiercely flying forth, doth teare 
Th' one from the earth, and through the 

aire doth beare ; 
The other it with force doth overthrow 
Uppon one side, and from his rootes doth 

reare : 
So did the Championesse those two there 

strow. 
And to their sire their carcasses left to 

bestow. 



CANTO \TI. 

Britomart comes to Isis Church, 
Where shee strange visions sees : 

She fights with Eadigund, her slaies, 
And Artegall thence frees. 



Nought is on earth more sacred or 

divine. 
That Gods and men doe equally adore. 
Then this same vertue that doth right 

define : 
For th' hevens themselves, whence mortal 

men implore 
Right in their wrongs, are rul'd by right- 
eous lore 
Of highest Jove, who doth true justice 

deale 
To his inferiour Gods, and evermore 
Therewith containes his heavenly Com- 

monweale : 
The skill whereof to Princes hearts he 

doth reveale. 



Well therefore did the antique world 

invent 
That Justice was a God of soveraine 

grace, 
And altars unto him and temples lent, 
And heavenly honours in the highest place ; 
Calling him great Osyris, of the race 
Of th' old Egyptian Kings that whylome 

were. 
With fayned colours shading a true case; 
For that Osyris, whilest he lived here, 
The justest man alive and truest did ap- 

peare. 



His wife was Isis ; 
made 



whom they likewise 



4IO 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book V 



A Goddesse of great powre and soverainty, 
And iu her person cunningly did shade 
That part of Justice which is Equity, 
Whereof I have to treat here presently : 
Unto whose temple when as Britomart 
Arrived, shee with great humility 
Did enter in, nee would that night depart ; 
But Talus mote not be admitted to her 
part. 

IV. 

There she received was iu goodly wize 
Of many Priests, which duely did attend 
Uppon the rites and daily sacrifize, 
All clad in linnen robes with silver hemd ; 
And on their heads, with long locks comely 

kemd, 
They wore rich Mitres shaped like the 

Moone, 
To shew that Isis doth the Moone portend ; 
Like as Osyris signifies the Sunue : 
For that they both like race in equall 

justice runne. 



The Championesse them greeting, as she 

could. 
Was thence by them into the Temple led ; 
Whose goodly building when she did be- 

hould. 
Borne uppon stately pillours, all dispred 
With shining gold, and arched over bed, 
She wondred at the workemans passing 

skill. 
Whose like before she never saw nor red ; 
And thereuppon long while stood gazing 

still. 
But thought that she thereon could never 

gaze her fill. 



Thence forth unto the Idoll they her 

brought ; 
The which was framed all of silver fine, 
So well as could with cunning hand be 

wrought. 
And clothed all in garments made of line, 
Hemd all about with fringe of silver 

twine : 
Uppon her head she wore a Crowne of 

gold; 
To shew that she had j)owre in things 

divine : 
And at her feete a Crocodile was rold, 
That with her wreathed taile her middle 

did enfold. 

VII. 

One foote was set uppon the Crocodile, 
And on the ground the other fast did 

stand ; 
So meaning to suppresse both forged guile 



And open force : and in her other hand 

She stretched forth a long white scleuder 
wand. 

Such was the Goddesse ; w^hom when 
Britomart 

Had long beheld, her selfe uppon the 
land 

She did prostrate, and with right humble 
hart 

Unto her selfe her silent prayers did im- 
part. 

VIII. 

To which the Idoll, as it were inclining, 
Her wand did move with amiable looke, 
By outward shew her inward sence desin- 

ing: 
Who well perceiving' how her wand she 

shooke, 
It as a token of good fortune tooke. 
By this the day with dampe was overcast. 
And joyous light the house of Jove for- 

sooke ; 
Which when she saw her helmet she un- 

laste, 
And by the altars side her selfe to slum- 
ber plaste. 

rx. 

For other beds the Priests there used 

none. 
But on their mother Earths deare lap did 

lie. 
And bake their sides uppon the cold hard 

stone, 
T' enure them selves to sufferaunce 

thereby, 
And proud rel)ellious flesh to mortify : 
For by the vow of their religion, 
They tied were to stedfast chastity 
And continence of life, that, all forgon. 
They mote the better tend to theirdevo- 

tion. 

X. 

Therefore they mote not taste of fleshly 

food, 
Ne feed on ought the which doth blond 

contain e, 
Ne drinke of wine ; for wine, they say, is 

blood, 
Even the bloud of Gyants, which w^ere 

slaine 
By thundring Jove in the Phlegrean 

plaine : 
For which the earth (as they the story 

tell) 
Wroth with the Gods, which to perpetuall 

paine 
Had daran'd her sonnes which gainst them 

did rebell, 
With inward griefe and malice did against 

them swell. 



CANTO VII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



411 



XI. 

And of their vitall bloiid, the which was 

shed 
Into her pregnant bosome, forth she 

brought 
The f ruitfiill vine ; whose liquor blouddy 

red, 
Having the mindes of men with fury- 
fraught, 
Mote in them stirre up old rebellious 

thought 
To make new warre against the Gods 

again e. 
Such is the powre of that same fruit, that 

nought 
The fell contagion may thereof restraine, 
Ne within reasons rule her madding mood 

containe. 

XII. 

There did the warlike Maide her selfe 

repose. 
Under the wings of Isis all that night ; 
And with sweete rest her heavy eyes did 

close. 
After that long dales toile and weary 

plight: 
Where whilest her earthly parts with soft 

delight 
Of sencelesse sleepe did deeply drowned 

lie, 
There did appears unto her heavenly 

spright 
A wondrous vision, which did close implie 
The course of all her fortune and pos- 

teritie. 

XIII. 

Her seem'd, as she was doing sacrifize 
To Isis, deckt with Mitre on her hed 
And linnen stole after those Priestes 

guize, 
All sodainely she saw transfigured 
Her linnen stole to robe of scarlet red, 
And Moone-like Mitre to a Crowne of 

gold ; 
That even she her selfe much wondered 
At such a chaunge, and joyed to behold 
Her selfe adorn'd with gems and jewels 

manifold. 



And, in the midst of her felicity, 
An hideous tempest seemed from below 
To rise through all the Temple sodainely, 
That from the Altar all about did blow 
The holy fire, and all the embers strow 
Uppon the ground ; which, kindled privily. 
Into outragious flames un wares did grow, 
That all the Temple put in jeopardy 
Of flaming, and her selfe in great pei-- 
plexity. 



With that the Crocodile, which sleeping 

lay 
Uuder the Idols feete in fearelesse bowre, 
Seem'd to awake in horrible dismay, 
As being troubled with that stormy 

stowre ; 
And gaping greedy wide did streight 

devoure 
Both flames and tempest: with which 

growen great, 
And swolne with pride of his owne peere- 

lesse powre. 
He gan to threaten her likewise to eat, 
But that the Goddesse with her rod him 

backe did beat. 



Tho turning all his pride to humblesse 

meeke, 
Him selfe before her feete he lowly threw, 
And gan for grace and love of her to seeke ; 
Which she accepting, he so neareher drew 
That of his game she soone enwombed 

grew, 
And forth did bring a Lion of great might, 
That shortly did all other beasts subdew. 
With that she waked full of fearefull 

fright, 
And doubtfully dismayd through that so 

uncouth sight. 



So thereuppon long while she musing 

lay, 
With thousand thoughts feeding her fan- 

tasie, 
Untill she spide the lampe of lightsome 

day 
Up-lifted in the porch of heaven hie : 
Then up she rose fraught with melancholy, 
And forth into the lower parts did pas, 
Wliereas the Priestes she found full busily 
About their holy things for morrow Mas ; 
Whom she saluting faire, faire resaluted 

was: 

XVIII. 

But by the change of her unchearefuU 

looke, 
They might perceive she was not well in 

plight. 
Or that some pensivenesse to heart she 

tooke : 
Therefore thus one of them, who seem'd 

in sight 
To be the greatest and the gravest wight. 
To her bespake : ' Sir Knight, it seemes to 

me 
That, thorough evill rest of this last night. 
Or ill apayd "or much dismayd ye be ; 



412 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book v. 



That by your change of cheare is easie for 
to see.' 

XIX. 

'Certes,' (sayd she) ' sith ye so well 

have spide 
The troublous passion of my pensive mind, 
I will not seeke the same from you to hide ; 
But will my cares unfolde, in hope to find 
Your aide to guide me out of errour blind.' 
' Say on ' (quoth he) ' the secret of your 

hart 
For, by the holy vow which me doth bind, 
I am adjur'd best counsell to impart 
To all that shall require my comfort in 

their smart.' 

XX. 

Then gan she to declare the whole dis- 
course 

Of all that vision which to her appeard, 

As well as to her minde it had recourse. 

All which when he unto the end had heard. 

Like to a weake faint-hearted man he 
fared 

Through great astonishment of that 
strange sight; 

And, with long locks up-standing, stifly 
stared 

Like one adawed with some dreadfull 
spright : 

So, fild with heavenly fury, thus he her 
behight. 

XXI. 

* Magnificke Virgin, that in queiut dis- 
guise 
Of British armes doest maske thy royall 

blood, 
So to pursue a perillous emprize. 
How couldst thou weene, through that dis- 
guized hood, 
To hide thy state from being understood ? 
Can from th' immortall Gods ought hidden 

bee? 
They doe thy linage, and thy Lordly brood. 
They doe thy sire lamenting sore for thee. 
They doe thy love forlorne in womens 
thraldome see. 



xxn. 
whereof, and 



all the long 



'The end 
event. 

They do to thee in this same dreame dis- 
cover ; 
For that same Crocodile doth represent 
The righteous Knight that is thy faithfull 

lover, 
Like to Osyris in all just endever : 
For that same Crocodile Osyris is. 
That under Isis feete doth sleepe for ever ; 
To shew that clemence oft, in things amis, 



Restraines those sterne behests and cruell 
doomes of his. 

XXIII. 

' That Knight shall all the troublous 

stormes asswage 
And raging flames, that many foes shall 

reare 
To hinder thee from the just heritage 
Of thy sires Crowne, and from thy coun- 

trey deare : 
Then shalt thou take him to thy loved fere, 
And joyne in equall portion of thy realme ; 
And afterwards a soune to him shalt beare. 
That Lion-like shall shew his powre ex- 

treame. 
So blesse thee God, and give thee joyance 

of thy dreame ! ' 

XXIV. 

All which when she unto the end had 

heard, 
She much was eased in her troublous 

thought. 
And on those Priests bestowed rich re- 
ward; 
And royall gifts of gold and silver wrought 
She for a present to their Goddesse 

brought. 
Then taking leave of them, she forward 

went 
To seeke her love, where he was to be 

sought ; 
Ne rested till she came without relent 
Unto the land of Amazons, as she was 

bent. 

XXV. 

Whereof when newes to Radigund was 

brought. 
Not with amaze, as women wonted bee, 
She was confused in her troublous 

thought ; 
But fild with courage and with joyous glee. 
As glad to heare of armes, the which now 

she 
Had long surceast, she bad to open bold, 
That she the face of her new foe might 

see: 
But when they of that yron man had told. 
Which late her folke had slaine, she bad 

them forth to hold. 

XXVI. 

So there without the gate, (as seemed 

best) 
She caused her Pavilion be pight ; 
In which stout Britomart her selfe did 

rest. 
Whiles Talus watched at the dore all 

night. 



CANTO VII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



4T3 



All night likewise they of the towiie in 

fright 
Uppon their wall good watch and ward 

did keepe. 
The morrow next, so soone as dawning 

light 
Bad doe away-the dampe of drouzie sleepe, 
The warlike Amazon out of her bowre did 

peepe. 

XXVII. 

And caused streight a Trumpet loud to 

shrill 
To warne her foe to battell soone be prest : 
"Who, long before awoke, (for she ful ill 
Could sleepe all night, that in unquiet brest 
Did closely harbour such a jealous guest) 
Was to the battell whilome ready dight. 
Ef tsoones that warriouresse with haughty 

crest 
Did forth issue all ready for the fight : 
On th' other side her foe appeared soone 

in sight. 

XXVIII. 

But ere they reared hand the Amazone 
Began the streight conditions to propound, 
With which she used still to tye her fone, 
To serve her so as she the rest had bound : 
Which when the other heard, she sternly 

frownd 
For high disdaine of such indignity. 
And would no lenger treat, but bad them 

soimd ; 
For her no other termes should ever tie 
Then what prescribed were by lawes of 

chevalrie. 



^ 



The Trumpets sound, and they together 



' With greedy rage, and with their f aulchins 
smot ; 

Ne either sought the others strokes to 
shun. 

But through great fury both their skill 
forgot, 

And practicke use in armes ; ne spared not 

Their dainty parts, which nature had cre- 
ated 

So faire and tender without staine or spot 

For other uses then they them translated ; 

Which they now hackt and hewd as if 
such use they hated. 



As when a Tygre and a Lionesse 
Are met at spoyliug of some hungry pray, 
Both challenge it with equall greedinesse : 
But first the Tygre clawes thereon did lay, 
And therefore, loth to loose her right away, 
Doth in defence thereof full stoutly stond : 
To which the Lion strongly doth gainesay , 



That she to hunt the beast first tooke in 

bond; 
And therefore ought it have where ever she 

it fond. 

XXXI. 

Full fiercely layde the Amazon about, 
And dealt her blowes unmercifully sore ; 
Which Britomart withstood wdth courage 

stout, 
And them repaide againe with double 

more. 
So long they fought, that all the grassie 

ilore 
Was fild with bloud which from their sides 

did flow. 
And gushed through their armes, that all 

in gore 
They trode, and on the ground their lives 

did strow, 
Like fruitles seede, of which untimely 

death should grow. 

XXXII. 

At last proud Eadigund, with fell de- 

spight. 
Having by chaunce espide advantage 

neare, 
Let drive at her with all her dreadfull 

might, 
And thus upbrayding said: 'This token 

beare 
Unto the man whom thou doest love so 

deare ; 
And tell him for his sake thy life thou 

gavest.' 
Which spitefull words she, sore engriev'd 

to heare, 
Thus answer'd : ' Lewdly thou my love 

depravest. 
Who shortly must repent that now so 

vainely bravest.' 

XXXIII. 

Nath'lesse that stroke so cruell passage 

found, 

That glauncing on her shoulder-plate it bit 

Unto the bone, and made a griesly wound, 

That she her shield, through raging smart 

of it. 
Could scarce uphold : yet soone she it re- 
quit; 
For, having force increast through furious 

paine. 
She her so rudely on the helmet smit 
That it empierced to the very braine. 
And her proud person low prostrated on 
the plaine. 

XXXIV. 

Where being layd, the wrothfull Briton- 



414 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book v. 



Stayd not till she came to her selfe againe, 
But in revenge both of her loves distresse 
And her late vile reproch though vaunted 

vaine, 
And also of her wound which sore did 

paine, 
She with one stroke both head and helmet 

cleft. 
Which dreadfull sight when all her war- 
like traine 
There present saw , each one of sence bereft 
Fled fast into the towne, and her sole 
victor left. 



But yet so fast they could not home re- 

trate, 
But that swift Talus did the formost win ; 
And, pressing through the preace unto the 

gate, 
Pelmell with them attonce did enter in. 
There then a piteous slaughter did begin ; 
For all that ever came within his reach 
He with his yron flale did thresh so thin, 
That he no worke at all left for the leach : 
Like to an hideous storme, which nothing 

may empeach. 



And now by this the noble Conqueresse 
Her selfe came in, her glory to partake ; 
Where, though revengefull vow she did 

professe. 
Yet when she saw the heapes which he did 

make 
Of slauglitted carkasses, her heart did 

quake 
For very ruth, which did it almost rive. 
That she his fury willed him to slake : 
For else he sure had left not one alive. 
But all, in his revenge, of spirite would 

deprive. 

XXXVII. 

Tho, when she had his execution stayd. 
She for that yron prison did enquire. 
In which her wretched love was captive 

layd: 
Which breaking open with indignant ire. 
She entred into all the partes entire : 
Where when she saw that lothly uncouth 

sight 
Of men disgaiz'd in womanishe attire, 
Her heart gan grudge for very deepe 

despight 
Of so unmanly maske in misery misdight. 

xxxvni. 
At last when as to her owne Love she 
came. 
Whom like disguize no lesse deformed had, 



At sight thereof abasht with secrete shame 
She turud her head aside, as nothing glad 
To have beheld a spectacle so bad ; 
And then too well believ'd that which 

tofore 
Jealous suspect as true untruely drad : 
Which vaine conceipt now nourishing no 

more, 
She sought with ruth to salve his sad mis- 
fortunes sore. 



Not so great wonder and astonishment 
Did the most chast Penelope possesse 
To see her Lord, that was reported drent 
And dead long since in dolorous distresse, 
Come home to her in piteous wretched- 

nesse. 
After long travell of full twenty yeares. 
That she knew not his favours likelynesse. 
For many scarres and many hoary heares, 
But stood long staring on him mongst 

uncertaine feares. 



* Ah, my deare Lord ! what sight is 

this? ' quoth she, 
* What May-game hath misfortune made 

of you? 
Where is that dreadfull manly looke? 

where be 
Those mighty palmes, the which ye wont 

t' embrew 
In bloud of Kings, and great hoastes to 

subdew ? 
Could ought on earth so wondrous change 

have wrought. 
As to have robde you of that manly hew ? 
Could so great courage stouped have to 

ought ? 
Then, farewell fleshly force! I see thy 

pride is nought.' 



Thenceforth she streight into a bowre 

him brought. 
And causd him those uncomely weedes 

undight ; 
And in their steede for other ray men t 

sought. 
Whereof there was great store, and ar- 
mors bright. 
Which had bene reft from many a noble 

Knight, 
Whom that proud Amazon subdewed had, 
Whilest Fortune favourd her successe in 

fight: 
In which when as she him anew had clad, 
She was reviv'd, and joyd much in his 

semblance glad. 



CANTO VII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



415 



So there a while they afterwards re- 

maiued, 
Him to refresh, and her late wounds to 

heale: 
During which space she there as Princess 

rained, 
And changing all that forme of common- 

weale 
The liberty of women did repeale. 
Which they had long usurpt: and, them 

restoring 
To mens subjection, did true Justice deale, 
That all they, as a Goddesse her adoring, 
Her wisedome did admire, and hearkned to 

her loring. 

XLIII. 

For all those Knights, which long in 

captive shade 
Had shrowded bene, she did from thral- 

dome free. 
And magistrates of all that city made. 
And gave to them great living and large 

fee: 
And that they should for ever faithfull bee, 
Made them sweare fealty to Artegall ; 
Who when him selfe now well recur'd did 

see. 
He purposd to proceed, what so befall, 



Uppon his first adventure which him forth 
did call. 

XLIV. 

Full sad and sorrowfull was Britomart 
For his departure, her new cause of griefe ; 
Yet wisely moderated her ovvne smart, 
Seeing his honor, which she tendred chiefe, 
Consisted much in that adventures priefe : 
The care whereof, and hope of his successe, 
Gave unto her great comfort and reliefe ; 
That womanish complaints she did re- 

presse, 
And tempred for the time her present 
heavinesse. 



There she continu'd for a certaine space, 
Till through his want her woe did more 

increase : 
Then hoping that the change of aire and 

place 
Would change her paine, and sorrow 

somewhat ease, 
She parted thence her anguish to appease. 
Meane-while her noble Lord, sir Artegall, 
Went on his way; ne ever howre did 

cease, 
Till he redeemed had that Lady thrall : 
That for another Canto will more fitly fall. 



CANTO VHI. 

Prince Arthnre and Sir Artegall 
Free Samieut from feare : 

They slay the Soudan, drive his wife 
Adicia to despaire. 



I. 

Nought under heaven so strongly doth 
allure 
The sence of man, and all his niinde pos- 

sesse, 
As beauties lovely baite, that doth procure 
Great warriours oft their rigour to re- 

presse. 
And mighty hands forget their manli- 

nesse ; 
Drawne with the powre of an heart- 
robbing eye, 
And wrapt in fetters of a golden tresse, 
That can with melting pleasaunce mollif ye 
Their hardned hearts, enur'd to bloud and 
cruelty. 

II. 

So whylome learnd that mighty Jewish 

swaine, 
Each of whose lockes did match a man in 

might, 
To lay his spoiles before his lemans traine : 



So also did that great Oetean Knight 
For his loves sake his Lions skin undight; 
And so did warlike Antony neglect 
The worlds whole rule for Cleopatras 

sight. 
Such wondrous powre hath wemens faire 

aspect 
To captive men, and make them all the 

world reject. 



Yet could it not sterne Artegall retaine, 
Nor hold from suite of his avowed quest, 
Which he had undertane to Gloriane ; 
But left his love, albe her strong request, 
Faire Britomart in languor and unrest, 
And rode him selfe uppon his first intent, 
Ne day nor night did ever idly rest; 
Ne Avight but onely Talus with him 

went, 
The true guide of his way and vertuous 

government. 



4i6 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book v. 



So travelling, he chaunst far off to heed 
A Darazell, flying on a palfrey fast 
Before two Knights that after her did 

speed 
With all their powre, and her full fiercely 

chast 
In hope to have her overhent at last : 
Yet fled she fast, and both them farre 

outwent, 
Carried with wings of feare, like fowle 

aghast, 
With locks all loose, and rayment all to- 
rent ; 
And ever as she rode her eye was backe- 
ward bent. 

V. 

Soone after these he saw another 
Knight, 
That after those two former rode apace 
With speare in rest, aud prickt with all 

his might : 
So ran they all, as they had bene at bace. 
They being chased that did others chase. 
At length he saw the hindmost overtake 
One of those two, and force him turne his 

face; 
However loth he were his way to slake, 
Yet mote he algates now abide, and an- 
swer e make. 



But th' other still pursu'd the fearefull 

Mayd ; 
Who still from him as fast away did flie, 
Ne once for ought her speedy passage 

stayd, 
Till that at length she did before her spie 
Sir Artegall ; to whom she straight did hie 
With gladfull hast, in hope of him to get 
Succour against her greedy enimy : 
Who seeing her approch gan forward set 
To save her from her feare, and him from 

force to let. 



But he, like hound full greedy of his 

pray, 
Being impatient of impediment, 
Continu'd still his course, and by the way 
Thought with his speare him quight have 

overwent. 
So both together, ylike felly bent, 
Like fiercely met. But Artegall was 

stronger, 
And better skild in Tilt and Turnament, 
And bore him quite out of his saddle, 

longer 
Then two speares length: So mischiefe 

overmatcht the wronger. 



And in his fall misfortune him mistooke ; 
For on his head unhappily he pight, 
That his owne waight his necke asunder 

broke. 
And left there dead. Meane-while the 

other Knight 
Defeated had the other faytour quight. 
And all his bowels in his body brast: 
Whom leaving there in that dispiteous 

plight. 
He ran still on, thinking to follow fast 
His other fellow Pagan which before him 

past. 

IX. 

Instead of whom finding there ready 

prest 
Sir Artegall, without discretion 
He at him ran with ready speare in rest ; 
Who, seeing him come still so fiercely on, 
Against him made againe. So both anon 
Together met, aud strongly either strooke 
And broke their speares ; yet neither has 

forgon 
His horses backe, yet to and fro long 

shooke 
And tottred, like two towres which 

through a tempest quooke. 



But, when againe they had recovered 

seuce, 
They drew their swords, in mind to make 

amends 
For what their speares had fayld of their 

pretence : 
Which when the Damzell, who those 

deadly ends 
Of both her foes had scene, and now her 

frends 
For her beginning a more fearefull fray. 
She to them runnes in hast, and her haire 

rends, 
Crying to them their cruell hands to stay, 
Untill they both doe heare what she to 

them will say. 



They stayd their hands, when she thus 
gan to speake : 

' Ah gentle Knights ! what meane ye thus 
unwise 

Upon your selves anothers wrong to 
wreake ? 

I am the wrong'd, whom ye did enter- 
j)rise 

Both to redresse, and both redrest like- 
wise : 

Witnesse the Paynims both, whom ye 
may see 



CANTO VIII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



417 



There dead on ground. What doe ye then 
devise 

Of more revenge? if more, then I am 
shee 

Which was the roote of all : end your re- 
venge on mee.' 



Whom when they heard so say, they 

lookt about 
To weete if it were true as she had told ; 
AVhere when they saw their foes dead out 

of doubt, 
Eftsoones they gan their wrothfull hands 

to hold, 
And Ventailes reare each other to behold. 
Tho when as Artegall did Arthure vew. 
So faire a creature and so wondrous bold, 
He much admired both his heart and hew, 
And touched with intire affection nigh 

him drew; 

XIII. 

Saying, * Sir Knight, of pardon I you 
pray, 

That all unweeting have you wrong'd 
thus sore, 

Suffring my hand against my heart to 
stray; 

Which if ye please forgive, I will there- 
fore 

Yeeld for amends my selfe yours ever- 
more, 

Or what so penaunce shall by you be red.' 

To whom the Prince : ' Certes me needeth 
more 

To crave the same ; whom errour so mis- 
led, 

As that I did mistake the living for the 
ded. 

XIV. 

'But, sith ye please that both our 
blames shall die, 
Amends may for the trespasse soone be 

made. 
Since neither is endamadg'd much there- 
by.' 
So can they both them selves full eath 

perswade 
To faire accordaunce, and both faults to 

shade. 
Either embracing other lovingly, 
And swearing faith to either on his blade. 
Never thenceforth to nourish enmity, 
But either others cause to maintaine 
mutually. 

XV. 

Then Artegall gan of the Prince en- 
quire, 
What were those knights which there on 
ground were layd, 



And had receiv'd their follies worthy hire, 
And for what cause they chased so that 

Mayd ? 
' Certes I wote not well,' (the Prince then 

sayd) 
' But by adventure found them faring so. 
As by the way unweetingly I strayd : 
And lo! the Damzell selfe, whence all 

did grow, 
Of whom we may at will the whole occa- 
sion know.' 

XVI. 

Then they that Damzell called to them 

nie, 
And asked her what were those two her 

fone, 
From whom she earst so fast away did 

flie: 
And what was she her selfe so woe-be- 

gone, 
And for what cause pursu'd of them at- 

tone. 
To whom she thus : ' Then wote ye well, 

that I 
Doe serve a Queene that not far hence 

doth wone, 
A Princesse of great powre and majestic. 
Famous through all the world, and hon- 

or'd far and nie. 



* Her name Mercilla most men use to 

call; 
That is a mayden Queene of high renowne, 
For her great bounty knowen over all 
And soveraine grace, with which her roy- 

all crown e 
She doth support, and strongly beateth 

downe 
The malice of her foes, which her envy 
And at her happinesse do fret and frowne ; 
Yet she her selfe the more doth magnify, 
And even to her foes her mercies multiply. 



' Mongst many which maligne her happy 

state, 
There is a mighty man, which wonnes 

hereby. 
That with most fell despight and deadly 

hate 
Seekes to subvert her Crowne and dignity, 
And all his powre doth thereunto apply: 
And her good Knights, of which so brave 

a band 
Serves her as any Princesse under sky. 
He either spoiles, if they against him 

stand. 
Or to his part allures, and bribeth under 

hand. 



4i8 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book v. 



' Ne him suflficeth all the wrong and ill, 
Which he unto her people does each day ; 
But that he seekes by traytrous traines 

to spill 
Her person, and her sacred selfe to slay : 
That, O ye Heavens, defend! and turne 

away 
From her unto the miscreant him selfe; 
That neither hath religion nor fay, 
But makes his God of his ungodly pelfe, 
And Idols serves: so let his Idols serve 

the Elfe! 

XX. 

* To all which cruell tyranny, they say. 
He is provokt, and stird up day and night 
By his had wife that hight Adicia ; 

Who counsels him, through confidence of 

might, 
To breake all bonds of law and rules of 

right : 
For she her selfe professeth mortall foe 
To Justice, and against her still doth fight. 
Working to all that love her deadly woe, 
And making all her Knights and people 

to doe so. 

XXI. 

' Which my liege Lady seeing, thought 

it best 
With that his wife in friendly wise to 

deale. 
For stint of strife and stablishment of 

rest 
Both to her selfe and to her common- 

weale. 
And all forepast displeasures to repeale. 
So me in message unto her she sent. 
To treat with her, by way of enterdeale. 
Of finall peace and faire attonement 
Which might concluded be by mutuall 

consent. 

XXII. 

' All times have wont safe passage to 
afford 
To messengers that come for causes just : 
But this proude Dame, disdayniug all ac- 
cord. 
Not onely into bitter termes forth brust. 
Reviling me and rayling as she lust, 
But lastly, to make proofe of utmost 

shame. 
Me like a dog she out of dores did thrust. 
Miscalling me by many a bitter name. 
That never did her ill, ne once deserved 
blame. 

xxni. 

* And lastly, that no shame might want- 

ing be. 
When I was gone, soone after me she sent 



These two false Knights, whom there ye 

lying see. 
To be by them dishonoured and shent : 
But, thankt be God, and your good hardi- 

ment, 
They have the price of their owne folly 

payd.' 
So said this Damzell, that hight Samient; 
And to those knights for their so noble 

ayd 
Her selfe most gratefull shew'd, and 

heaped thanks repayd. 

XXIV. 

But they now having throughly heard 

and scene 
Al those great wrongs, the which that 

mayd complained 
To have bene done against her Lady 

Queene 
By that proud dame which her so much 

disdained. 
Were moved much thereat; and twixt 

them fained 
With all their force to worke avengement 

strong 
Uppon the Souldan selfe, which it mayn- 

tained, 
And on his Lady, th' author of that 

wrong, 
And uppon all those Knights that did to 

her belong. 

XXV. 

But, thinking best by counterfet dis- 
guise 
To their deseigne to make the easier 

way. 
They did this complot twixt them selves 

devise : 
First, that Sir Artegall should him array 
Like one of those two Knights which 

dead there lay ; 
And then that Damzell, the sad Samient, 
Should as his purchast prize with him 

Gonvay 
Unto the Souldans court, her to present 
Unto his scornefull Lady that for her had 
sent. 

XXVI. 

So as they had deviz'd, Sir Artegall 
Him clad in th' armour of a Pagan knight. 
And taking with him, as his vanquisht 

thrall, 
That Damzell, led her to the Souldans 

right : 
Where soone as his proud wife of her had 

sight, 
Forth of her window as she looking lay, 
She weened streight it was her Paynim 

Knight, 



CANTO VIII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



419 



Which brought that Damzell as his pur- 

chast pray ; 
And sent to hiin a Page that mote direct 

his way. 

XXVII. 

Who bringing them to their appointed 

place, 
Offred his service to disarme the Knight ; 
But he refusing him to let unlace, 
For doubt to be discovered by his sight. 
Kept himself e still in his straunge armour 

dight : 
Soone after whom the Prince arrived 

there. 
And sending to the Souldan in despight 
A bold defyance, did of him requere 
That Damsell whom he held as wrongfull 

prisonere. 

XXVIII. 

. Wherewith the Souldan all with f urie 

fraught, 
Swearing and banning most blasphe- 
mously, 
Commaunded straight his armour to be 

brought; 
And, mounting straight upon a charret 

hye, 
(With yron wheeles and hookes arm'd 

dreadfully. 
And drawne of cruell steedes which he 

had fed 
With flesh of men, whom through fell 

tyranny 
He slaughtred had, and ere they were 

halfe ded 
Their bodies to his beastes for provender 

did spred,) 

XXIX. 

So forth he came, all in a cote of plate 
Burnisht with bloudie rust ; whiles on the 

greene 
The Briton Prince him readie did awayte, 
In glistering armes right goodly well- 

beseene, 
That shone as bright as doth the heaven 

sheene : 
And by his stirrup Talus did attend, 
Playing his pages part, as he had beene 
Before directed by his Lord ; to th' end 
He should his flale to final execution 

bend. 

XXX. 

Thus goe they both together to their 
geare. 

With like fierce minds, but meanings dif- 
ferent ; 

For the proud Souldan, with presumpte- 
ous cheare 

And countenance sublime and insolent 



Sought onely slaughter and avengement; 

But the brave Prince for honour and for 
right. 

Gainst tortious powre and lawlesse regi- 
ment, 

In the behalfe of wronged weake did 
fight: 

More in his causes truth he trusted then 
in might. 

XXXI. 

Like to the Thracian Tyrant, who they 

say 
Unto his horses gave his guests for meat, 
Till he himselfe was made their greedie 

pray, 
And torne in pieces by Alcides great ; 
So thought the Souldan, in his follies 

threat, 
Either the Prince in peeces to have torne 
With his sharp wheeles, in his first rages 

heat, 
Or under his fierce horses feet have borne. 
And trampled downe in dust his thoughts 

disdained scorne. 



But the bold child that perill well espy- 
ing. 
If he too rashly to his charet drew, 
Gave way unto his horses speedie flying. 
And their resistlesse rigour did eschew : 
Yet, as he passed by, the Pagan threw 
A shivering dart with so impetuous force. 
That had he not it shun'd with heedfull 

vew, 
It had himselfe transfixed or his horse, 
Or made them both one masse withouten 
more remorse. 

XXXIII. 

Oft drew the Prince unto his charret 

nigh. 
In hope some stroke to fasten on him 

neare, 
But he was mounted in his seat so high. 
And his wingfooted coursers him did beare 
So fast away that, ere his readie speare 
He could advance, he farre was gone and 

past: 
Yet still he him did follow every where, 
And followed was of him likewise full 

fast, 
So long as in his steedes the flaming 

breath did last. 

xxxrv. 
Againe the Pagan threw another dart. 
Of which he had with him abundant store 
On every side of his embatteld cart, 
And of all other weapons lesse or more, 



420 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book v. 



Which warlike uses had deviz'd of yore: 
The wicked shaft, guyded tlirough th' 

ayrie wyde 
By some bad spirit that it to mischiefe 

bore, 
Stayd not, till through his curat it did 

glyde, 
And made a griesly wound in his enriven 

side. 

XXXV. 

Much was he grieved with that haplesse 

throe. 
That opened had the welspring of his 

blood ; 
But much the more, that to his hatefull foe 
He mote not come to wreake his wrathful 1 

mood : 
That made him rave, like to a Lyon wood, 
"Which being wounded of the huntsmans 

hand 
Cannot come neare him in the covert wood, 
Where he with boughes hath built his 

shady stand. 
And fenst himselfe about with many a 

flaming brand. 

XXXVI. 

Still when he sought t' approch unto 

him ny 
His charret wheeles about him whirled 

round, 
And made him backe againe as fast to fly ; 
And eke his steedes, like to an hungry 

hovmd 
That hunting after game hath carrion 

found. 
So cruelly did him pursew and chace. 
That his good steed, all were he much re- 

nound 
For noble courage and for hardie race. 
Durst not endure their sight, but fled from 

place to place. 



Thus long they trast and traverst to and 

fro, 
Seeking by every way to make some 

breach ; 
Yet could the Prince not nigh unto him 

goe. 
That one sure stroke he might unto him 

reach, 
Whereby his strengthes assay he might 

him teach. 
At last from his victorious shield he drew 
The vaile, which did his powrefull light 

empeach, 
And comming full before his horses vew, 
As they upon him prest, it plaine to them 

did shew. 



XXXVIII. 

Like lightening flash that hath the gazer 

burned, 
So did the sight thereof their sense dismay, 
That backe againe upon themselves they 

turned, 
And with their ryder ranne perforce away : 
Ne could the Souldan them from flying 

stay 
With raynes or wonted rule, as well he 

knew : 
Nought feared they what he could do or 

say, 
But th' onely feare that was before their 

vew, 
From which like mazed deare dismayfully 

they flew. 

XXXIX. 

Fast did they fly as them their feete 

could beare 
High over liilles, and lowly over dales. 
As they were follow'd of their former 

feare. 
In vaine the Pagan bannes, and sweares, 

and rayles. 
And backe with both his hands unto him 

hayles 
The resty raynes, regarded now no more : 
He to them calles and speakes, yet nought 

avayles ; 
They heare him not, they have forgot his 

lore. 
But go which way they list, their guide 

they have forlore. 

XL. 

As when the firie-mouthed steedes, 
which drew 
The Sunnes bright wayne to Phaetons 

decay, 
Soone as they did the monstrous Scorpion 

vew 
With ugly craples crawling in their way. 
The dreadf ull sight did them so sore affray. 
That their well-knowen courses they for- 
went ; 
And, leading th' ever-burning lampe 

astray. 
This lower world nigh all to ashes brent. 
And left their scorched path yet in the 
firmament. 

XLI. 

Such was the furie of these head-strong 

steeds, 
Soone as the infants sunlike shield they 

saw. 
That all obedience both to words and 

deeds 
They quite forgot, and scornd all former 

law: 



CANTO VIII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



421 



Through woods, and rocks, and moun- 

taines they did draw 
The yron charet, and the wheeles did 

teare, 
And tost the Paynim without feare or 

awe; 
From side to side they tost him here and 

there. 
Crying to them in vaine that nould his 

crying heare. 

XLII. 

Yet still the Prince pursew'd him close 

behind, 
Oft making offer him to smite, but found 
No easie meanes according to his mind: 
At last they have all overthrowne to 

ground 
Quite topside turvey, and the Pagan 

hound 
Amongst the yron hookes and graples 

keene 
Torne all to rags, and rent with many a 

wound ; 
That no whole peece of him was to be 

scene, 
But scattred all about, and strow'd upon 

the greene. 



Like as the cursed son of Theseus, 
That following his chace in dewy morne, 
To fly his stepdames loves outrageous, 
Of his owne steedes was all to peeces 

torne, 
And his faire limbs left in the woods for- 

lorne ; 
That for his sake Diana did lament, 
And all the wooddy Nym plies did wayle 

and mourne. 
So was this Souldan rapt and all to-rent, 
That of his shape appear'd no litle moni- 

ment. 

XLIV. 

Onely his shield and armour, which 

there lay. 
Though nothing whole, but all to-brusd 

and broken, 
He up did take, and with him brought 

away, 
That mote remaine for an eternall token 
To all mongst whom this storie should be 

spoken. 
How worthily, by heavens high decree. 
Justice that day of wrong her selfe had 

wroken ; 
That all men, which that spectacle did 

see. 
By like ensample mote for ever warned 

bee. 



So on a tree before the Tyrants dore 
He caused them be himg in all mens 

sight. 
To be a moniment for evermore. 
Which when his Ladie from the castles 

hight 
Beheld, it much appald her troubled 

spright : 
Yet not, as women wont, in dolefull fit 
She was dismayd, or faynted through 

affright, 
But gathered unto her her troubled wit, 
And gan eftsoones devize to be aveng'd 

for it. 

XLVI. 

Streight downe she ranne, like an en- 
raged cow 
That is berobbed of her youngling dere. 
With knife in hand, and fatally did 

vow 
To wreake her on that mayden messen- 

gere, 
Whom she had causd be kept as prisonere 
By Artegall, misween'd for her owne 

Knight, 
That brought her backe: And, comming 

present there, 
She at her ran with all her force and might. 
All flaming with revenge and furious de- 
spight. 

XLVII. 

Like raging Lio, when with knife in 

hand 
She threw her husbands murdred infant 

out; 
Or fell Medea, when on Colchicke strand 
Her brothers bones she scattered all about ; 
Or as that madding mother, mongst the 

rout 
Of Bacchus Priests, her owne deare flesh 

did teare: 
Yet neither Ino, nor Medea stout. 
Nor all the Moenades so furious were. 
As this bold woman when she saw that 

Damzell there. 

XLVIII. 

But Artegall, being thereof aware, 
Did stay her cruell hand ere she her 

raught ; 
And, as she did her selfe to strike pre- 
pare. 
Out of her fist the wicked weapon caught : 
With that, like one enfelon'd or dis- 
traught. 
She forth did rome whether her rage her 

bore, 
With franticke passion and with furie 
fraught ; 



422 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book v. 



And, breaking forth out at a posterne 

dore, 
Unto the wyld wood raune, her dolours to 

deplore. 

XLIX. 

As a mad bytch, when as the franticke 

fit 
Her burning tongue with rage inflamed 

hath, 
Doth ruune at randon, and with furious 

bit 
Snatching at every thing doth wreake her 

wrath 
On man and beast that commeth in her 

path. 
There they doe say that she transformed 

was 
Into a Tj^gre, and that Tygres scath 
In crueltie and outrage she did pas, 
To prove her surname true, that she im- 
posed has. 

L. 

Then Artegall, himselfe discovering 

plaine, 
Did issue forth gainst all that warlike 

rout 
Of knights and armed men, which did 

maintaine 



That Ladies part, and to the Souldan lout : 

All which he did assault with courage 
stout, 

All were they nigh an hundred knights of 
name, 

And like vryld Goates them chaced all 
about, 

Flying from place to place with cowheard 
shame ; 

So that with finall force them all he over- 
came. 



Then caused he the gates be opened 
wyde; 

And there the Prince, as victour of that 
day, 

With tryumph entertayn'd and glorifyde. 

Presenting him with all the rich array 

And roiall pompe, which there long hid- 
den lay, 

Purchast through lawlesse powre and tor- 
tious wrong 

Of that proud Souldan whom he earst did 
slay. 

So both, for rest, there having stayd not 
long, 

Marcht with that mayd ; fit matter for 
another song. 



CANTO IX. 

Arthur and Artegall catch Guyle, 
Whom Talus doth dismay: 

They to Mercillaes pallace come, 
And see her rich array. 



What Tygre, or what other salvage 

wight, 
Is so exceeding turious and fell 
As wrong, when it hath arm'd it selfe 

with might? 
Not fit mongst men that doe with reason 

mell, 
But mongst wyld beasts, and salvage 

woods, to dwell; 
Where still the stronger doth the weake 

devoure, 
And they that most in boldnesse doe ex- 
cell 
Are dreadded most, and feared for their 

powre ; 
Fit for Adicia there to build her wicked 

bowre. 

II. 
There let her wonne, farre from resort 

of men. 
Where righteous Artegall her late exyled ; 
There let her ever keepe her damned 

den, 



Where none may be with her lewd parts 

defyled. 
Nor none but beasts may be of her de- 

spoyled ; 
And turue we to the noble Prince, where 

late 
We did him leave, after that he had f oyled 
The cruell Souldan, and with dreadfiill 

fate 
Had utterly subverted his unrighteous 

state. 



Where having with Sir Artegall a space 
Well solast in that Souldans late delight, 
They both, resolving now to leave the 

place. 
Both it and all the wealth therein behight 
Unto that Damzell in her Ladies right. 
And so would have departed on their way ; 
But she them woo'd, by all the meanes she 

might, 
And earnestly besought to wend that day 
With her, to see her Ladie thence not 

farre away. 



CANTO IX.] 



TPIE FAERIE QUEENE. 



423 



By whose entreatie both they overcom- 

meu 
Agree to goe with her ; and by the way, 
(As often falles) of sundry things did 

eommeu : 
Mongst which that Damzell did to them 

bewraj' 
A strauuge adventure, which not farre 

thence lay ; 
To weet, a wicked villaine, bold and stout, 
Which wonued in a rocke not farre away. 
That robbed all the countrie there about. 
And bi-ought the pillage home, whence 

none could get it out. 



Thereto both his owue wylie wit, (she 

sayd) 
And eke the fastnesse of his dwelling 

place. 
But unassaylable, gave him great ayde : 
For he so crafty was to forge and face, 
So light of hand, and uymble of his pace, 
So smooth of tongue, and subtile in his 

tale. 
That could deceive one looking in his face : 
Therefore by name Maleugiu they him 

call. 
Well knowen by his feates, and famous 

overall. 

VI. 

Through these his slights he many doth 

confound : 
And eke the rocke, in which he wonts to 

dwell. 
Is wondrous strong and hewen farre under 

ground, 
A dreadfull depth ; how deepe no man can 

tell, 
But some doe say it goeth downe to hell : 
And all within it full of wyndings is 
And hidden wayes, that scarse an hound 

by smell 
Can follow out those false footsteps of 

his, 
Ne none can backe returne that once are 

gone amis. 

VII. 

Which when those knights had heard, 

their harts gan earne 
To understand that villeins dwelling place, 
And greatly it desir'd of her to learne, 
And by which way they towards it should 

trace. 
' Were not ' (sayd she) ' that it should let 

your pace 
Towards my Ladies presence, by you 

meut, 
I would you guyde directly to the place.' 



' Then let not that ' (said they) ' stay your 

intent ; 
For neither will one foot, till we that carle 

have hent.' 

VIII. 

So forth they past, till they approched 

ny 
Unto the rocke where was the villains 

won: 
Which when the Damzell neare at hand 

did spy. 
She warn'd the knights thereof; who 

thereupon 
Gan to advize what best were to be done. 
So both agreed to send that mayd afore. 
Where she might sit nigh to the den alone, 
Wayliug, andraysiug pittifuU uprore. 
As if she did some great calamitie deplore. 



With noyse whereof when as the caytive 

carle 
Should issue forth, in hope to find some 

spoyle. 
They in awayt would closely him ensnarle. 
Ere to his den he backward could recoyle. 
And so would hope him easily to foyle. 
The Damzell straight went, as she was 

directed, 
Unto the rocke ; and there, upon the soyle 
Having her selfe iu wretched wize ab- 

jected, 
Gan weepe and wayle, as if great griefe 

had her affected. 



The cry whereof entring the hollow cave 
Eftsoones brought forth the villaine, as 

they ment, 
With hope of her some wishfull boot to 

have. 
Full dreadfull wight he was as ever went 
Upon the earth, with hollow eyes deepe 

pent. 
And long curld locks that downe his 

shoulders shagged; 
And on his backe an uncouth vestiment 
Made of straunge stuffe, but all to-worne 

and ragged. 
And underneath, his breech was all to- 

torne and jagged. 



And in his hand an huge long staffe he 
held. 
Whose top was arm'd with many an yron 

hooke, 
Fit to catch hold of all that he could weld,- 
1 Or in the compasse of his douches tooke : 
! And ever round about he cast his looke : 



424 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book v. 



Als at his backe a great wyde net he bore, 
With which he seldome fished at the 

brooke, 
But usd to fish for fooles on the dry shore, 
Of which he in faire weather wont to take 

great store. 



Him when the damzell saw fast by her 

side. 
So ugly creature, she was nigh dismayd, 
And now for helpe aloud in earnest cride : 
But when the villaine saw her so affrayd, 
He gan with guilefull words her to per- 

swade 
To banish feare; and, with Sardonian 

smyle 
Laughing on her, his false intent to shade, 
Gan forth to lay his bayte her to beguyle, 
That from her self unwares he might her 

steale the whyle. 



Like as the fouler on his guilefull pype 
Charmes to the birds full many a pleasant 

lay. 
That they the whiles may take lesse heedie 

keepe 
How he his nets doth for their ruine lay : 
So did the villaine to her prate and play. 
And many pleasant trickes before her 

show, 
To turne her eyes from his intent away ; 
For he in slights and jugling feates did 

flow. 
And of legierdemayne the mysteries did 

know. 

XIV. 

To which whilest she lent her intentive 

mind. 
He suddenly his net upon her threw. 
That oversprad her like a puffe of wind ; 
And snatching her soone up, ere well she 

knew. 
Ran with her fast away unto his mew, 
Crying for helpe aloud : But when as ny 
He came unto his cave, and there did vew 
The armed knights stopping his passage 

by, 

He threw his burden downe, and fast 
away did fly. 



But Artegall him after did pursew. 
The whiles the Prince there kept the 

entrance still. 
Up to the rocke he ran, and thereon 

flew 
Like a wy\d Gote, leaping from hill to hill, 
And dauncing on the craggy clitfes at will : 



That deadly daunger seem'd in all mens 

sight 
To tempt such steps, where footing was so 

ill; 
Ne ought avayled for the armed knight 
To thinke to follow him that was so swift 

and light. 

XVI. 

Which when he saw, his yron man he 

sent 
To follow him ; for he was swift in chace. 
He him pursewd where ever that he went ; 
Both over rockes, and hilles, and every 

place 
Where so he fled, he followd him apace; 
So that he shortly forst him to forsake 
The hight, and downe descend unto the 

base: 
There he him courst a-fresh, and soone 

did make 
To leave his proper forme, and other shape 

to take. 

xvn. 

Into a Foxe himselfe he first did tourne ; 
But he him hunted like a Foxe full fast : 
Then to a bush himselfe he did trausforme ; 
But he the bush did beat, till that at last 
Into a bird it chaung'd, and from him 

past, 
Flying from tree to tree, from wand to 

wand ; 
But he then stones at it so long did cast. 
That like a stone it fell upon the land ; 
But he then tooke it up, and held fast in 

his hand. 

XVIII. 

So he it brought with him unto the 
knights, 
And to his Lord Sir Artegall it lent. 
Warning him hold it fast for feare of 

slights : 
Who whilest in hand it gryping hard he 

heut, 
Into a Hedgehogge all unwares it went, 
And prickt him so that he away it threw : 
Then ganne it runne away incontinent. 
Being returned to his former hew ; 
But Talus soone him overtooke, and back- 
ward drew. 

XIX. 

But, when as he would to a snake againe 
Have turn'd himselfe, he with his yron 

flayle 
Gan drive at him with so huge might and 

maine. 
That all his bones as small as sandy grayle 
He broke, and did his bowels disentrayle, 
Crying in vaine for helpe, when helpe was 

past: 



CANTO IX.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



425 



So did deceipt the selfe-deceiver fayle. 
There they him left a carrion outcast 
For beasts and foules to feede upon for 
their repast. 

XX. 

Thence forth they passed with that gen- 
tle Mayd 

To see her Ladie, as they did agree ; 

To which when she approched, thus she 
sayd: 

' Loe! now, right noble knights, arriv'd 
ye bee 

Nigh to the place which ye desir'd to see: 

There shall ye see my soverayne Lady 
Queene, 

Most sacred wight, most debonayre and 
free, 

That ever yet upon this earth was seene, 

Or that with Diademe hath ever crowned 
beene.' 

XXI. 

The gentle knights rejoyced much to 

heare 
The prayses of that Prince so manifold ; 
And, passing litle further, commen were 
Where they a stately pallace did behold 
Of pompous show, much more then she 

had told ; 
With many towres, and tarras mounted 

hye. 
And all their tops bright glistering with 

gold. 
That seemed to outshine the dimmed skye, 
And with their brightnesse daz'd the 

straunge beholders eye. 



There they alighting by that damzell 
were 

Directed in, and shewed all the sight; 

Whose porch, that most magnificke did 
appeare. 

Stood open wyde to all men day and 
night ; 

Yet warded well by one of mickle might 

That sate thereby, with gyantlike resem- 
blance, 

To keepe out guyle, and malice, and de- 
spight, 

That under shew oftimes of fayned sem- 
blance 

Are wont in Princes courts to worke great 
scath and hindrance : 

xxni. 

His name was Awe; by whom they 

passing in 
Went up the hall, that was a large wyde 

roome, 
All full of people making troublous din 



And wondrous noyse, as if that there were 
some 

Which unto them was dealing righteous 
doome : 

By whom they passing through the thick- 
est preasse, 

The marshall of the hall to them did come, 

His name hight Order ; who, commaund- 
ing peace, 

Them guyded through the throng, that 
did their clamors ceasse. 

XXIV. 

They ceast their clamors upon them to 

gaze ; 
Whom seeing all in armour bright as 

day, 
Straunge there to see, it did them much 

amaze, 
And with unwonted terror halfe affray, 
For never saw they there the like array ; 
Ne ever was the name of warre there 

spoken. 
But joyous peace and quietnesse alway 
Dealing just judgements, that mote not be 

broken 
For any brybes, or threates of any to be 

wroken. 

XXV. 

There, as they entred at the Scriene, 

they saw 
Some one whose tongue was for his tres- 

passe A'yle 
Nayld to a post, adjudged so by law; 
For that therewith he falsely did revyle 
And foule blaspheme that Queene for 

forged guyle. 
Both with bold speaches which he blazed 

had 
And with lewd poems which he did com- 

pyle; 
For the bold title of a poet bad 
He on himselfe had ta'en, and rayling 

rymes had sprad. 

XXVI. 

Thus there he stood, whylest high over 
his head 
There written was the purport of his 

sin, 
In cyphers strange, that few could rightly 

read, 
Bon Font ; but Bon, that once had writ- 
ten bin, 
Was raced out. and Mai was now put in: 
So now Malfont was plainely to be red, 
Eyther for th' evill which he did therein, 
Or that he likened was to a welhed 
Of evill words, and wicked sclaunders by 
him shed. 



426 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book v. 



XX vn. 

They, passing by, were guyded by de- 
gree 
Unto the presence of that gratious 

Queene ; 
Who sate on high, that she might all men 

see 
And might of all men royally be seene, 
Upon a throne of gold full bright and 

sheene, 
Adorned all with gemmes of endlesse 

price, 
As either might for wealth have gotten 

bene. 
Or could be fram'd by workmans rare 

device ; 
And all embost with Lyons and with 

Flourdelice. 

xxvin. 

All over her a cloth of state was spred, 
Not of rich tissew, nor of cloth of gold, 
Nor of ought else that may be richest 

red, 
But like a cloud, as likest may be told, 
That her brode-spreading wings did wyde 

unfold ; 
Whose skirts were bordred with bright 

sunny beames, 
Glistring like gold amongst the plights 

enrold, 
And here and there shooting forth silver 

streames, 
Mongst which crept litle Angels through 

the glittering gleames. 

XXIX. 

Seemed those litle Angels did uphold 
The cloth of state, and on their purpled 

wings 
Did beare the pendants through their nim- 

blesse bold : 
Besides, a thousand more of such as sings 
Hymns to high God, and carols heavenly 

things, 
Encompassed the throne on which she 

sate, — 
She, Angel-like, the heyre of ancient kings 
And mightie Conquerors, in royall state, 
Whylest kings and kesars at her feet did 

them prostrate. 



Thus she did sit in soverayne Majestic, 
Holding a Scepter in her royall hand, 
The sacred pledge of peace andclemencie. 
With which high God had blest her happie 

land, 
Maugre so many foes which did with- 
stand : 



But at her feet her sword was likewise 

layde. 
Whose long rest rusted the bright steely 

brand ; 
Yet when as foes enforst, or friends sought 

ayde. 
She could it sternely draw, that all the 

world dismayde. 

XXXI. 

And round about before her feet there 

sate 
A bevie of faire Virgins clad in white. 
That goodly seem'd t' adorne her royall 

state ; 
All lovely daughters of high Jove, that 

hight 
Litse, by him begot in loves delight 
Upon the righteous Themis; those, they 

say. 
Upon Joves judgement-seat wayt day and 

night ; 
And, when in wrath he threats the worlds 

decay. 
They doe his anger calme, and cruell ven- 
geance stay. 

XXXII. 

They also doe, by his divine permission, 
Upon the thrones of mortall Princes tend, 
And often treat for pardon and remission 
To suppliants, through frayltie which 

offend : 
Those did upon Mercillaes throne attend, 
Just Dice, wise Eunomie, myld Eirene ; 
And them amongst, her glorie to commend, 
Sate goodly Temperance in garments 

clene. 
And sacred Reverence yborne of heavenly 

strene. 

xxxin. 

Thus did she sit in royall rich estate, 
Admyr'd of many, honoured of all ; 
Whylest underneath her feete, there as 

she sate, 
An huge great Lyon lay, that mote appall 
An bardie courage, like captived thrall 
With a strong yron chaine and coller 

bound, 
That once he could not move, nor quich 

at all ; 
Yet did he murmure with rebellious 

sound, 
And softly royne, when salvage choler 

gan redound. 



So sitting high in dreaded soverajoitie. 
Those two strange knights were to her 
presence brought ; 



CANTO IX.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



427 



Who, bowing low before her Majestic, 
Did to her myldobeysance, as they ought, 
And meekest booue that they imagine 

mought : 
To whom she eke inclyning her withall. 
As a faire stoupe of her high soaring- 
thought, 
A chearef ull countenance on them let fall. 
Yet tempred with some majestie imperiall. 



As the bright sunne, what time his 

fierie teme 
Towards the westerne brim begins to draw, 
Gins to abate the briglituesse of his heme. 
And fervour of his flames somewhat adaw 
So did this mightie Ladie, when she saw 
Those two strange kniglits such homage 

to her make. 
Bate somewhat of that Majestie and awe 
That whylome wont to doe so many quake. 
And with more myld aspect those two to 

entertake. 

XXXVI. 

Now at that instant, as occasion fell, 
When these two stranger knights arriv'd 

in place, 
She was about affaires of common-wele, 
Dealing with Justice with indifferent 

grace, , 
And hearing pleas of people, meane and 

base: 
Mougst which, as then, there was for to 

be heard 
The tryall of a great and weightie case, 
Which on both sides was then debating 

hard ; 
But at the sight of these those were 

awhile debard. 

XXXVII. 

But, after all her princely entertayne. 
To th' hearing of that former cause in 

hand 
Her selfe eftsoones she gan convert 

againe : 
Which that those knights likewise mote 

understand. 
And witnesse forth aright in forrain land. 
Taking them up unto her stately throne, 
Where they mote heare the matter 

throughly scand 
On either part, she placed th' one on th' 

one. 
The other on the other side, and neare 

them none. 

XXXVIII. 

Then was there brought, as prisoner to 
the barre, 



A Ladie of great countenance and place. 
But that she it with f oule abuse did marre ; 
Yet did appeare rare beautie in her face. 
But blotted with condition vile and base, 
That all her other honour did obscure, 
Atid titles of nobilitie deface : 
Yet in that wretched semblant she did 

sure 
The peoples great compassion unto her 

allure. 

XXXIX. 

Then up arose a person of deepe reach. 
And rare in-sight hard matters to revele ; 
That well could charme his tongue, and 

time his speach 
To all assayes ; his name was called Zele. 
He gan that Ladie strongly to appele 
Of many haynous crymes by her enured ; 
And with sharp reasons rang her such a 

pele. 
That those, whom she to pitie had allured, 
He now t' abhorre and loath her person 

had procured. 

XL. 

First gan he tell how this, that seem'd 

so faire 
And royally arayd, Duessa hight ; 
That false Duessa, which had wrought 

great care 
And mickle mischiefe unto many a knight. 
By her beguyled and confounded quight: 
But not for those she now in question 

came. 
Though also those mote question'd be 

aright. 
But for vyld treasons and outrageous 

shame. 
Which she against the dred Mercilla oft 

did frame. 

XLI. 

For she whylome (as ye mote yet right 

well 
Remember) had her counsels false con- 

spyred 
With faithlesse Blandamour and Paridell, 
(Both two her paramours, both by her 

by red, 
And both with hope of shadowes vaine 

inspyred) 
And with them practiz'd, how for to de- 

pryve 
Mercilla of her crowne, by her aspyred. 
That she might it uuto her selfe deryve. 
And tryumph in their blood whom she to 

death did dryve. 



But through high heavens grace, w^hich 
favour not 



428 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book v. 



The wicked ihiftes of trayterous desynes 
Gainst loiall Princes, all this cursed plot, 
Ere proofe it tooke, discovered was be- 

tymes, 
And th' actours won the meede meet for 

their crymes. 
Such be the meede of all that by such 

mene 
Unto the type of kingdomes title clymes ! 
But false Duessa, now untitled Queene, 
Was brought to her sad doome, as here 

was to be seene. 

XLIII. 

Strongly did Zele her haynous fact en- 
force, 
And many other crimes of foule defame 
Against her brought, to banish all remorse, 
And aggravate the horror of her blame : 
And with him, to make part against her, 

came 
Many grave persons that against her pled. 
First was a sage old Syre, that had to 

name 
The Kingdomes Care, with a white silver 

hed, 
That many high regards and reasons 
gainst her red. 

XLIV. 

Then gan Authority her to appose 
With peremptorie powre, that made all 

mute; 
And then the Law of Nations gainst her 

rose. 
And reasons brought that no man could 

refute : 
Next gan Religion gainst her to impute 
High Gods beheast, and powre of holy 

lawes ; 
Then gan the Peoples cry and Commons 

sute 
Importune care of their owne publicke 

cause ; 
And lastly Justice charged her with 

breach of lawes. 



But then, for her, on the contrarie part, 
Rose many advocates for her to plead : 
First there came Pittie with full tender 

hart. 
And with her joyn'd Regard of woman- 
head ; 
And then came Daunger, threatning hid- 
den dread 
And high alliance unto forren powre ; 
Then came Nobilitie of birth, that bread 
Great ruth through her misfortunes trag- 
icke stowre ; 



And lastly Griefe did plead, and many 
teares forth powre. 



With the neare touch whereof in tender 
hart 
The Briton Prince was sore empassionate, 
And woxe inclined much unto her part. 
Through the sad terror of so dreadfull 

fate. 
And wretched ruine of so high estate ; 
That for great ruth his courage gan re- 
lent: 
Which when as Zele perceived to abate, 
He gan his earnest fervour to augment, 
And many fearefull objects to them to 
present. 

XLVII. 

He gan t' efforce the evidence anew, 
And new accusements to produce in place : 
He brought forth that old hag of hellish 

hew. 
The cursed Ate, brought her face to face, 
Who privie was and partie in the case : 
She, glad of spoyle and ruinous decay, 
Did her appeach; and, to her more dis- 

* grace. 
The plot of all her practise did display. 
And all her traynes and all her treasons 

forth did lay. 

XLVin. 

Then brought he forth with griesly grim 
aspect 

Abhorred Murder, who, with bloudie 
knyfe 

Yet dropping fresh in hand, did her de- 
tect. 

And there with guiltie bloudshed charged 
ryfe: 

Then brought lie forth Sedition, breeding 
stryfe 

In troublous wits, and mutinous uprore : 

Then brought he forth Incontinence of 

lyfe, 

Even foule Adulterie her face before, 
And lewd Impietie, that her accused sore. 



All of which when as the Prince had 
heard and seene. 
His former fancies ruth he gan repent. 
And from her partie ef tsoones was drawen 

cleene : 
But Artegall, with constant firme intent 
For zeale of Justice, was against her 

bent: 
So was she guiltie deemed of them all. 
Then Zele began to urge her punish- 
ment, 



CANTO IX.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



429 



And to their Queene for judgement loudly 

call, 
Unto Mercilla myld, for Justice gainst the 

thrall. 

L. 

But she, whose Princely brest was 

touched nere 
With piteous ruth of her so wretched 

plight. 
Though plaine she saw, by all that she did 

heare, 



That she of death was guiltie found by 

right, 
Yet would not let just vengeance on her 

light ; 
But rather let, instead thereof, to fall 
Few perling drops from her faire lampes 

of light ; 
The which she covering with her purple 

pall 
Would have the passion hid, and up arose 

withall. 



CAJSTTO X. 

Prince Arthur takes the enterprize 

For Belgee for to fight : 
Gerioneos Seneschall 

He slayes in Beiges right. 



Some Clarkes doe doubt in their device- 
full art 
"WTiether this heavenly thing whereof I 

treat. 
To weeteu Mercie, be of Justice part. 
Or drawne forth from her by divine ex- 

treate : 
This well I wote, that sure she is as great, 
And meriteth to have as high a place, 
Sith in th' Almighties everlasting seat 
She first was bred, and borne of heavenly 

race. 
From thence pour'd down on men by in- 
fluence of grace. 

II. 

For if that Vertue be of so great might 
Which from just verdict will for nothing 

start, 
But to preserve inviolated right 
Oft spilles the principall to save the part ; 
So much more, then, is that of powre and 

art 
That seekes to save the subject of her skill, 
Yet never doth from doome of right depart, 
As it is greater prayse to save then spill. 
And better to reforme then to cut off the 

ill. 

m. 

Who then can thee, Mercilla, throughly 
prayse, 
That herein doest all earthly Princes pas ? 
W^hat heavenly Muse shall thy great hon- 
our rayse 
Up to the skies, whence first deriv'd it was, 
And now on earth it selfe enlarged has 
From th' utmost brinke of the Armericke 

shore 
Unto the margent of the Molucas ? 



Those Nations farre thy justice doe adore ; 
But thine o wnje people do thy mercy prayse 
much more. 

IV. 

Much more it praysed was of those two 
knights. 
The noble Prince and righteous Artegall, 
When they had scene and heard her doome 

a-rights 
Against Duessa, damned by them all; 
But by her tempred without griefe or gall, 
Till strong constraint did her thereto en- 
force : 
And yet even then ruing her wilfull fall 
With more then needful! naturall remorse, 
And yeelding the last honour to her 
wretched corse. 



During all which, those knights con- 
tinu'd there 
Both doing and receiving curtesies 
Of that great Ladie, who with goodly 

chere 
Them entertayn'd, fit for their dignities, 
Approving dayly to their noble eyes 
Royall examples of her mercies rare 
And worthie paterns of her clemencies ; 
Which till this day mongst many living 

are. 
Who them to their posterities doe still de- 
clare. 

VI. 

Amongst the rest, which in that space 

befell, 
There came two Springals of full tender 

yeares, 
Farre thence from forrein land where they 

did dwell, 
To seeke for succour of her and her Peares, 



430 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book v. 



With humble prayers and intreatfull 

teares ; 
Sent by their mother, who, a widow, was 
Wrapt in great dolours and in deadly 

feares 
By a strong Tyrant, who invaded has 
Her land, and slaine her children ruefully, 

alas! 

VII. 

Her name was Belgae ; who in former age 
A Ladie of great worth and wealth had 

beene. 
And mother of a f rutefull heritage. 
Even sevcnteene goodly sonnes; which 

who had seene 
In their first flowre, before this fatall teene 
Them overtooke and their f aire blossomes 

blasted, 
More happie mother would her surely 

weene 
Then famous Niobe, before she tasted 
Latonaes childrens wrath that all her issue 

wasted. 

vm. 
But this fell Tyrant, through his tortious 

powre. 
Had left her now but five of all that brood : 
For twelve of them he did by times de- 

voure, 
And to his Idols sacrifice their blood, 
Whylest he of none was stopped nor with- 
stood : 
For soothly he was one of matchlesse 

might, 
Of horrible aspect and dreadfull mood. 
And had three bodies in one wast empight, 
And th' armes and legs of three to succour 

him in fight. 

IX. 

And sooth they say that he was borne 

and bred 
Of Gyants race, the sonne of Geryon ; 
He that whylome in Spaine so sore was 

dred 
For his huge powre and great oppression. 
Which brought that land to his subjection, 
Through his three bodies powre in one 

combynd ; 
And eke all strangers, in that region 
Arryving, to his kyne for food assynd ; 
The fayrest kyne alive, but of the fiercest 

kynd: 

X. 

For they were all, they say, of purple 

hew. 
Kept by a cowheard, hight Eurytion, 
A cruell carle, the which'all strangers slew, 
Ne day nor night did sleepe t' attend thsm 

on, 



But walkt about them ever and anone 
With his two-headed dogge that Orthrus 

hight ; 
Orthrus begotten by great Typhaon 
And foule Echidna in the house of night : 
But Hercules them all did overcome in 

fight. 

XI. 

His Sonne was this Geryoneo hight ; 
Who, after that his monstrous father fell 
Under Alcides club, streight tooke hisflight 
From that sad land where his syre did 

quell, 
And came to this, where Beige then did 

dwell 
And flourish in all wealth and happinesse, 
Being then new made widow (as befell) 
After her Noble husbands late decesse ; 
Which gave beginning to her woe and 

wretchednesse. 



Then this bold Tyrant, of her widowhed 
Taking advantage, and her yet fresh woes. 
Himself e and service to her offered, 
Her to defend against all forrein foes 
That should their powre against her right 

oppose : 
Whereof she glad, now needing strong de- 
fence. 
Him entertayn'd and did her champion 

chose ; 
Which long he usd withcarefuU diligence, 
The better to confirme her fearelesse con- 
fidence. 

XIII. 

By meanes whereof she did at last com- 
mit 
All to his hands, and gave him soveraine 

powre 
To doe whatever he thought good or fit : 
Which having got, he gan forth from that 

howre 
To stirre up strife and many a tragicke 

stowre ; 
Giving her dearest children one by one 
Unto a dreadful Monster to devoure. 
And setting up an Idole of his owne. 
The image of his monstrous parent Gery- 
one. 

XIV. 

So tyrannizing and oppressing all. 
The woefuU widow had no meanes now 

left. 
But unto gratious great Mercilla call 
For ayde against that cruell Tyrants theft, 
Ere all her children he from her had reft : 
Therefore these two, her eldest sonnes, 

she sent 
To seeke for succour of this Ladies gieft; 



CANTO X.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



431 



To whom their sute they humbly did pre- 
sent 

In th' hearing of full many Klnights and 
Ladies gent. 



Amongst the which then fortuned to bee 
The noble Briton Prince with his brave 

Peare ; 
Who when he none of all those knights 

did see 
Hastily bent that enterprise to heare, 
Nor undertake the same for cowheard 

fer.re, 
He stepped forth with courage bold and 

great, 
Admvr'd of all the rest in presence there, 
And humbly gan that mightie Queene en- 
treat 
To graunt him that adventure for his 
former feat. 

XVI. 

She gladly graunted it : then he straight- 
way 
Himselfe unto his journey gan prepare, 
And all his armours readie dight that day. 
That nought the morrow next mote stay 

his fare. 
The morrow next appear'd with purple 

hayre 
Yet dropping fresh out of the Indian 

fount. 
And bringing light into the heavens fayre. 
When he was readie to his steede to 

mount 
Unto his way, which now was all his care 
and count. 



Then taking humble leave of that great 

Queene, 
Who gave him roiall gifties and riches 

rare, 
As tokens of her thankefull mind beseene, 
And leaving Artegall to his owne care, 
Upon his voyage forth he gan to fare 
With those two gentle youthes, which 

him did guide 
And all his way before him still prepare. 
Xe after him did Artegall abide. 
But on his first adventure forward forth 

did ride. 

xvin. 

It was not long till that the Prince ar- 
rived 

Within the land where dwelt that Ladie 
sad; 

Whereof that Tyrant had her now de- 
prived, 



And into moores and marshes banisht 

had, 
Out of the pleasant soyle and cities glad, 
In which she wont to harbour happily : 
But now his cruelty so sore she drad, 
That to those fennes for fastnesse she did 

fly, 

And there her selfe did hyde from his 
hard tyranny. 



There he her found in sorrow and dis- 
may. 

All solitarie without living wight ; 

For all her other children, through affray, 

Had hid themselves, or taken further 
flight : 

And eke her selfe, through sudden strange 
affright 

When one in armes she saw, began to 

fly; 

But, when her owne two sonnes she had 
in sight, 

She gan take hart and looke up joyfully ; 

For well she wist this knight came suc- 
cour to supply. 



And, running unto them with greedy 

joyes, 
Fell straight about their neckes as they 

did kueele, 
And bursting forth in teares, *Ah! my 

sweet boyes,' 
(Sayd she) 'yet now I gin new life to 

feele ; 
And feeble spirits, that gan faint and 

reele, 
Now rise againe at this your joyous sight. 
Alreadie seemes that fortunes headlong 

wheele 
Begins to turne, and sunne to shine more 

bright 
Then it was wont, through comfort of 

this noble knight.' 

XXI. 

Then turning unto him; ' And you, Sir 

knight,' 
(Said she) ' that taken have this toyle- 

some paine 
For wretched woman, miserable wight, 
May you in heaven immortall guerdon 

gaiue 
For so great travell as you doe sustaine ! 
For other meede may hope for none of 

mee, 
To whom nought else but bare life doth 

remaine ; 
And that so wretched one, as ye do see, 



432 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book v. 



Is liker lingriug death then loathed life 
to bee.' 



Much was he moved with her piteous 

plight, 
And low dismounting from his loftie 

steede 
Gan to recomfort her all that he might, 
Seeking to drive away deepe-rooted dreede 
With hope of helpe in that her greatest 

neede. 
So thence he wished her with him to wend 
Unto some place where they mote rest 

and feede, 
And she take comfort which God now did 

send : 
Good hart in evils doth the evils much 

amend. 



' Ay me ! ' (sayd she) ' and whether shall 

I goe ? 
Are not all places full of f orraine powres ? 
My pallaces possessed of my foe, 
My cities sackt, and their sky-threating 

towres 
Raced and made smooth fields now full of 

flowres ? 
Onely these marishes and myrie bogs, 
In which the fearefull ewftes do build 

their bowres, 
Yeeld me an hostry mongst the croking 

frogs, 
And harbour here in safety from those 

ravenous dogs.' 

XXIV. 

'Nathlesse,' (said he) 'deare Ladie, 

with me goe ; 
Some place shall us receive and harbour 

yield ; 
If not, we will it force, maugre your foe. 
And purchase it to us with speare and 

shield : 
And if all fayle, yet farewell open field ; 
The earth to all her creatures lodging 

lends.' 
With such his chearefuU speaches he doth 

wield 
Her mind so well, that to his will she 

bends ; 
And, bynding up her locks and weeds, 

forth with him wends. 

XXV. 

They came unto a Citie farre up land, 
The which whylome that Ladies owne 

had bene : 
But now by force extort out of her hand 
By her strong foe, who had defaced cleene 



Her stately towres and buildings sunny 

sheene. 
Shut up her haven, mard her marchants 

trade, 
Robbed her people that full rich had 

beene, 
And in her necke a Castle huge had 

made. 
The which did her cOmmaund without 

needing perswade. 

XXVI. 

That Castle was the strength of all that 

state, 
Untill that state by strength was pulled 

downe ; 
And that same citie, so now ruinate. 
Had bene the keye of all that kingdomes 

crown e ; 
Both goodly Castle, and both goodly 

Towne, 
Till that th' offended heavens list to 

lowre 
Upon their blisse, and baleful! fortune 

f rowne : 
When those gainst states and kingdomes 

do conjure. 
Who then can thinke their hedlong ruine 

to recure ? 

XXVII. 

But he had brought it now in servile 
bond, 
And mad« it beare the yoke of Inquisition, 
Stryving long time in vaine it to with- 

stond ; 
Yet glad at last to make most base sub- 
mission. 
And life enjoy for any composition : 
So now he hath new lawes and orders 

new 
Imposd on it with many a hard condi- 
tion, 
And forced it, the honour that is dew 
To God, to doe unto his Idole most un- 
trew. 

XXVIII. 

To him he hath before this Castle greene 
Built a faire Chappell, and an Altar 

framed 
Of costly Ivory full rich beseene. 
On which that cursed Idole, farre pro- 
clamed. 
He hath set up, and him his God hath 

named ; 
Offering to him in sinfull sacrifice 
The flesh of men, to Gods owne likenesse 

framed. 
And powring forth their blond in brutishe 

wize. 
Than any yron eyes to see it would agrize. 



CANTO X.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



433 



XXIX. 

And, for more horror and more crueltie, 
Under that cursed Idols altar-stone 
An hideous monster doth in darknesse lie, 
Whose dreadf ull shape was never seene of 

none 
That lives on earth ; but unto those alone 
The which unto him sacrificed bee : 
Those he devoures, they say, both flesh 

and bone. 
What else they have is all the Tyrants 

fee; 
So that no whit of them remayning one 

may see. 

XXX. 

There eke he placed a strong garrisone, 
And set a Seneschall of dreaded might, 
That by his powre oppressed every one. 
And vanquished all ventrous knights in 

fight; 
To whom he wont shew all the shame he 

might. 
After that them in battell he had wonne : 
To which when now they gan approch in 

sight, 
The Ladie counseld him the place to 

shonne 
Where as so many knights had fouly bene 

fordonne. 

XXXI. 

Her f earef ull speaches nought he did re- 
gard, 
But, ryding streight under the Castle wall, 
Called aloud unto the watchfull ward 
Which there did wayte, willing them 

forth to call 
Into the field their Tyrants Seneschall : 
To whom when tydings thereof came, he 

streight 
Cals for his armes, and arming him withall 
Eftsoones forth pricked proudly in his 

might, 
And gan with courage fierce addresse him 
to the fight. 



They both encounter in the middle 
plaine, 
And their sharpe speares doe both to- 
gether smite 
Amid their shields, with so huge might 

and maine 
That seem'd their soules they wold have 

ryven quight 
Out of their breasts with furious despight : 
Yet could the Seneschals no entrance find 
Into the Princes shield where it empight, 
(So pure the metallwas and well refynd,) 
But shivered all about, and scattered in 
the wynd : 



XXXIII. 

Not so the Princes but with restlesse 

force 
Into his shield it readie passage found, 
Both through his haberjeon and eke his 

corse ; 
Which tombling downe upon the sense- 

lesse ground 
Gave leave unto his ghost fromthraldome 

bound 
To wander in the griesly shades of night. 
There did the Prince him leave in deadly 

swound, 
And thence unto the castle marched right. 
To see if entrance there as yet obtaine he 

might. 

XXXIV. 

But, as he nigher drew, three knights 
he spyde, 
All arm'd to point, issuing forth apace, 
Which towards him with all their powre 

did ryde. 
And meeting him right in the middle race 
Did all their speares attonce on him en- 

chace. 
As three great Culverings for battrie bent. 
And leveld all against one certaine place. 
Doe all attonce their thunders rage forth 

rent. 
That makes the wals to stagger with as- 
tonishment : 

XXXV. 

So all attonce they on the Prince did 

thonder. 
Who from his saddle swarved nought 

asyde, 
Ne to their force gave way, that was great 

wonder ; 
But like a bulwarke firmely did abyde, 
Rebutting him, which in the midst did 

ryde, 
With so huge rigour, that his mortal! 

speare 
Past through his shield and pierst through 

either syde ; 
That downe he fell uppon his mother 

deare, 
And powred forth his wretched life in 

deadly dreare. 

XXXVI. 

Whom when his other fellowes saw, 

they fled 
As fast as f eete could carry them away ; 
And after them the Prince as swiftly sped. 
To be aveng'd of their unknightly play. 
There, whitest they entring th' one did th' 

other stay, 
The hindmost in the gate he overhent, 



434 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book v. 



And, as he pressed iu, him there did slay : 
His carkasse, tumbling on the threshold, 

sent 
His grouing soule unto her place of pun- 
ishment. 

XXXVII. 

The other which was entred laboured 

fast 
To sperre the gate; but that same lumpe 

of clay. 
Whose grudging ghost was thereout fled 

and past, 
Right in the middest of the threshold lay, 
That it the Posterne did from closing 

stay: 
The whiles the Prince hard preased in be- 

tweene, 
And entraunce wonne; Streight th' other 

fled away. 
And ran into the Hall, where he did 

weene 
Him self e to save ; but he there slew him 

at the skreene. 

xxxvm. 

Then all the rest which in that Castle 
were, 
Seeing that sad ensample them before. 
Durst not abide, but fled away for f eare, 



And them convayd out at a Posterne dore. 

Long sought the Prince; but when he 
found no more 

T' oppose against his powre he forth is- 
sued 

Unto that Lady, where he her had lore. 

And her gan cheare with what she there 
had vewed. 

And what she had not scene within unto 
her shewed : 



Who with right humble thankes him 

goodly greeting 
For so great prowesse as he there had 

proved, 
Much greater then was ever in her weet- 

iug, 
With great admiraunce inwardly was 

moved, 
And honourd him with all that her be- 
hoved. 
Thenceforth into that Castle he her led 
With her two sonnes, right deare of her 

beloved, 
Where all that night them selves they 

cherished. 
And from her balef ull minde all care he 

banished. 



CANTO XI. 

Prince Arthure overcomes the great 

Gerioneo in fight: 
Doth slay the Monster, and restore 

Belg6 unto her right. 



I. 

It often fals, in course of common life, 
That right long time is overborne of 

wrong 
Through avarice, or powre, or guile, or 

strife, 
That weakens her, and makes her party 

strong ; 
But Justice, though her dome she doe 

prolong. 
Yet at the last she will her owne cause 

right : 
As by sad Beige seemes; whose wrongs 

though long 
She sufl'red, yet at length she did requight. 
And sent redresse thereof by this brave 

Briton Knight. 



Whereof when newes was to that Ty- 
rant brought, 
How that the Lady Beige now had found 



A Champion, that had with his Champion 
fought, 

And laid his Seneschall low on the ground, 

And eke him selfe did threaten to con- 
found ; 

He gan to burne in rage, and friese in 
feare. 

Doubting sad end of principle unsound : 

Yet, sith he heard but one that did ap- 
peare. 

He did him selfe encourage and take bet- 
ter cheare. 



Nathelesse him selfe he armed all in hast. 
And forth he far'd with all his many bad, 
Ne stayed step, till that he came at last 
Unto the Castle which they conquerd had : 
There with huge terrour, to be more 

ydrad, 
He sternely marcht before the Castle gate. 
And, with bold vaunts and ydle threat- 

ning, bad 



CANTO XI.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



435 



Deliver him his owne, ere yet too late, 
To which they had no right, nor any 
wrongfull state. 



The Prince staid not his auuswere to 

devize, 
But, opening streight the Sparre, forth 

to him came, 
Full nobly mounted in right warlike wize ; 
And asked him, if that he were the same, 
Who all that wrong unto that wofull 

Dame 
So long had done, and from her native 

land 
Exiled her, that all the world spake 

shame. 
He boldly aunswerd him, He there did 

stand 
That would his doings justifie with his 

owne hand. 

V. 

With that so furiously at him he flew, 
As if he would have over-run him 

streight ; 
And with his huge great yron axe gan 

hew 
So hideously nppon his armour bright, 
As he to peeces would have chopt it 

quight. 
That the bold Prince was forced foote to 

give 
To his first rage, and yeeld to his de- 

spight ; 
The whilest at him so dreadfully he drive, 
That seem'd a marble rocke asunder could 

have rive. 

VI. 

Thereto a great advauntage eke he has 
Through his three double "hands thrise 

multiplyde. 
Besides the double strength which in them 

was: 
For stil, when fit occasion did betyde. 
He could his weapon shift from side to 

syde. 
From hand to hand ; and with such nim- 

blesse sly 
Could wield about, that, ere it were es- 

pide. 
The wicked stroke did wound his enemy 
Behinde, beside, before, as he it list apply. 



Which uncouth use when as the Prince 
perceived, 
He gan to watch the wielding of his hand, 
Least by such slight he were unwares de- 
ceived ; 
And ever, ere he saw the stroke to land, 



He would it meete and warily withstand. 

One time when he his weapon faynd to 
shift. 

As he was wont, and chaug'd from hand 
to hand, 

He met him with a counterstroke so 
swift. 

That quite smit off his arme as he it up 
did lift. 

vin. 
Therewith all fraught with fury and 
disdaiue, 

He braj^d aloud for very fell despight ; 

And sodainely, t' avenge him selfe againe 

Gan into one assemble all the might 

Of all his hands, and heaved them on 
hight. 

Thinking to pay him with that one for 
all: 

But the sad Steele seizd not, where it was 
hight, 

Uppon the childe, but somewhat short 
did fall, 

And lighting on his horses head him quite 
did maU. 

rx. 
Downe streight to ground fell his as- 
tonisht steed, 

And eke to th' earth his burden with him 
bare ; 

But he him selfe full lightly from him 
freed. 

And gan him selfe to fight on foote pre- 
pare: 

Whereof when as the Gyant was aware, 

He wox right blyth, as he had got there- 
by, 

And laught so loud, that all his teeth wide 
bare 

One might have scene enraung'd disor- 
derly. 

Like to a rancke of piles that pitched are 
awry. 

X. 

Eftsoones againe his axe he raught on 

hie, 
Ere he were throughly buckled to his 

geare. 
And can let drive at him so dreadfullie, 
That had he chauuced not his shield to 

reare, 
Ere that huge stroke arrived on him 

neare. 
He had him surely cloven quite in twaine : 
But th' Adamantine shield which he did 

beare 
So well was tempred, that for all his 

maine 
It would no passage yeeld unto his pur- 
pose vaine. 



43^ 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book v. 



Yet was the stroke so forcibly applide, 
That made him stagger with uucertaine 

sway, 
As if he would have tottered to one side : 
Wherewith full wroth he fiercely gan 

assay 
That curt'sie with like kiuduesse to repay, 
And smote at him with so importune 

might, 
That two more of his armes did fall away, 
Like fruitlesse brauuches, which the 

hatchets slight 
Hath pruned from the native tree, and 

cropped quight. 



With that all mad and furious he grew, 
Like a fell mastiffe through enraging 

heat, 
And curst, and band, and blasphemies 

forth threw 
Against his Gods, and fire to them did 

threat. 
And hell unto him selfe with horrour 

great. 
Thenceforth he car'd no more which way 

he strooke, 
Nor where it light ; but gan to chauf e and 

sweat, 
And gnasht his teeth, and his head at him 

shooke. 
And sternely him beheld with grim and 

ghastly looke. 

XIII. 

Nought fear'd the childe his lookes, ne 

yet his threats. 
But onely wexed now the more aware 
To save him selfe from those his furious 

heats. 
And watch advauntage how to worke his 

care, 
The which good Fortune to him offred 

faire ; 
For as he in his rage him overstrooke. 
He, ere he could his weapon backe repaire, 
His side all bare and naked overtooke. 
And with his mortal steel quite through 

the body strooke. 

XIV. 

Through all three bodies he him strooke 

attonce. 
That all the three attonce fell on the 

plaine, 
Else should he thrise have needed for the 

nonce 
Them to have stricken, and thrise to have 

slaine. 



So now all three one sencelesse lumpe re- 

maine, 
Enwallow'd in his owne blacke bloudy 

gore, 
And byting th' earth for very deaths dis- 

daine ; 
Who, with a cloud of night him covering, 

bore 
Downe to the house of dole, his dales 

there to deplore. 



Which when the Lady from the Castle 
saw. 
Where she with her two sonnes did look- 
ing stand. 
She towards him in hast her selfe did draw 
To greet him the good fortune of his hand : 
And all the people, both of towne and 

land, 
Which there stood gazing from the Citties 

wall 
Uppon these warriours, greedy t' under- 
stand 
To whether should the victory befall, 
Now when they saw it f alne, they eke him 
greeted all. 



But Beige, with her sonnes, prostrated 

low 
Before his feete in all that peoples sight, 
Mongst joyes mixing some tears, mongst 

wele some wo. 
Him thus bespake : ' O most redoubted 

Knight, 
The which hast me, of all most wretched 

wight. 
That earst was dead, restor'd to life 

againe. 
And these weake impes replanted by thy 

might, 
What guerdon can I give thee for thy 

paine, 
But even that which thou savedst thine 

still to remaine ? ' 

XVII. 

He tooke her up forby the lilly hand, 
And her recomforted the best he might, 
Saying ; ' Deare Lady, deedes ought not 

be scand 
By th' authors manhood, nor the doers 

might, 
But by their trueth and by the causes 

right : 
That same is it which fought for you this 

day. 
What other meed, then, need me to re- 

quight. 



CANTO XI.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



437 



But that which yeeldeth vertues meed 
alway ? 

That is, the vertue selfe, which her re- 
ward doth pay.' 



She humbly thankt him for that won- 
drous grace, 
And further sayd : ' Ah ! Sir, but mote ye 

please, 
Sith ye thus farre have tendred my poore 

case. 
As from my chiefest foe me to release, 
That your victorious arme will not yet 

cease. 
Till ye have rooted all the relickes out 
Of that vilde race, and stablished my 

peace. 
* What is there else ' (sayd he) ' left of 

their rout? 
Declare it boldly, Dame, and doe not stand 

in dout.' 

XIX. 

' Then wote you. Sir, that in this Church 

hereby 
There stands an Idole of great note and 

name, 
The which this Gyant reared first on hie, 
And of his owne vaine fancies thought 

did frame : 
To whom, for endlesse horrour of his 

shame. 
He offred up for daily sacrifize 
My children and my people, burnt in flame 
With all the tortures that he could devize. 
The more t' aggrate his God with such his 

blouddy guize. 

XX. 

* And underneath this Idoll there doth 

lie 
An hideous monster that doth it defend. 
And feedes on all the carkasses that die 
In sacrifize unto that cursed feend ; 
Whose ugly shape none ever saw, nor 

kend. 
That ever scap'd: for of a man, they say. 
It has the voice, that speaches forth doth 

send, 
Even blasphemous words, which she doth 

bray 
Out of her poysnous entrails fraught with 

dire decay.' 

XXI. 

Which when the Prince heard tell, his 

heart gan earne 
For great desire that Monster to assay, 
And prayd the place of her abode to 

learne ; 



Which being shew'd, he gan him selfe 

streightway 
Thereto addresse, and his bright shield 

display. 
So to the Church he came, where it was 

told 
The Monster underneath the Altar lay : 
There he that Idoll saw of massy gold 
Most richly made, but there no Monster 

did behold. 

XXII. 

Upon the Image with his naked blade 
Three times, as in defiance, there he 

strooke ; 
And the third time out of an hidden shade 
There forth issewd from under th' Altars 

smooke 
A dreadfull feend with fowle deformed 

looke. 
That stretcbt it selfe as it had long lyen 

still ; 
And her long taile and fethers strongly 

shooke. 
That all the Temple did with terrour 

fill; 
Yet him nought terrified that feared noth- 
ing ill. 

XXIII. 

An huge great Beast it was, when it in 

length 
Was stretched forth, that nigh fild all the 

place, 
And seem'd to be of infinite great 

strength : 
Horrible, hideous, and of hellish race. 
Borne of the brooding of Echidna base, 
Or other like infernal! furies kinde ; 
For of a Mayd she had the outward 

face. 
To hide the horrour which did lurke be- 

hinde, 
The better to beguile whom she so fond 

didfinde. 

XXIV. 

Thereto the body of a dog she had. 
Full of fell ravin and fierce greediuesse ; 
A Lions clawes, with powre and rigour 

clad. 
To rend and teare what so she can op- 

. presse; 
A Dragons taile, whose sting without re- 

dresse 
Full deadly wounds where so it is empight ; 
And Eagles wings, for scope and speedi- 

nesse. 
That nothing may escape her reaching 

might, 
Whereto "she ever list to make her hardy 

flight. 



438 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book v. 



Much like in foulnesse and deformity 
Unto that Monster, whom the Thebau 

Knight, 
The father of that fatall progeny, 
Made kill her selfe for very hearts de- 

spight 
That he had red her Riddle, which no wight 
Could ever loose but suffred deadly doole : 
So also did this Monster use like slight 
To many a one which came unto her 

schoole, 
Whom she did put to death, deceived like 

a foole. 

XXVI. 

She comming forth, when as she first 

beheld 
The armed Prince with shield so blazing 

bright 
Her ready to assaile, was greatly queld, 
And much dismayd with that dismayf ull 

sight. 
That backe she would have turnd for 

great affright : 
But he gan her with courage fierce assay, 
That forst her turne againe in her despight 
To save her selfe, least that he did her 

slay; 
And sure he had her slaine, had she not 

turnd her way. 



Tho, when she saw that she was forst 

to fight. 
She flew at him like to an hellish feend, 
And on his shield tooke hold with all her 

might, 
As if that it she would in peeces rend, 
Or reave out of the hand that did it hend : 
Strongly he strove out of her greedy gripe 
To loose his shield, and long while did 

contend ; 
But, when he could not quite it, with one 

stripe 
Her Lions clawes he from her feete away 

did wipe. 

XXVIII. 

"With that aloude she gan to bray and 

yell. 
And fowle blasphemous speaches forth 

did cast. 
And bitter curses, horrible to tell ; 
That even the Temple, wherein she was 

plast, 
Did quake to heare, and nigh asunder 

brast : 
Tho with her huge long taile she at him 

strooke. 
That made him stagger and stand halfe 

agast, 



With trembling joynts, as he for terrour 

shooke ; 
Who nought was terrifide, but greater 

courage tooke. 

XXIX. 

As when the Mast of some well-timbred 

hulke 
Is with the blast of some outragious 

storme 
Blowne downe, it shakes the bottome of 

the bulke, 
And makes her ribs to cracke as they 

were torne ; 
Whilest still she stands, as stonisht and 

forlorne : 
So was he stound with stroke of her huge 

taile ; 
But, ere that it she backe againe had 

borne, 
He with his sword it strooke, that with- 
out faile 
He jointed it, and mard the swinging of 

her flaile. 

XXX. 

Then gan she cry much louder then 

afore, 
That all the people there without it heard. 
And Beige selfe was therewith stonied sore, 
As if the onely sound thereof she feard. 
But then the feend her selfe more fiercely 

reard 
Uppon her wide great wings, and strongly 

flew 
With all her body at his head and beard, 
That had he not foreseene witli heedfull 

vew, 
And thrown his shield atween, she had 

him done to rew. 

XXXI. 

But, as she prest on him with heavy 

sway. 
Under her wombe his fatall sword he 

thrust, 
And for her entrailes made an open way 
To issue forth; the which, once being 

brust, 
Like to a great Mill-damb forth fiercely 

gusht, 
And powred out of her infernall sinke 
Most ugly filth; and poyson therewith 

rusht, 
That him nigh choked with the deadly 

stinke. 
Such loathly matter were small lust to 

speake or thinke. 

XXXII. 

Then downe to ground fell that deformed 
Masse, 



CANTO XI.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



439 



Breathing out clouds of sulphure fowle 

and blacke, 
In which a puddle of contagion was, 
More loathd then Lerua, or then Stygian 

lake, 
That any man would nigh awhaped 

make : 
Whom when he saw on ground, he was 

full glad, 
And streight went forth his gladnesse to 

partake 
With Beige, who watcht all this while 

full sad, 
Waytiug what end would he of that same 

daunger drad. 

XXXIII. 

Whom when she saw so joyously come 

forth, 
She gan rejoyce and shew triumphant 

' chere, 
Lauding and praysinghisrenowmed worth 
By all the names that honourable were. 
Then in he brought her, and her shewed 

there 
The present of his paines, that Monsters 

spoyle, 
And eke that IdoU deem'd so costly dere, 
Whom he did all to peeces breake, and 

foyle 
In filthy durt, and left so in the loathely 

soyle. 

XXXIV. 

Then all the people which beheld that 

day 
Gan shout aloud, that unto heaven it 

rong; 
And all the damzels of that towne in ray 
Come dauncing forth, and joyous carrols 

song : 
So him they led through all their streetes 

along 
Crowned with girlonds of immortall 

bales ; 
And all the vulgar did about them throng 
To see the man, whose everlasting praise 
They all were bound to all posterities to 

raise. 

XXXV. 

There he with Belgse did awhile 
remaine 
Making great feast and joyous merri- 
ment, 
Untill he had her settled in her raine 
With safe assuraunce and establishment : 
Then to his first emprize his mind he 

lent. 
Full loath to Belgfe and to all the rest ; 
Of whom yet taking leave thence forth he 
went, 



And to his former journey him addrest; 
On which long way he rode, ne ever day 
did rest. 



But turne we now to noble Artegall; 
Who, having left Mercilla, streight way 

went 
On his fii'st quest, the which him forth 

did call, 
To weet, to worke Irenaes franchise- 

ment. 
And eke Grantortoes worthy punishment. 
So forth he fared, as his manner was, 
With onely Talus wayting diligent. 
Through many perils; and much way 

did pas, 
Till nigh unto the place at length ap- 

procht he has. 



There as he traveld by the way, he met 
An aged wight wayfaring all alone, 
Who through his yeares long since aside 

had set 
The use of armes, and battell quite for- 
gone : 
To whom as he approcht, he knew anone 
That it was he which whilome did attend 
On faire Irene in her affliction. 
When first to Faery court he saw her 

wend, 
Unto his soveraine Queene her suite for 
to commend. 

XXXVIII. 

Whom by his name saluting, thus he 

gan: 
' Haile, good Sir Sergis, truest Knight 

alive, 
Well tride in all thy Ladies troubles 

than 
When her that Tyrant did of Crowne 

deprive ; 
What new occasion doth thee hither 

drive, 
Whiles she alone is left, and thou here 

found ? 
Or is she thrall, or doth she not survive ? ' 
To whom he thus : ' She liveth sure and 

sound, 
But by that Tyrant is in wretched thral- 

dome bound : 



'For she presuming on th' appointed 
tyde. 
In which ye promist, as ye were a Knight, 
To meete her at the salvage Hands syde, 
And then and there for triall of her right 
With her unrighteous enemy to fight, 



440 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book v. 



Bid thither come ; where she, afrayd of 

nought, 
By guilefull treason and by subtill slight 
Surprized was, and to Grantorto brought, 
Who her imprisond hath, and her life often 

sought. 



' And now he hath to her prefixt a day, 
By which if that no champion doe ap- 

peare. 
Which will her cause in battailous array 
Against him justifie, and prove her cleare 
Of all those crimes that he gainst her 

doth reare. 
She death shall sure aby.' Those tidings 

sad 
Did much abash Sir Artegall to heare, 
And grieved sore that through his fault 

she had 
Fallen into that Tyrants hand and usage 

bad. 

XLI. 

Then thus replide : * Now sure and by 

my life. 
Too much am I too blame for that faire 

Maide, 
That have her drawne to all this troub- 
lous strife. 
Through promise to afford her timely 

aide. 
Which by default I have not yet defraide : 
But witnesse unto me, ye Ijeavens! that 

know 
How cleare I am from blame of this up- 

braide ; 
For ye into like thraldome me did throw, 
And kept from complishing the faith 

which I did owe. 

XLII. 

* But now aread, Sir Sergis, how long 

space 
Hath he her lent a Champion to pro- 
vide ? ' 
* Ten dales,' (quoth he) * he graunted 

hath of grace, 
For that he weeneth well before that tide 
None can have tidings to assist her side : 
For all the shores, which to the sea 

accoste, 
He day and night doth ward both farre 

and wide, 
That none can there arrive without an 

hoste : 
So her he deemes already but a damned 

ghoste.' 

XLIII. 

' Now turne againe,' (Sir Artegall then 
sayd) 



'For, if I live till those ten dales have 

end, 
Assure your selfe, Sir Knight, she shall 

have ayd. 
Though I this dearest life for her doe 

spend.' 
So backeward he attone with him did 

wend : 
Tho, as they rode together on their way, 
A rout of people they before them kend, 
Flocking together in confusde array ; 
As if that there were some tumultuous 

affray. 

XLIV. 

To which as they approcht the cause to 

know. 
They saw a Knight in daungerous dis- 

tresse 
Of a rude rout him chasing to and fro, 
That sought with lawlesse powre him to 

oppresse. 
And bring in bondage of their brutish- 



And farre away, amid their rakehell 

bands. 
They spide a Lady left all succourlesse, 
Crying, and holding up her wretched 

hands 
To him for aide, who long in vaine their 

rage withstands. 



Yet still he strives, ne any peril spares, 
To reskue her from their rude violence ; 
And like a Lion wood amongst them fares, 
Dealing his dreadfull blowes with large 

dispence, 
Gainst which the pallid death findes no 

defence ; 
But all in vaine: their numbers are so 

great, 
That naught may boot to banishe them 

from thence ; 
For soone as he their outrage backe doth 

beat. 
They turne afresh, and oft renew their 

former threat. 

XLVI. 

And now they doe so sharpely him 

assay. 
That they his shield in peeces battred 

have. 
And forced him to throw it quite away, 
Fro dangers dread his doubtful! life to 

save; 
Albe that it most safety to him gave. 
And much did magnifie his noble name : 
For, from the day that he thus did it 

leave, 



CANTO XI.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



441 



Amongst all Knights he blotted was with 

blame, 
And counted but a recreant Knight with 

endles shame. 

XLVII. 

Whom when they thus distressed did 

behold, 
They drew unto his aide ; but that rude 

rout 
Them also gan assaile with outrage bold, 
And forced them, how ever strong and 

stout 
They were, as well approv'd in many a 

doubt, 
Backe to recule ; untill that yron man 
With his huge flaile began to lay about ; 
From whose sterne presence they diffused 

ran, 
Like scattred chaffe the which the wind 
' away doth fan. 

XLVIII. 

So when that Knight from peril! cleare 

was freed, 
He drawing neare began to greete them 

faire, 
And yeeld great thankes for their so 

goodly deed. 
In saving him from daungerous despaire 
Of those which sought his life for to 

empaire : 
Of whom Sir Artegall gan then enquire 
The whole occasion of his late misfare, 
And who he was, and what those villaines 

were. 
The which with mortall malice him 

pursu'd so nere. 

XLIX. 

To whom he thus : ' My name is Burbon 

hight. 
Well knowne, and far renowmed hereto- 
fore, 
Untill late mischiefe did uppon me light, 
That all my former praise hath blemisht 

sore: 
And that faire Lady, which in that up- 

rore 
Ye with those caytives saw, Flourdelis 

hight, 
Is mine owne love, though me she have 

forlore. 
Whether withheld from me by wrongful! 

might, 
Or with her owne good will, I cannot read 

aright. 

L. 

* But sure to me her faith she first did 
plight 



To be my love, and take me for her Lord ; 
Till that a Tyrant, which Grandtorto 

hight, 
With golden giftes and many a guilefull 

word 
Entyced her to him for to accord. 
O ! who may not with gifts and words be 

tempted ? 
Sith which she hath me ever since ab- 

hord. 
And to my foe hath guilefully consented : 
Ay me, that ever guyle in wemen was 

invented ! 

LI. 

* And now he hath this troupe of vil- 

lains sent 
By open force to fetch her quite away : 
Gainst whom my selfe I long in vaine 

have bent 
To rescue her, and daily meanes assay ; 
Yet rescue her thence by no meanes I 

may. 
For they doe me with multitude oppresse, 
And with unequal! might doe overlay. 
That oft I driven am to great distresse. 
And forced to forgoe th' attempt remedi- 

lesse.' 

LII. 

* But why have ye ' (said Artegall) * for- 

borne 

Your owne good shield in daungerous dis- 
may? 

That is the greatest shame and foulest 
scorne, 

Which unto any knight behappen may. 

To loose the badge that should his deedes 
display.' 

To whom Sir Burbon, blushing halfe for 
shame : 

' That shall I unto you ' (quoth he) ' be- 
wray. 

Least ye therefore mote happily me blame, 

And deeme it doen of will, that through 
inforcement came. 



'True is that I at first was dubbed 

knight 
By a good knight, the knight of the Red- 

crosse ; 
Who, when he gave me armes in field to 

fight, 
Gave me a shield, in which he did endosse 
His deare Redeemers badge upon the 

bosse : 
The same long while I bore, and there- 

withall 
Fought many battels without wound or 

losse ; 
Therewith Grandtorto selfe I did appall, 



442 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book v. 



Aud made him oftentimes in field before 
me fall. 

LIV. 

' But for that many did that shield 

euvie, 
Aud cruell enemies increased more, 
To stiut all strife aud troublous eumitie, 
That bloudie scutchiu, being battered 

sore, 
I layd aside, and have of late forbore. 
Hoping thereby to have my love ob- 

tayued ; 
Yet can I not my love have nathemore, 
For she by force is still fro me detayued, 
And with corruptf ull brybes is to untruth 

mis-trayned.' 

LV. 

To whom thus Artegall : ' Certes, Sir 

knight, 
Hard is the case the which ye doe com- 

plaine ; 
Yet not so hard (for nought so hard may 

light 
That it to such a streight mote you con- 

straine) 
As to abandon that which doth containe 
Your honours stile, that is, your warlike 

shield. 
All perill ought be lesse, and lesse all 

paine 
Then losse of fame in disaventrous field : 
Dye, rather then doe ought that mote dis- 
honour yield.' 



* Not so,' (quoth he) ' for yet, when 
time doth serve, 
My former shield I may resume againe : 
To temporize is not from truth to swerve, 
Ne for advantage terme to eutertaine, 
When as necessitie doth it constraine.' 
' Fie on such f orgerie ! ' (sayd Artegall) 
' Under one hood to shadow faces twaine : 
Knights ought be true, and truth is one 

in all: 
Of all things, to dissemble, fouly may be- 
fall! ' 

LVII. 

' Yet let me you of courtesie request ' 
(Said Burbon) ' to assist me now at need 
Against these pesants which have me 

opprest. 
And forced me to so infamous deed. 
That yet my love may from their hands 

be freed.' 
Sir Artegall, albe he earst did wyte 
His wavering mind, yet to his aide agreed, 
And, buckling him eftsoones unto the 

fight, 



Did set upon those troupes with all his 
powre aud might. 

LVIII. 

A\1io flocking roimd about them, as a 
swarme 

Of flyes upon a birchen bough doth cluster. 

Did them assault with terrible allarme ; 

And over all the fields themselves did 
muster. 

With bils aud glayves making a dreadfull 
luster, 

That forst at first those knights backe to 
retyre : 

As when the wrathfull Boreas doth blus- 
ter, 

Nought may abide the tempest of his yre ; 

Both man and beast doe fly, aud succour 
doe inquyre. 

LIX. 

But, when as overblowen was that 
brunt, 

Those knights began afresh them lo as- 
sayle, 

And all about the fields like Squirrels 
hunt ; 

But chiefly Talus with his yron flayle, 

Gainst which no flight nor rescue mote 
avayle. 

Made cruell havocke of the baser crew. 

And chaced them both over hill and dale. 

The raskall manie soone they overthrew ; 

But the two knights themselves their cap- 
tains did subdew. 



At last they came whereas that Ladie 

bode. 
Whom now her keepers had forsaken 

quight 
To save themselves, and scattered were 

abrode. 
Her halfe dismayd they found in doubt- 
full plight, 
As neither glad nor sorie for their sight; 
Yet wondrous faire she was, and richly 

clad 
In roiall robes, and many jewels dight ; 
But that those villens through their usage 

bad 
Them fouly rent, and shamefully defaced 

had. 

LXI. 

But Burbon, streight dismounting from 
his steed. 
Unto her ran with greedie great desyre. 
And catching her fast by her ragged weed 
Would have embraced her with hart en- 
tyre ; 



CANTO XI. J 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



443 



But she backstarting with disdamefull 

yre 
Bad him avaiint, ue M'ould unto his lore 
Allured be for prayer nor for meed : 
"Whom when those knights so froward 

and forlore 
Beheld , they her rebuked and upbrayded 

sore. 

LXII. 

Sayd Artegall : * What foule disgrace is 

this 
To so faire Ladie, as ye seeme in sight, 
To blot your beautie, that unblemisht 

is, 
With so foule blame as breach of faith 

once plight. 
Or change of love for any worlds delight ! 
Is ought on earth so pretious or deare 
As prayse and honour? Or is ought so 

bright 
And beautifull as glories beames appeare, 
Whose goodly light then Phoebus lampe 

doth shine more cleare? 



*Why then will ye, fond Dame, at- 
tempted bee 
Unto a strangers love, so lightly placed, 
For guiftes of gold or any worldly glee, 
To leave the love that ye before embraced, 
And let your fame with falshood be de- 
faced ? 
Fie on the pelfe for which good name is 

sold, 
And honour with indignitie debased ! 



Dearer is love then life, and fame then 

gold; 
But dearer then them both your faith 

once plighted hold.' 



Much was the Ladie in her gentle mind 
Abasht at his rebuke, that bit her neare, 
Ne ought to answere thereunto did find ; 
But, hanging down her head with heavie 

cheare. 
Stood long amaz'd as she amated weare : 
Which Burbon seeing her againe assayd ; 
And, clasping twixt his armes, her up did 

reare 
Upon his steede, whiles she no whit gaine- 

sayd : 
So bore her quite away, nor well nor ill 

apayd. 

LXV. 

Nathlesse the yron man did still pur- 
sew 

That raskall many with unpitied spoyle ; 

Ne ceassed not, till all their scattred 
crew 

Into the sea he drove quite from that 
soyle. 

The which they troubled had with great 
turmoyle. 

But Artegall, seeing his cruell deed, 

Commaunded him from slaughter to re- 
coyle, 

And to his voyage gan againe proceed ; 

For that the terme, approching fast, re- 
quired speed. 



CANTO XIL 

Artegall doth Sir Burbon aide, 
And blames for changing shield: 

He with the great Gran tor to fights, 
And slaieth him in field. 



O SACRED hunger of ambitious mindes. 
And impotent desire of men to raine ! 
Whom neither dread of God, that devils 

bindes, 
Nor lawes of men, that common-weales 

containe. 
Nor bands of nature, that wilde beastes 

restraine, 
Can keepe from outrage and from doing 

wrong. 
Where they may hope a kingdome to ob- 
tain e : 
No faith so firme, no trust can be so 

strong. 
No love so lasting then, that may enduren 

long. 



Witnesse may Burbon be ; whom all the 
bands 

Which may a Knight assure had surely 
bound , 

Untill the love of Lordship and of 
lands 

Made him become most faithless and un- 
sound : 

And witnesse be Gerioneo found. 

Who for like cause faire Beige did op- 
presse. 

And right and wrong most cruelly con- 
found : 

And so be now Grantorto, who no lesse 

Then all the rest burst out to all outra- 
giousnesse. 



444 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book 



Gainst whom Sir Artegall, long having 

since 
Taken in hand th' exploit, (being thereto© 
Appointed by that miglitie Faerie Prince, 
Great Gloriane, that Tyrant to fordoo,) 
Through other great adventures hethertoo 
Had it f orslackt : But now time drawing 

ny 
To him assynd her high beheast to doo, 
To the sea-shore he gan his way apply, 
To weete if shipping readie he mote there 

descry. 

IV. 

Tho when they came to the sea coast 
they found 

A ship all readie (as good fortune fell) 

To put to sea, with whom they did com- 
pound 

To passe them over where them list to 
tell. 

The winde and weather served them so 
well. 

That in one day they with the coast did 
fall ; 

Whereas they readie found, them to re- 
pell, 

Great hostes of men in order martiall. 

Which them forbad to land, and footing 
did forstall. 

V. 

But nathemore would they from land 

refraine : 
But, when as nigh unto the shore they 

drew 
That foot of man might sound the bot- 

tome plaine, 
Talus into the sea did forth issew 
Though darts from shore and stones they 

at liim threw ; 
And wading through the waves with sted- 

fast sway, 
Maugre the might of all those troupes in 

vew, 
Did win the shore ; whence he them chast 

away, 
And made to fly like doves whom the 

Eagle doth affray. 



The whyles Sir Artegall with that old 

knight 
Did forth descend, there being none them 

neare. 
And forward marched to a towne in sight. 
By this came tydings to the Tyrants eare, 
By those which earst did fly away for 

feare. 
Of their arrival : wherewith trou))led sore 
He all his forces streight to him did reare, 



And forth issuing with his scouts afore. 
Meant them to have encountred ere they 
left the shore : 

VII. 

But ere he marched farre he with them 
met, 
And fiercely charged them with all his 

force : 
But Talus sternely did upon them set. 
And brusht and battred them without re- 
morse. 
That on the ground he left full many a 

corse ; 
Ne any able was him to withstand, 
But he them overthrew both man and 

horse. 
That they lay scattred over all the land, 
As thicke as doth the seede after the 
sowers hand: 

VIII. 

Till Artegall him seeing so to rage 
Willd him to stay, and signe of truce did 

make: 
To which all harkning did a while as- 

swage 
Their forces furie, and their terror slake ; 
Till he an Herauld cald, and to him spake. 
Willing him wend unto the Tyrant 

streight. 
And tell him that not for such slaughters 

sake 
He thether came, but for to trie the right 
Of fayre Irenaes cause with him in single 

fight: 

rx. 

And willed him for to reclayme with 



His scattred people, ere they all were 

slaine. 
And time and place convenient to areed, 
In which they two the combat might 

darraine. 
Which message when Grantorto heard, 

full fayne 
And glad he was the slaughter so to 

stay ; 
And pointed for the combat twixt them 

twayne 
The morrow next, ne gave him longer 

day: 
So sounded the retraite, and drew his 

folke away. 

That night Sir Artegall did cause bis 

tent 
There to be pitched on the open plaine ; 
For he had given streight commaunde- 

ment 



CANTO XII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



445 



That none should dare him once to euter- 

taine ; 
"Which none durst breake, though many 

would right faine 
For faire Irena, whom they loved deare : 
But yet old Sergis did so well him paine, 
That from close friends, that dar'd not to 

appeare, 
He all things did purvay which for them 

needful! weare. 



The morrow next, that was the dismall 
day 
Appointed for Irenas death before, 
So soone as it did to the world display 
His chearefuU face, and light to men re- 
store. 
The heavy Mayd, to whom none tydings 

bore 
Of-Artegals arryvall her to free, 
Lookt up with eyes full sad and hart full 

sore, 
Weening her lifes last howre then ueare 

to bee, 
Sith no redemption nigh she did nor heare 
nor see. 

XII. 

Then up she rose, and on her selfe did 
dight 

Most squalid garments, fit for such a 
day; 

And with dull countenance and with dole- 
ful spright 

She forth was brought in sorrowfull dis- 
may 

For to receive the doome of her decay: 

But comming to the place, and finding 
there 

Sir Artegall, in battailous array 

Wayting his foe, it did her dead hart 
cheare. 

And new life to her lent in midst of deadly 
feare. 

XIII. 

Like as a tender Rose in open plame. 

That with untimely drought nigh with- 
ered was, 

And hung the head, soone as few drops of 
raine 

Thereon distill and deaw her daintie 
face, 

Gins to looke up, and with fresh wonted 
grace 

Dispreds the glorie of her leaves gay; 

Such was Irenas countenance, such her 
case. 

When Artegall she saw in that array. 

There wayting for the Tyrant till it was 
far re day. 



Who came at length with proud pre- 

sumpteous gate 
Into the field, as if he fearelesse were, 
All armed in a cote of yron plate 
Of great defence to ward the deadly feare ; 
And on his head a steele-cap he did weare 
Of colour rustie-browne, but sure and 

strong ; 
And in his hand an huge Polaxe did beare, 
Whose steale was yron-studded, but not 

long. 
With which he wont to fight to justifie his 

wrong: 

XV. 

Of stature huge and hideous he was. 
Like to a Giant for his monstrous hight, 
And did in strength most sorts of men 

surpas, 
Xe ever any found his match in might ; 
Thereto he had great skill in single fight : 
His face was ugly and his countenance 

Sterne, 
That could have frayd one with the very 

sight, 
And gaped like a gulfe when he did gerne ; 
That whether man or monster one could 

scarse discerne. 



Soone as he did within the listes ap- 
peare. 
With dreadfull looke he Artegall beheld, 
As if he would have daunted him with 

feare ; 
And, grinning griesly, did against him 

weld 
His deadly weapon which in hand he held : 
But th' Elfin SAvayne, that oft had scene 

like sight, 
Was with his ghastly count'nance nothing 

queld ; 
But gan him streight to buckle to the 

fight, 
And cast his shield about to be in readie 

plight. 

XVII. 

The trompets sound, and they together 

goe 
With dreadfull terror and with fell intent ; 
And their huge strokes full daungerously 

bestow. 
To doe most dammage where as most 

they mont : 
But with "such force and furie violent 
The Tvrant thundred his thicke blowesso 

fast, 
That through the yron walles their way 

they rent. 



446 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book v. 



And eveu to the vitall parts they past, 
Ne ought could them eudure, hut all they 
cleft or hrast. 

XVIII. 

Which cruell outrage when as Artegall 
Did well avize, theuceforth with warie 

heed 
He shund his strokes, where ever they 

did fall, 
And way did give unto their gracelesse 



As when a skilful! Marriner doth reed 
A storme approching that doth perill 

threat, 
He will not bide the daunger of such 

dread, 
But strikes his sayles, and vereth his 

mainsheat. 
And lends unto it leave the emptie ayre 

to heat. 

XIX. 

So did the Faerie knight him self e 

abeare, 
And stouped oft his head from shame to 

shield : 
No shame to stoupe, ones head more high 

to reare ; 
And, much to gaine, a litle for to yield : 
So stoutest knights doen oftentimes in 

field. 
But still the tyrant sternely at him layd, 
And did his yron axe so nimbly wield, 
That many wounds into his flesh it made. 
And with his burdenous blowes him sore 

did overlade. 



Yet when as fit advantage he did spy. 
The whiles the cursed felon high did reare 
His cruell hand to smite him mortally. 
Under his stroke he to him stepping neare 
Right in the flauke him strooke with 

deadly d reare, 
That the gore-bloud thence gushing griev- 
ously 
Did underneath him like a pond appeare, 
And all his armour did with purple dye : 
Thereat he brayed loud, and yelled dread- 
fully. 

XXI. 

Yet the huge stroke, which he before 

intended. 
Kept on his course as he did it direct. 
And with such monstrous poise adowne 

descended, 
That seemed nought could him from death 

protect ; 
But he it well did ward with wise respect. 



And twixt him and the blow his shield did 

cast. 
Which thereon seizing tooke no great 

effect ; 
But, byting deepe therein did sticks so fast 
That by no meanes it backe againe he forth 

could wrast. 



Long while he tug'd and strove to get it 

out, 
And all his powre applyed thereunto. 
That he therewith the knight drew all 

about 
Nathlesse, for all that ever he could doe, 
His axe he could not from his shield un- 

doe; 
Which Artegall perceiving strooke no 

more, 
But loosing soone his shield did it forgoe ; 
And, whiles he combred was therewith so 

sore. 
He gan at him let drive more fiercely then 

afore. 

XXIII. 

So well he him pursew'd, that at the last 
He stroke him with Chrysaor on the hed, 
That with the souse thereof full sore 

aghast 
He staggered to and fro in doubtfull sted. 
Againe, whiles he him saw so ill bested, 
He did him smite with all his might and 

maine, 
That, falling on his mother earth he fed : 
Whom when he saw prostrated on the 

plaine. 
He lightly reft his head to ease him of his 

paine. 

XXIV. 

Which when the people round about him 

saw. 
They shouted all for joy of his successe, 
Glad to he quit from that proud Tyrants 

awe. 
Which with strong powre did them long 

time oppresse ; 
And, running all with greedie joyfulnesse 
To faire Irena, at her feet did fall. 
And her adored with due humblenesse 
As their true Liege and Priucesse naturall ; 
And eke her champions glorie sounded 

overall. 



Who streight her leading with meete 

majestic 
Unto the pallace where their kings did 

rayne, 
Did her therein establish peaceablie, 
And to her kingdomes seat restore agay ut ; 



CANTO XII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



447 



And all such persons, as did late main- 

tayne 
That Tyrants part with close or open ayde, 
He sorely punished with heavie payne; 
That in short space, whiles there with her 

he stayd, 
Not one was left that durst her once have 

disobayd. 

XXVI. 

During which time that he did there re- 

mayne, 
His studie was true Justice how to deale, 
And day and night employ'd his busie 

paine 
How to reforme that ragged common- 

weale : 
And that same yron man, which could re- 

veale 
All hidden crimes, through all that realme 

he sent 
Ta search out those that usd to rob and 

steale. 
Or did rebell gainst lawfull government ; 
On whom he did inflict most grievous pun- 
ishment, 

XXVII. 

But, ere he coulde reforme it thoroughly. 
He through occasion called was away 
To Faerie Court, that of necessity 
His course of Justice he was forst to stay, 
And Talus to revoke from the right way 
In which he was that Realme for to re- 

dresse : 
But envies cloud stilldimmethvertuesray. 
So, having freed Irena from distresse, 
He tooke his leave of her there left in 

heavinesse. 



Tho, as he backe returned from that 

land, 
And there arriv'd againe whence forth he 

set. 
He had not passed farre upon the strand, 
When as two old ill favour'd Hags he met. 
By the way side being together set ; 
Two griesly creatures : and, to that their 

faces 
Most foule and filthie were, their garments 

yet, 

Beingall rag'd and tatter 'd, their disgraces 
Did much the more augment, and made 
most ugly cases. 



The one of them, that elder did appeare, 
With her dull eyes did seeme to looke 

askew, 
That her mis-shape much helpt ; and her 

foule heare 



Hung loose and loathsomely : Thereto her 

hew 
Was wan and leane, that all her teeth 

arew. 
And all her bones might through her 

cheekes be red : 
Her lips were, like raw lether, pale and 

blew: 
And as she spake therewith she slavered ; 
Yet spake she seldom, but thought more 

the lesse she sed. 



Her hands were foule and durtie, never 

washt 
In all her life, with long nayles over- 

raught, 
Like puttocks clawes ; with th' one of 

which she scracht 
Her cursed head, although it itched 

naught : 
The other held a snake with venime 

fraught. 
On which she fed and gnawed hungrily. 
As if that long she had not eaten ought ; 
That round about her jawes one might 

descry 
The bloudie gore and poyson dropping 

lothsomely. 



Her name was En vie, knowen well 

thereby. 
Whose nature is to grieve and grudge at all 
That ever she sees doen prays-worthily ; 
Whose sight to her is greatest crosse may 

fall, 
And vexeth so that makes her eat her gall ; 
For, when she wanteth other thing to eat, 
She feedes on her owne maw unnaturall. 
And of her owne foule entrayles makes 

her meat ; 
Meat fit for such a monsters monsterous 

dyeat : 

XXXII. 

And if she hapt of any good to heare, 
That had to any happily betid, 
Then would she inly fret, and grieve, and 

teare 
Her flesh for felnesse, which she inward 

hid: 
But if she heard of ill that any did. 
Or harme that any had, then would she 

make 
Great cheare, like one unto a banquet 

bid. 
And in anothers losse great pleasure 

take, 
As she had got thereby and gayned a great 

stake. 



448 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book v. 



The other nothing better was then shee, 
Agreeing in bad will and cancred kyud ; 
But in bad maner they did disagree, 
For what so Euvie good or bad did fynd 
She did conceale, and murder her owne 

mynde ; 
But this, what ever evill she conceived. 
Did spred abroad and throw in th' open 

wynd: 
Yet this in all her words might be per- 
ceived, 
That all she sought was mens good name 
to have bereaved. 



For, whatsoever good by any sayd 
Or doen she heard, she would streight- 

wayes invent 
How to deprave or slaunderously upbrayd, 
Or to misconstrue of a mans intent. 
And turne to ill the thing that well was 

ment: 
Therefore she used often to resort 
To common haunts, and companies fre- 
quent. 
To hearke what any one did good report. 
To blot the same with blame, or wrest in 
wicked sort. 



And if that any ill she heard of any, 
She would it eeke, and make much worse 

by telling. 
And take great joy to publish it to many, 
That every matter worse was for her 

melling: 
Her name was hight Detraction, and her 

dwelling 
Was neare to Envie, even her neighbour 

next ; 
A wicked hag, and Envy selfe excelling 
In mischiefe ; for her selfe she onely vext, 
But this same both her selfe and others 

eke perplext. 



Her face was ugly, and her mouth dis- 
tort, 

Foming with poyson round about her 
gils, 

In which her cursed tongue, full sharpe 
and short, 

Appear'd like Aspis sting that closely kils, 

Or cruelly does wound whom so she wils ; 

A distaff e in her other hand she had, 

Upon the which she litle spinnes, but 
spils ; 

And faynes to weave false tales and leas- 
ings bad, 



To throw amongst the good which others 
had disprad. 



These two now had themselves combynd 

in one, 
And linckt together gainst Sir Artegall ; 
For whom they wayted as his mortall fone. 
How they might make him into mischiefe 

fall, 
For freeing from their snares Ireua thrall ; 
Besides, unto themselves they gotten had 
A monster, which the Blatant Beast men 

call, 
A dreadfull feend, of gods and men ydrad, 
Whom they by slights allur'd, and to their 

purpose lad. 



Such were these Hags, and so unhand- 
some drest : 
Who when they nigh approching had 

espyde 
Sir Artegall, return'd from his late quest, 
They both arose, and at him loudly cryde, 
As it had bene two shepheards curres had 

scryde 
A ravenous Wolfe amongst the scattered 

flockes : 
And Envie first, as she that first him eyde, 
Towardes him runs, and, with rude flaring 

lockes 
About her eares, does beat her brest and 
forhead knockes. 



Then from her mouth the gobbet she 

does take. 
The which whyleare she was so greedily 
Devouring, even that halfe-gnawen snake, 
And at him throwes it most despightf ully : 
The cursed Serpent, though she hungrily 
Earst chawd thereon, yet was not all so 

dead 
But that some life remayned secretly ; 
And, as he past afore withouten dread. 
Bit him behind, that long the marke was 

to be read. 



Then th' other comming neare gan him 
revile. 
And fouly rayle with all she could invent ; 
Saying that he had, with unmanly guile 
And foule abusion, both his honour blent, 
And that bright sword, the sword of Jus- 
tice lent. 
Had stayned with reprochfull crueltie 
In guiltlesse blood of many an innocent: 
As for Grandtorto, him with treacherie 



CANTO XII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



449 



And traynes having surpriz'd, he fouly 
did to die. 

XLI. 

Thereto the Blatant Beast, by them set 
on, 
At him began aloud to barke and bay 
With bitter rage and fell contention, 
That all the woods and rockes nigh to 

that way 
Began to quake and tremble with dis- 
may; 
And all the aire rebellowed againe, 
So dreadfully his hundred tongues did 

bray: 
And evermore those hags them selves did 

paine 
To sharpen him, and their owne cursed 
tongs did straine. 

XLII. 

' And still among most bitter wordes they 

spake, 
Most shamefull, most unrighteous, most 

untrew. 
That they the mildest man alive would 

make 
Forget his patience, and yeeld ven- 

geaimce dew ' 



To her, that so false sclaunders at him 

threw : 
And more, to make them pierce and 

wound more deepe, 
She with the sting which in her vile 

tongue grew 
Did sharpen them, and in fresh poyson 

steepe : 
Yet he past on, and seem'd of them to 

take no keepe. 



But Talus, hearing her so lewdly raile, 

And speake so ill of him that well de- 
served, 

Would her have chastiz'd with his yron 
flaile. 

If her Sir Artegall had not preserved, 

And him forbidden, who his heast ob- 
served : 

So much the more at him still did she 
scold, 

And stones did cast ; yet he for nought 
would swerve 

From his right course, but still the way 
did hold 

To Faerie Court; where what him fell 
shall else be told. 



THE SIXTE BOOKE 

OF 

THE FAEKIE QUEENE 

CONTATNING THE LEGEND OF SIR CALIDORE, OR COURTESIE. 



The waies, through which my weary- 
steps I guyde 
In this delightfull land of Faery, 
Are so exceeding spacious and wyde, 
And sprinckled with such sweet variety 
Of all that pleasant is to eare or eye, 
That I, nigh ravisht with rare thoughts 

deligiit, 
My tedious travell doe forget thereby ; 
And, when I gin to feele decay of might, 
It strength to me supplies, and chears my 
dulled spright. 



Such secret comfort and such heavenly 
pleasures, 
Ye sacred imps, that on Parnasso dwell. 
And there the keeping have of learnings 

threasures 
Which doe all worldly riches farre ex- 
cell. 
Into the mindes of mortall men doe well, 
And goodly fury into them infuse, 
Guyde ye my footing, and conduct me 

well 
In these strange waies where never foote 

did use, 
Ne none can find but who was taught 
them by the Muse. 



Revele to me the sacred noursery 
Of vertue, which with you doth there re- 

maine, 
Where it in silver bowre does hidden ly 
From view of men, and wicked worlds 

disdaine ; 
Since it at first was by the Gods with 

paine 
Planted in earth, being derived at furst 
From heavenly seedes of bounty sov- 

eraiue, 
And by them long with carefull labour 

nurst, 
Till it to ripenesse grew, and forth to hon- 
our burst. 



Amongst them all growes not a fayrer 
flowre 
Then is the blossme of comely courte- 

sie; 
Which though it on a lowly staike doe 

bowre. 
Yet brancheth forth in brave nobilitie, 
And spreds it selfe through all civilitie: 
Of which though present age doe plente- 
ous seeme, 
Yet, being matcht with plaine Antiquitie, 
Ye will them all but fayned showes 

esteeme, 
Which carry colours faire that feeble eies 
misdeeme. 

V. 

But, in the triall of true curtesie. 
Its now so farre from that which then it 

was. 
That it indeed is nought but forgerie, 
Fashion'd to please the eies of them that 

pas. 
Which see not perfect things but in a 

glas: 
Yet is that glasse so gay, that it can 

blynd 
The wisest sight to thinke gold that is 

bras: 
But vertues seat is deepe within the mynd, 
And not in outward shows, but inward 

thoughts defynd. 



But where shall I in all Antiquity 
So faire a patterne finde, where may be 



The goodly praise of Princely curtesie, 
As in your selfe, O soveraine Lady 

Queene ? 
In whose pure minde, as in a mirrour 

sheene, 
It showes, and with her brightnesse doth 

inflame 
The eyes of all which thereon fixed 

beene, 
But meriteth indeede an higher name : 



450 



CANTO I.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



451 



Yet so from low to high uplifted is your 
fame. 

VII. 

Then pardon me, most dreaded Sov- 

eraine, 
That from your selfe I doe this vertue 

hring, 
And to your selfe doe it returne againe. 
So from the Ocean all rivers spring, 



And tribute hacke repay as to then- 
King: 

Right so from you all goodly vertues well 

Into the rest which round about you 
ring, 

Faire Lords and Ladies which about you 
dwell. 

And doe adorne your Court where cour- 
tesies excell. 



CANTO I. • 

Calidore saves from Maleffort 

A Damzell used vylde : 
Doth vanquish Crudor ; and doth make 

Briana wexe more mylde. 



Of Court, it seemes, men Courtesie doe 

call, 
For that it there most useth to abound; 
And well beseemeth that in Princes hall 
That vertue should be plentifully found, 
Which of all goodly manners is the ground. 
And roote of civill conversation : 
Right so in Faery court it did redound. 
Where curteous Knights and Ladies most 

did won 
Of all on earth, and made a matchlesse 

paragon. 

n. 

But mongst them all was none more 

courteous Knight 
Then Calidore, beloved over-all, 
In whom, it seemes, that gentlenesse of 

spright 
And manners mylde were planted natu- 

rall; 
To which he adding comely guize withall 
And gracious speach, did steale mens 

hearts away : 
Nathlesse thereto he was full stout and 

tall. 
And well appro v'd in batteilous affray. 
That him did much renowme, and far his 

fame display. 



Ne was there Knight ne was there Lady 
found 

In Faery court, but him did deare em- 
brace 

For his faire usage and conditions sound, 

The which in all mens liking gayned 
place, 

And with the greatest purchast greatest 
grace : 

WTiich he could wisely use, and well 
apply, 



To please the best, and th' evill to em- 
base ; 
For he loathd leasing and base flattery. 
And loved simple truth and stedfast hon- 
esty. 

IV. 

And now he was in travell on his way, 
Uppon an hard adventure sore bestad, 
Whenas by chaunce he met uppon a 

day 
With Artegall, returning yet halfe sad 
From his late conquest which he gotten 

had: 
Who whenas each of other had a sight, 
They knew them selves, and both their 

persons rad ; 
When Calidore thus first : ' Haile, noblest 

Knight 
Of all this day on ground that breathen 

living spright ! 



* Now tell, if please you, of the good 
successe 

WTiich ye have had in your late enter- 
prize.' 

To whom Sir Artegall gan to expresse 

His whole exploite and valorous emprize, 

In order as it did to him arize. 

'Now, happy man,' (sayd then Sir Cali- 
dore) 

' Which have, so goodly as ye can devize, 

Atchiev'd so hard a quest, as few before ; 

That shall you most renowmed make for 
evermore. 

VI. 

'But where ye ended have, now I be- 
gin 
To tread an endlesse trace, withouten 

guyde 
Or good direction how to enter in, 
Or how to issue forth in waies untryde, 



452 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book VI. 



In perils strange, in labours long and 
wide; 

In which although good Fortune me be- 
fall, 

Yet shall it not by none be testifyde.' 

' AVhat is that quest,' (quoth then Sir 
Artegall) 

' That you iuto such perils presently doth 
call?' 



' The Blattant Beast ' (quoth he) ' I doe 

pursew, 
And through the world incessantly doe 

chase, 
Till I him overtake, or else subdew : 
Yet know I not or how, or in what place 
To find him out, yet still I forward trace.' 
' What is the Blattant Beast ? ' (then he 

replide.) 
* It is a Mouster*bred of hellishe race,' 
(Then answered he) ' which often hath 

annoyd 
Good Knights and Ladies true, and many 

else destroyd. 



' Of Cerberus whilome he was begot 
And fell Chimaera, in her darkesome den. 
Through fowle commixture of his filthy 

blot; 
Where he was fostred long in Stygian 

fen. 
Till he to perfect ripenesse grew ; and then 
Into this wicked world he forth was sent 
To be the plague and scourge of wretched 

men. 
Whom with vile tongue and venemous 

intent 
He sore doth wound, and bite, and cruelly 

torment.' 

IX. 

' Then, since the salvage Island I did 

leave,' 
Sayd Artegall, ' I such a Beast did see, 
The which did seeme a thousand tongues 

to have. 
That all in spight and malice did agree ; 
With which he bayd and loudly barkt at 

mee, 
As if that he attonce would me devoure : 
But I, that knew ray selfe from perill free. 
Did nought regard his malice nor his 

powre ; 
But he the more his wicked poyson forth 

did poure.' 

X. 

* That surely is that Beast ' (saide Cali- 
dore) 
' Which I pursue, of whom I am right 
glad 



To heare these tidings, which of none 

afore 
Through all my weary travell I have had ; 
Yet now some hope your words unto me 

add.' 
'Now God you speed,' (quoth then Sir 

Artegall) 
* And keepe your body from the daunger 

drad, 
For ye have much adoe to deale withall.' 
So both tooke goodly leave, and parted 

severall. 

XI. 

Sir Calidore thence travelled not long. 
When as by chaunce a comely Squire he 

found, 
That thorough some more mighty enemies 

wrong 
Both hand and foote unto a tree was 

bound ; 
Who, seeing him from farre, with piteous 

sound 
Of his shrill cries him called to his aide : 
To whom approching, in that painefuU 

stound 
When he him saw, for no demaunds he 

staide. 
But first him losde, and afterwards thus 

to him saide. 



* Unhappy Squire ! what hard mishap 
thee brought 

Into this bay of perill and disgrace ? 

Whatcruell hand thy wretched thraldome 
wrought. 

And thee captyved in this shamef uU place ?' 

To whom he answered thus : * My hap- 
lesse case 

Is not occasiond through my misdesert, 

But through misfortune, which me did 
abase 

Unto this shame, and my yoimg hope sub- 
vert. 

Ere that I in her guilefull traines was well 
expert. 

xni. 

' Not farre from hence, uppon yond 

rocky hill. 
Hard by a streight, there stands a castle 

strong, 
WTiich doth observe a custome lewd and 

ill, 
And it hath long mayntaind with mighty 

wrong : 
For may no Knight nor Lady passe along 
That way, (and yet they needs must passe 

that way. 
By reason of the streight, and rocks 

among) 



CANTO I.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



453 



But they that Ladies lockes doe shave 

away, 
And that knights herd, for toll which they 

for passage pay.' 

XIV. 

* A shameful use as ever I did heare,' 
Sayd Calidore, ' and to be overthrowne. 
But by what meanes did they at first it 

reare, 
And for what cause ? tell, if thou have it 

knowne.' 
Sayd then that Squire ; ' The Lady, which 

doth owne 
This Castle, is by name Briana hight, 
Tlien which a prouder Lady liveth none : 
She long time hath deare lov'd a doughty 

Knight, 
And sought to win his love by all the 

meanes she might. 



* His name is Crudor ; who, through 

high disdaine 
And proud despight of his selfe-pleasing 

mynd, 
Refused hath to yeeld her love againe, 
Untill a Mantle she for him doe fynd 
With beards of Knights and locks of 

Ladies lyud : 
Which to provide she hath this Castle 

dight, 
And therein hath a Seneschall assynd, 
Cald Maleffort, a man of mickle might, 
Who executes her wicked will with worse 

despight. 

XVI. 

' He, this same day, as I that way did 

come 
With a faire Damzell, my beloved deare, 
In execution of her lawlesse doome 
Did set uppon us flying both for feare ; 
For little bootes against him hand to 

reare. 
Me first he tooke unhable to withstond, 
And whiles he her pursued every where. 
Till his returne unto this tree he bond ; 
Ne wote I surely whether her he yet have 

fond.' 

XVII. 

Thus whiles they spake they heard a 

ruefull shrieke 
Of one loud crying, which they streight- 

way ghest 
That it was she the which for helpe did 

seeke. 
Tho, looking up unto the cry to lest. 
They saw that Carle from farre, with 

hand unblest 
Haylingthat mayden by the yellow heare. 



That all her garments from her snowy 

brest. 
And from her head her lockes he nigh did 

teare, 
Ne would he spare for pitty, nor refraine 

for feare. 

XVIII. 

Which haynous sight when Calidore be- 
held, 

Eftsoones he loosd that Squire, and so 
him left 

With hearts dismay and inward dolour 
queld. 

For to pursue that villaine, which had 
reft 

That piteous spoile by so injurious theft ; 

Whom overtaking, loude to him he cryde : 

' Leave, faytor, quickely that misgotten 
weft 

To him that hath it better justifyde, 

And turne thee soone to him of whom thou 
art defyde.' 



Who, hearkning to that voice, him selfe 

upreard. 
And seeing him so fiercely towardes make. 
Against him stoutly ran, as nought afeard, 
But rather more enrag'd for those words 

sake; 
And with sterne count'naunce thus unto 

him spake: 
' Art thou the caytive that defyest me ? 
And for this Mayd, whose party thou 

doest take. 
Wilt give thy beard, though it but little 

bee? 
Yet shall it not her lockes for raunsome 

fro me free.' 



With that he fiercely at him flew, and 

layd 
On hideous strokes with most importune 

might. 
That oft he made him stagger as unstayd. 
And oft recuile to shunne his sharpe de- 
spight : 
But Calidore, that was well skild in fight, 
Him long forbore, and still his spirite 

spar'd, 
Lying in w^aite how him he damadge 

might ; 
But when he felt him shrinke, and come 

to ward. 
He greater grew, and gan to drive at him 

more hard. 



Like as a water-streame, whose swell- 
ing sourse 



454 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book VI. 



Shall drive a Mill, within strong bancks 

is pent, 
And long restrayned of his ready course, 
So soone as passage is unto him lent, 
Breakes forth, and makes his way more 

violent ; 
Such was the fury of Sir Calidore : 
When once he felt his foeman to relent, 
He fiercely him pursu'd, and pressed sore ; 
Who as he still deoayd so he encreased 

more. 

XXII. 

The heavy burden of whose dreadfull 

might 
Whenas the Carle no longer could sus- 

taine. 
His heart gan faint, and streight he tooke 

his flight 
Toward the Castle, where, if need con- 

straine. 
His hope of refuge used to remaine : 
Whom Calidore perceiving fast to flie, 
He him pursu'd and chaced through the 

plaine. 
That he for dread of death gan loude to 

crie 
Unto the ward to open to him hastilie. 



They, from the wall him seeing so 
aghast, 
The gate soone opened to receive him in ; 
But Calidore did follow him so fast, 
That even in the Porch he him did win. 
And cleft his head asunder to his chin, 
The carkasse tumbling downe within the 

dore 
Did choke the entraunce with a lumpe of 

sin. 
That it could not be shut; whilest Cali- 
dore 
Did enter in, and slew the Porter on the 
flore. 

XXIV. 

With that the rest the which the Cas- 
tle kept 
About him flockt, and hard at him did 

lay; 
But he them all from him full lightly 

swept. 
As doth a Steare, in heat of sommers 

day. 
With his long taile the bryzes brush 

away. 
Thence passing forth into the hall he 

came, 
Where of the Lady selfe in sad dismay 
He was ymett, who with uncomely shame 
Gan him salute, and fowle upbrayd with 

faulty blame. 



'False tray tor Knight! ' (said she) 'no 

Knight at all, 
But scorne of amies, that hast with guilty 

hand 
Murdred my men, and slaine my Senes- 

chall. 
Now comest thou to rob my house un- 

mand. 
And spoile my selfe that can not thee 

withstand ? 
Yet doubt thou not, but that some better 

Knight 
Then thou, that shall thy treason under- 
stand. 
Will it avenge, and pay thee with thy 

right ; 
And if none do, yet shame shal thee with 

shame requight.' 

XXVI. 

Much was the Knight abashed at that 
word 
Yet answer'd thus: 'Not unto me the 

shame. 
But to the shamefull doer it afford. 
Blond is no blemish, for it is no blame 
To punish those that doe deserve the same ; 
But they that breake bands of civilitie, 
And wicked customes make, those doe de- 
fame 
Both noble armes and gentle curtesie. 
No greater shame to man then inhumani- 
tie. 

XXVII. 

'Then doe your selfe, for dread of 

shame, forgoe 
This evill manner which ye here main- 

taine. 
And doe instead thereof mild curt'sie 

showe 
To all that passe: That shall you glory 

gaine 
More then his love, which thus ye seeke 

t' obtaine.' 
Wherewith all full of wrath she thus re- 

plyde : 
'Vile recreant! know that I doe much 

disdaine 
Thy courteous lore, that doest my love 

deride, 
Who scornes thy ydle scoff e, and bids 

thee be defyde.' 

XXVIII. 

' To take defiaunce at a Ladies word ' 
(Quoth he) ' I hold it no indignity ; 
But were he here, that would it with his 

sword 
Abett, perhaps he mote it deare aby.' 



CANTO I.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



.455 



' Cowherd ! ' (quoth she) ' were not that 

thou would st fly 
Ere he doe come, he should be soone in 

place.' 
' If I doe so/ (sayd he) ' then liberty 
I leave to you for aye me to disgrace 
With all those shames, that erst ye spake 

me to deface.' 



With that a Dwar f e she cald to her in hast , 
And taking from her hand a ring of gould, 
A privy token which betweene them past, 
Bad him to flie with all the speed he could 
To Crudor ; and desire him that he would 
Vouchsafe to reskue her against a Knight, 
Who through strong powre had now her 

self in hould. 
Having late slaine her Seneschall in fight. 
And all her people murdred with outra- 
gious might : 



The Dwarf e his way did hast, and went 
all night ; 
But Calidore did with her there abyde 
The comming of that so much threatned 

Knight ; 
Where that discourteous Dame with scorn- 
full pryde 
And fowle entreaty him indignifyde, 
That yron heart it hardly could sustaine : 
Yet he, that could his wrath full wisely 

guyde. 
Did well endure her womanish disdaine. 
And did him selfe from f raile impatience 
refraine. 

XXXI. 

The morrow next, before the lampe of 

light 
Above the earth upreard his flaming head, 
The Dwarf e, which bore that message to 

her knight, 
Brought aunswere backe, that ere he tasted 

bread 
He would her succour, and alive or dead 
Her foe deliver up into her hand : 
Therefore he wild her doe away all dread ; 
And, that of him she mote assured stand, 
He sent to her his basenet as a faithful! 

band. 

xxxn. 
Thereof full blyth the Lady streight be- 
came. 
And gan t' augment her bitternesse much 

more; 
Yet no whit more appalled for the same, 
Ne ought dismayed was Sir Calidore, 
But rather did more chearefull seeme 

therefore : 



And having sooue his armes about him 

dight. 
Did issue forth to meete his foe afore ; 
Where long he stayed not, when as a 

Knight 
He spide come pricking on with all his 

powre and might. 



Well weend he streight that he should 
be the same 
Which tooke in hand her quarrell to 

maintaine ; 
Ne stayd to aske if it were he by name. 
But coucht his spear e, and ran at him 

amaine. 
They bene ymett in middest of the plaine 
With so fell fury and dispiteous forse. 
That neither could the others stroke sus- 
taine, 
But rudely rowld to ground, both man 

and horse. 
Neither of other taking pitty nor remorse. 

XXXI v. 

But Calidore uprose againe full light. 

Whiles yet his foe lay fast in sencelesse 

swound ; 
Yet would he not him hurt although he 

might ; 
For shame he weend a sleeping wight to 

wound. 
But when Briana saw that drery stound, 
There where she stood uppon the Castle 

wall. 
She deem'd him sure to have bene dead 

on ground ; 
And made such piteous mourning there- 

withall. 
That from the battlements she ready 

seem'd to fall. 



Nathlesse at length him selfe he did 
upreare 
In lustlesse wise ; as if against his will. 
Ere he had slept his fill, he wakened were. 
And gan to stretch his limbs ; which feel- 
ing ill 
Of his late fall, awhile he rested still: 
But, when he saw his foe before in vew, 
He shooke off luskishnesse ; and courage 

chill 
Kindling afresh, gan battell to renew, 
To prove if better foote then horsebacke 
would ensew. 

JCXXVI. 

There then began a fearefull cruell 
fray 
Betwixt them two for maystery of might ; 



456 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book VI. 



For both were wondrous practicke in that 
play, 

And passing well expert in single fight, 

And both inflam'd with furious despight ; 

Which as it still encreast, so still increast 

Their cruell strokes and terrible affright ; 

Ne once for ruth their rigour they re- 
least, 

Ne once to breath awhile their angers 
tempest ceast. 

XXXVII. 

Thus long they trac'd and traverst to 
and fro. 

And tryde all waies how each mote en- 
trance make 

Into the life of his malignant foe : 

They hew'd their helmes, and plates asun- 
der brake. 

As they had potshares bene ; for nought 
mote slake 

Their greedy vengeaunces but goary 
blood. 

That at the last like to a purple lake 

Of bloudy gore cougeal'd about them 
stood. 

Which from their riven sides forth gushed 
like a flood. 

XXXVIII. 

At length it chaunst that both their 

hands on hie 
At once did heave with all their powre 

and might, 
Thinking the utmost of their force to trie. 
And prove the finall fortune of the fight ; 
But Calidore, that was more quicke of 

sight 
And nimbler handed then his enemie, 
Prevented him before his stroke could 

light, 
And on the helmet smote him formerlie, 
That made him stoupe to ground with 

meeke humilitie: 



And, ere he could recover foote againe, 
He, following that faire advantage fast. 
His stroke redoubled with such might 

and maine. 
That him upon the ground he groveling 

cast; 
And leaping to him light would have un- 

last 
His Helme, to make unto his vengeance 

way: 
Who, seeing in what'daunger he was 



Cryde out; * Ah mercie. Sir! doe not me 
slay, 



But save my life, which lot before your 
foot doth lay.' 



With that his mortall hand a while he 

stayd ; 
And, having somewhat calm'd his wrath- 
full heat 
With goodly patience, thus he to him 

sayd: 
* And is the boast of that proud Ladies 

threat. 
That menaced me from the field to beat, 
Now brought to this ? By this now may 

ye learne 
Strangers no more so rudely to entreat, 
But put away proud looke and usage 

Sterne, 
The which shal nought to you but foule 

dishonor yearn e. 



'For nothing is more blamefull to a 

knight, 
That court'sie doth as well as armes pro- 

fesse. 
However strong and fortunate in fight, 
Then the reproch of pride and cruelnesse. 
In vaine he seeketh others to suppresse. 
Who hath not learnd him selfe first to 

subdew : 
All flesh is frayle and full of ficklenesse, 
Subject to fortunes chance, still chaung- 

ing new : 
What haps to day to me to morrow may 

to you. 

XLII. 

' Who will not mercie unto others shew, 

How can he mercy ever hope to have ? 

To pay each with his owne is right and 
dew; 

Yet since ye mercie now doe need to 
crave, 

I will it graunt, your hopelesse life to 
save, 

With these conditions which I will pro- 
pound : 

First, that ye better shall your selfe be- 
have 

Unto all errant knights, whereso on 
ground ; 

Next, that ye Ladies ayde in every stead 
and stound.' 

XLIII. 

The wretched man, that all this while 

did dwell 
In dread of death, his heasts did gladly 

heare. 
And promist to performe his precept well, 



CANTO I.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



457 



And whatsoever else be would requere. 
So, suffring him to rise, he made him 

sweare 
By his owne sword, and by the crosse 

thereon, 
To take Briana for his loving fere 
Withouten dowre or composition ; 
But to release his former foule condition. 



All which accepting, and with faithfull 
oth 
Bynding himselfe most firmely to obay, 
He up arose, however liefe or loth. 
And swore to him true fealtie for aye. 
Then forth he cald from sorrowfull dis- 
may 
The sad Briana which all this beheld ; 
Who comming forth yet full of late affray 
Sir Calidore upcheard, and to her teld 
All this accord to which he Crudor had 
compeld. 

XLV. 

Whereof she now more glad then sory 

earst, 
All overcome with infinite affect 
For his exceeding courtesie, that pearst 
Her stubborne hart with inward deepe 

effect, 
Before his feet her selfe she did project ; 
And him adoring as her lives deare Lord, 
With all due thankes and dutif ull respect. 
Her selfe acknowledg'd bound for that 

accord, 



By which he had to her both life and love 
restord. 

XLVI. 

So all returning to the Castle glad. 
Most joyfully she them did entertaine ; 
Where goodly glee and feast to them she 

made, 
To show her thankefull mind and mean- 
ing faine. 
By all the meanes she mote it best ex- 

plaine : 
And, after all, unto Sir Calidore 
She freely gave that Castle for his paine. 
And her selfe bound to him for evermore ; 
So wondrously now chaung'd from that 
she was afore. 

XLVII. 

But Calidore himselfe would not re- 

taine 
Nor land nor fee for hyre of his good 

deede. 
But gave them streight unto that Squire 

againe. 
Whom from her Seneschall he lately freed. 
And to his damzell, as their rightfull 

meed 
For recompence of all their former wrong. 
There he remaind with them right well 



Till of his wounds he wexed hole and 

strong ; 
And then to his first quest he passed forth 

along. 



CANTO II. 

Calidore sees young Tristram slay 
A proud discourteous knight : 

He makes liim Squire, and of him learnes 
His state and present phght. 



What vertue is so fitting for a knight, 
Or for a Ladie whom a knight should love. 
As Curtesie ; to beare themselves aright 
To all of each degree as doth behove ? 
For whether they be placed high above 
Or low beneath, yet ought they well to 

know 
Their good ; that none them rightly may 

reprove 
Of rudenesse for not yeelding what they 

owe: 
Great skill it is such duties timely to be- 
stow. 

II. 
Thereto great helps dame Nature selfe 
doth lend ; 
For some so goodly gratious are by kind, 



That every action doth them much com- 
mend. 

And in the eyes of men great liking find. 

Which others that have greater skill in 
mind. 

Though they enforce themselves, cannot 
attaine ; 

For everie thing to which one is inclin'd 

Doth best become and greatest grace doth 
gaine : 

Yet praise likewise deserve good thewes 
enforst with paine. 



That well in courteous Calidore ap- 
peares ; 
Whose every deed and word, that he did 
say, 



458 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book VI. 



Was like enchantment, that through both 

the eares 
And both the eyes did steale the hart 

away. 
He now againe is on his former way 
To follow his first quest, when as he spyde 
A tall young man, from thence not farre 

away, 
Fighting on foot, as well he him descryde, 
Against an armed knight that did on 

horsebacke ryde. 



And them beside a Ladie faire he saw 
Standing alone on foot in foule array ; 
To whom himselfe he hastily did draw 
To weet the cause of so uncomely fray, 
And to depart them, if so be he may: 
But, ere he came in place, that youth had 

kild 
That armed knight, that low on ground 

he lay: 
Which when he saw, his hart was inly 

child 
With great amazement, and his thought 

with wonder fild. 



Him stedfastly he markt, and saw to 

bee 
A goodly youth of amiable grace, 
Yet but a slender slip, that scarce did see 
Yet seventeene yeares, but tall and faire 

of face. 
That sure he deem'd him borne of noble 

race: 
All in a woodmans jacket he was clad 
Of Lincolne greene, belayd with silver 

lace; 
And on his head an hood with aglets 

sprad. 
And by his side his hunters borne he 

hanging had. 



Buskins he wore of costliest cordwayne, 
Pinckt upon gold, and paled part per part. 
As then the guize was for each gentle 

swayne : 
In his right hand he held a trembling dart, 
AVhose fellow he before had sent apart ; 
And in his left he held a sharpe bore- 

speare. 
With which he wont to launch the salvage 

hart 
Of many a Lyon and of many a Beare, 
That first unto his hand in chase did hap- 
pen neare. 

VII. 

Whom Calidore awhile well having 
vewed 



At length bespake; 'What meanes this, 

gentle Swaine. 
Why hath thy hand too bold it selfe em- 
brewed 
In blood of knight, the which by thee is 

slaine, 
By thee no knight ; which armes impugn- 

eth plaine ? ' 
'Certes,' (said he) Moth were I to have 

broken 
The law of armes: yet breake it should 

againe. 
Rather then let my selfe of wight be 

stroken, 
So long as these two armes were able to 

be wroken. 

VIII. 

* For not I him, as this his Ladie here 

May witnesse well, did offer first to wrong, 

Ne surely thus unarm' d I likely were ; 

But he me first through pride and puis- 
sance strong 

Assayld, not knowing what to armes doth 
long.' 

' Perdie great blame ' (then said Sir Cali- 
dore) 

' For armed knight a wight unarm'd to 
wrong : 

But then aread, thou gentle chyld, where- 
fore 

Betwixt you two began this strife and 
Sterne uprore.' 

rx. 
'That shall I, sooth,' (said he) 'to you 

declare. 
I, whose unryper yeares are yet unfit 
For thing of weight or worke of greater 

care, 
Doe spend my dayes and bend my care- 

lesse wit 
To salvage chace, where I thereon may hit 
In all this f orrest and wyld wooddie raiue : 
Where, as this day I was enraunging it, 
I chaunst to meete this knight, who there 

lyes slaine. 
Together with this Ladie, passing on the 

plaine. 

X. 

'The knight, as ye did see, on horse- 
backe was. 
And this his Ladie (that him ill became) 
On her faire feet by his horse side did pas 
Through thicke and thin, unfit for any 

Dame : 
Yet not content, more to increase his 

shame. 
When so she lagged, as she needs mote so. 
He with his speare, that was to him great 
blame, 



CANTO II.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



459 



AVould thumpe her forward and inforce to 
goe, 

Weeping to him in vaine and making pite- 
ous woe. 

XI. 

' Which when I saw, as they me passed 

by, 
Much was I moved in indignant mind, 
And gan to blame him for such cruelty 
Towards a Ladie, whom with usage kind 
He rather should have taken up behind ; 
Wherewith he wroth, and full of proud 

disdaiue, 
Tooke in foule scorne that I such fault did 

find, 
And me in lieu thereof revil'd againe, 
Threatning to chastize me, as doth t'a 

chyld pertaine. 



' Which I no lesse disdayning, backe re- 
turned 
His scornefull taunts unto his teeth againe, 
That he streightway with haughtie choler 

burned, 
And with his speare strooke me one stroke 

or twaine ; 
AVhich I, enforst to beare though to my 

paine, 
Cast to requite ; and with a slender dart, 
Fellow of this I beare, throwne not in 

vaine, 
Strooke him, as seemeth, underneath the 

hart. 
That through the wound his spirit shortly 

did depart.' 

XIII. 

Much did Sir Calidore admyre his speach 
Tempred so well, but more admyr'd the 

stroke 
That through the mayles had made so 

strong a breach 
Into his hart, and had so sternely wroke 
His wrath on him that first occasion 

broke ; 
Yet rested not, but further gan inquire 
Of that same Ladie, whether what he 

spoke 
Were soothly so, and that th' unrighteous 

ire 
Of her owne knight had given him his 

owne due hire ? 



Of all which when as she could nought 
deny. 
But cleard that stripling of th' imputed 

blame, 
Sayd then Sir Calidore ; ' Neither will I 



Him charge with guilt, but rather doe 

quite clame : 
For what he spake, for you he spake it, 

Dame; 
And what he did, he did him selfe to save : 
Against both which that knight wrought 

kuightlesse shame ; 
For knights and all men this by nature 

have. 
Towards all womenkind them kindly to 

behave. 

XV. 

' But, sith that he is gone irrevocable, 
Please it you, Ladie, to us to aread 
What cause could make him so dishonour- 
able 
To drive you so on foot, unfit to tread 
And lackey by him, gainst all woman- 
head.' 
' Certes, Sir knight,' (sayd she) * full loth 

I were 
To rayse a ly ving blame against the dead ; 
But since it me concernes my selfe to clere, 
I will the truth discover as it chaunst 
whylere. 

XVI. 

' This day, as he and I together roade 
Upon our way to which we weren bent. 
We chaunst to come foreby a covert glade 
Within a wood, whereas a Ladie gent 
Sate with a knight in joyous jolliment 
Of their f ranke loves, free from all gealous 

spyes. 
Faire was the Ladie, sure, that mote con- 
tent 
An hart not carried with too curious eyes, 
And unto him did shew all lovely courte- 



' Whom when my knight did see so lovely 

faire, 
He inly gan her lover to envy. 
And wish that he part of his spoyle might 

share : 
Whereto when as my presence he did spy 
To be a let, he bad me by and by 
For to alight: but when as I was loth 
My loves owne part to leave so suddenly. 
He with strong hand downe from his steed 

me throw'th 
And with presumpteous powre against 

that knight streight go'th. 

XVIII. 

'Unarm'd all was the knight, as then 

more meete 

For Ladies service, and for loves delight. 

Then fearing any foeman there to meete : 

Whereof he taking oddes, streight bids him 

dight 



460 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book VI. 



Himselfe to yeeld his Love, or else to fight : 
Whereat the other starting up dismayd, 
Yet boldly answer'd, as he rightly might, 
To leave his love he should be ill apayd, 
In which he had good right gaynst all that 
it gainesayd. 



* Yet since he was not presently in plight 
Her to defend, or his to justifie. 

He him requested, as he was a knight, 
To lend him day his better right to trie, 
Or stay till he his armes, which were 

thereby, 
Might lightly fetch : But he was fierce and 

whot, 
Ne time would give, nor any termes aby. 
But at him flew, and with his speare him 

smot; 
From which to thinke to save himselfe it 

booted not. 

XX. 

* Meane while his Ladie, which this out- 

rage saw, 
Whilest they together for the quarrey 

strove, 
Into the covert did her selfe withdraw, 
And closely hid her selfe within the grove. 
My knight hers soone, as seemes, to daun- 

ger drove. 
And left sore wounded : but, when her he 

mist. 
He woxe half e mad ; and in that rage gan 

rove 
And range through all the wood, where so 

he wist 
She hidden was, and sought her so long as 

him list. 

XXI. 

' But, when as her he by no meanes could 

find. 
After long search and chauff he turned 

backe 
Unto the place where me he left behind : 
There gan he me to curse and ban , for lacke 
Of that f aire bootie, and with bitter wracke 
To wreake on me the guilt of his owne 

wrong : 
Of all which I yet glad to beare the packe 
Strove to appease him, and perswaded 

long; 
But still his passion grew more violent and 

strong. 

XXII. 

' Then, as it were t' avenge his wrath on 
mee, 
When forward we should fare he flat re- 
fused 
To take me up (as this young man did see) 
Upon his steed, for no just cause accused. 



But forst to trot on foot, and foule mis- 
used, 

Pounching me with the butt end of his 
speare. 

In vaine complayning to be so abused ; 

For he regarded neither playnt nor teare, 

But more enforst my paine, the more my 
plaints to heare. 

XXIII. 

' So passed we till this young man us 

met; 
And being moov'd with pittie of my plight 
Spake, as was meet, for ease of my regret : 
Whereof befell what now is in your sight.' 
' Now sure,' (then said Sir Calidore) ' and 

right. 
Me seemes, that him befell by his owne 

fault : 
Who ever thinkes through confidence of 

might. 
Or through support of count'nance proud 

and hault. 
To wrong the weaker, oft f alles in his owne 

assault.' 

XXIV. 

Then turning backe unto that gentle boy 
Which had himselfe so stoutly well acquit, 
Seeing his face so lovely sterne and coy, 
And hearing th' answeres of his pregnant 

wit. 
He praysd it much, and much admyred it ; 
That sure he weend him borne of noble 

blood. 
With whom those graces did so goodly 

fit: 
And when belong had him beholding stood, 
He burst into these wordes, as to him 

seemed good : 

XXV. 

* Faire gentle swayne, and yet as stout 

as fay re. 
That in these woods amongst the Nymphs 

dost wonne. 
Which daily may to thy sweete lookes re- 

payre. 
As they are wont unto Latonaes Sonne 
After his chace on woodie Cynthus donne ; 
Well may I, certes, such an one thee read, 
As by thy worth thou worthily hast wonne, 
Or surely borne of some Heroicke sead. 
That in thy face appeares and gratious 

goodly-head. 



* But, should it not displease thee it to 
tell, 
(Unlesse thou in these woods thy selfe 
conceale 



CANTO II.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



461 



For love amongst the woodie Gods to 

dwell) 
I would thy selfe require thee to reveale, 
For deare affection and unfayned zeale 
Which to thy noble personage I heare, 
And wish thee grow in worship and great 

weale ; 
For, since the day that armes I first did 

reare, 
I never saw in any greater hope appeare.' 



To whom then thus the noble Youth : 

* May be, 
Sir knight, that, by discovering my estate, 
Harme may arise unweetiug unto me ; 
Nathelesse, sith ye so courteous seemed 

late. 
To you I will not feare it to relate. 
Then wote ye that I am a Briton borne, 
Sonne of a King, (how ever thorough fate 
Or fortune I my countrie have forlorne, 
And lost the crowne which should my 

head by right adorne,) 



'And Tristram is my name, the onely 

heire 
Of good king Meliogras which did rayne 
In Cornewale, till that he through lives 

despeire 
Untimely dyde, before I did attaine 
Ripe years of reason my right to main- 

taine : 
After whose death his brother, seeing mee 
An infant, weake akingdome to sustaine. 
Upon him tooke the roiall high degree. 
And sent me, where him list, instructed 

for to bee. 

xxrx. 

' The widow Queene my mother, which 
then hight 
Faire Emiline, conceiving them great 

feare 
Of ray fraile safetie, resting in the might 
Of him that did the kingly Scepter beare, 
Whose gealous dread induring not apeare 
Is wont to cut off all that doubt may 

breed. 
Thought best away me to remove some- 
where 
Into some forrein land, where as no need 
Of dreaded daunger might his doubtfull 
humor feed. 

XXX. 

' So, taking counsell of a wise man red, 
She was by him adviz'd to send me quight 
Out of the countrie wherein I was bred. 
The which the fertile Lionesse is hight, 



Into the land of Faerie, where no wight 
Should weet of me, nor worke me any 

wrong : 
To whose wise read she hearkning sent 

me streight 
Into this laud, where I have wond thus 

long 
Since I was ten yeares old, now growen 

to stature strong. 

XXXI. 

' All which my dales I have not lewdly 

spent, 
Nor spilt the blossome of my tendet 

yeares 
In ydlesse ; but, as was convenient. 
Have trayned bene with many noble 

feres 
In gentle thewes and such like seemly 

leres : 
Mongst which my most delight hath al- 

waies been 
To hunt the salvage chace, amongst my 

peres. 
Of all that raungeth in the forrestgreene, 
Of which none is to me unkuowne that 

ev'r was seene. 



* Ne is there hauke which mantleth her 

on pearch. 
Whether high to wring or accoasting low, 
But I the measure of her flight doe search, 
And all her pray and all her diet know. 
Such be our joyes which in these forrests 

grow: 
Onely the use of armes, which most I joy. 
And fitteth most for noble swayne to 

know, 
I have not tasted yet ; yet past a boy, 
And being now high time these strong 

joynts to imploy. 

xxxin. 

'Therefore, good Sir, sith now occasion 

fit 
Doth fall, whose like hereafter seldome 

may, 
Let me this crave, unworthy though of 

it, 
That ye will make me Squire without 

delay, 
That from henceforth in batteilous array 
I may beare armes, and learne to use 

them right ; 
The rather, since that fortune hath this 

day 
Given to me the spoile of this dead knight, 
These goodly gilden armes which I have 

won in fight." 



462 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book vj. 



XXXIV. 

All which when well Sir Calidore had 

heard, 
Him much more now then earst he gan 

admire 
For the rare hope which in his yeares 

appear 'd, 
And thus replide : ' Faire chyld, the high 

desire 
To love of armes, which in you doth 

aspire, 
I may not, certes, without blame denie, 
But rather wish that some more noble 

hire 
(Though none more noble then is chev- 

alrie) 
I had, you to reward with greater dig- 

nitie.' 

XXXV. 

There him he causd to kneele, and 

made to sweare 
Faith to his knight, and truth to Ladies 

all, 
And never to be recreant for feare 
Of perill, or of ought that might befall : 
So he him dubbed, and his Squire did call. 
Full glad and joyous then young Tristram 

grew; 
Like as a flowre, whose silken leaves small 
Long shut up in the bud from heavens 

vew, 
At length breakes forth, and brode dis- 

playes his smyling hew. 



Thus when they long had treated to 

and fro. 
And Calidore betooke him to depart, 
Chyld Tristram prayd that he with him 

might goe 
On his adventure, vowing not to start. 
But wayt on him in every place and part : 
Whereat Sir Calidore did much delight, 
And greatly joy'd at his so noble hart, 
In hope he sure would prove a doughtie 

knight : 
Yet for the time this answere he to him 

behight. 

XXXVII. 

* Glad would I surely be, thou courteous 

Squire, 
To have thy presence in my present quest. 
That mote thy kindled courage set on fire, 
And flame forth honour in thy noble brest ; 
But I am bound by vow, which I profest 
To my dread Soveraine, when I it assay d, 
That in atchievement of her high behest 
I should no creature joyne unto mine 

ayde: 



For-thy I may not graunt that ye so 
greatly prayde. 



' But since this Ladie is all desolate. 
And needeth safegard now upon her way. 
Ye may doe well, in this her needfull 

state. 
To succour her from daunger of dismay, 
That thankfull guerdon may to you re- 
pay.' 
The noble ympe, of such new service 

fayne. 
It gladly did accept, as he did say : 
So taking courteous leave they parted 

twayne. 
And Calidore forth passed to his former 
payne. 

XXXLX. 

But Tristram, then despoyling that 

dead knight 
Of all those goodly implements of prayse, 
Long fed his greedie eyes with the faire 

sight 
Of the bright mettall shyning like Sunne 

rayes, 
Handling and turning them a thousand 

wayes : 
And, after having them upon him dight, 
He tooke that Ladie, and her up did rayse 
Upon the steed of her owne late dead 

knight ; 
So with her marched forth, as she did him 

behight. 

XL. 

There to their fortune leave we them 

awhile, 
And turne we backe to good Sir Calidore ; 
Who, ere he thence had traveild many a 

mile. 
Came to the place whereas ye heard afore 
This knight, whom Tristram slew, had 

wounded sore 
Another knight in his despiteous pryde : 
There he that knight found lying on the 

flore 
With many wounds full perilous and 

wyde. 
That all his garments and the grasse in 

vermeil! dyde. 



And there beside him sate upon the 

ground 
His wofuU Ladie, piteously complayning 
With loud laments that most unluckie 

stound. 
And her sad selfe with carefuU hand con- 

strayning, 



CANTO II.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



463 



To wype his -o'ounds, and ease their bitter 

payning. 
Which sorie sight when Calidore did vew 
With heavie eyne, from teares uneath re- 

frayuiug, 
His miglitie hart their mournefull case 

can rew, 
And for their better comfort to them 

nigher drew. 

XLII. 

Then speaking, to the Ladie thus he 

said: 
' Ye doleful! Dame, let not your griefe 

empeach 
To tell what cruell hand hath thus arayd 
This knight unarm 'd with so unknightly 

breach 
Of armes, that, if I yet him nigh may 

reach, 
I may avenge him of so foule despight.' 
The Ladie, hearmg his so courteous 

speach, 
Gan reare her eyes as to the chearefull 

light. 
And from her sory hart few heavie words 

forth sight : 



In which she shew'd, how that discour- 
teous knight, 

(Whom Tristram slew) them in that 
shadow found 

Joying together in unblam'd delight ; 

And him unarm'd, as now he lay on 
ground, 

Charg'd with his speare, and mortally did 
wound, 

Withouten cause, but onely her to reave 

From him to whom she was for ever 
bound : 

Yet when she fled into that covert greave. 

He, her not finding, both them thus nigh 
dead did leave. 



When Calidore this ruefull storie had 
Well understood, he gan of her demand. 
What manner wight he was, and how 

yclad. 
Which had this outrage wrought with 

wicked hand. 
She then, like as she best could under- 
stand. 
Him thus describ'd ; to be of stature large, 
Clad all in gilden arms, with azure band 
Quartred athwart, and bearing in his 

targe 
A Ladie on rough waves row'd in a som- 
mer barge. 



Then gan Sir Calidore toghesse streight-. 

way, 
By many signes which she described 

had. 
That this was he whom Tristram earst did 

slay, 
And to her said : ' Dame, be no longer 

sad; 
For he, that hath your Knight so ill bestad, 
Is now him selfe in much more wretched 

plight : 
These eyes him saw upon the cold earth 

sprad, 
The meede of his desert for that despight. 
Which to your selfe he wrought and to 

your loved knight. 

XLVI. 

' Therefore, faire Lady, lay aside this 

griefe. 
Which ye have gathered to your gentle 

hart 
For that displeasure, and thinke what re- 

liefe 
Were best devise for this your lovers 

smart ; 
And how ye may him hence, and to what 

part, 
Convay to be recur'd.' She thankt him 

deare 
Both for that newes he did to her impart, 
And for the courteous care which he did 

beare 
Both to her love and to her selfe in that 

sad dreare. 



Yet she could not devise by any wit, 
How thence she might convay him to some 

place; 
For him to trouble she it thought unfit, 
That was a straunger to her wretched 

case; 
And him to beare she thought it thing too 

base. 
Which when as he perceiv'd he thus be- 
spake : 
' Faire Lady, let it not you seeme disgrace 
To beare this burden on your dainty 

backe ; 
My selfe will beare a part, coportion of 
your packe.' 



So off he did his shield, and downeward 

layd 
Upon the ground, like to an hollow beare ; 
And powring balme, which he had long 

purvayd. 



464 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book VI. 



Into his wounds, him up thereon did reare, 
And twixt them both with parted paines 
* did beare, 

Twixt life and death, not knowing what 
was donne. 



Thence they him carried to a Castle neare, 
In which a worthy auncient Knight did 

wonne : 
Where what ensu'd shall in next Canto be 

begonne. 



CANTO III. 

Calidore brings Priscilla home ; 

Pursues the Blatant Beast : 
Saves Serena, whilest Calepine 

By Turpine is opprest. 



True is, that whilome that good Poet 

sayd, 
The gentle minde by gentle deeds is 

knowne : 
For a man by nothing is so well bewrayd 
As by liis manners; in which plaine is 

showne 
Of what degree and what race he is 

grown e : 
For seldome seene a trotting Stalion get 
An ambling Colt, that is his proper owne : 
So seldome seene that one in basenesse set 
Doth noble courage shew with curteous 

manners met. 



But evermore contrary had bene tryde. 
That gentle bloud will gentle manners 

breed ; 
As well may be in Calidore descryde, 
By late ensample of that courteous deed 
Done to that wounded Knight in his great 

need, 
Whom on his backe he bore, till he him 

brought 
Unto the Castle where they had decreed : 
There of the Knight, the which that Castle 

ought, 
To make abode that night he greatly was 

besought. 

III. 

He was to weete a man of full ripe 
yeares. 

That in his youth had beene of mickle 
might, 

And borne great sway in armes amongst 
his peares ; 

But now weake age had dimd his candle- 
light: 

Yet was he courteous still to every wight. 

And loved all that did to armes incline ; 

And was the Father of that wounded 
Knight, 

Whom Calidore thus carried on his chine ; 

And Aldus was his name ; and his sonnes, 
Aladine. 



Who when he saw his sonne so ill be- 

dight 
With bleeding wounds, brought home 

upon a beare 
By a faire Lady and a straunger Knight, 
Was inly touched with compassion deare. 
And deare affection of so dolefuU dreare, 
That he these words burst forth: 'Ah, 

sory boy ! 
Is this the hope that to my hoary heare 
Thou brings? aie me! is this the timely 

joy, 
Which I expected long, now turn'd to sad 

annoy ? 

V. 

' Such is the weakenesse of all mortall 
hope, 

So tickle is the state of earthly things, 

That, ere they come unto their aymed 
scope. 

They fall too short of our fraile reckon- 
ings, 

And bring us bale and bitter sorrowings. 

Instead of comfort which we should em- 
brace : 

This is the state of Keasars and of Kings ! 

Let none therefore, that is in meaner 
place, 

Too greatly grieve at any his unlucky 
case.' 

VI. 

So well and wisely did that good old 

Knight 
Temper his griefe, and turned it to cheare 
To cheare his guests whom he had stayd 

that night, 
And make their welcome to them well 

appeare. 
That to Sir Calidore was easie geare ; 
But that faire Lady would be cheard for 

nought. 
But sigh'd and sorrow'd for her lover 

deare. 
And inly did afflict her pensive thought 
With thinking to what case her niiw.ji 

should now be brought : 



CANTO III.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



465 



For she was daughter to a noble Lord 
Which dwelt thereby, who sought her to 

affy 
To a great pere ; but she did disaccord, 
Ne could her liking to his love apply, 
But lov'd this fresh young Knight who 

dwelt her ny, 
The lusty Aladine, though meaner borne 
And of lesse livelood and hability, 
Yet full of valour the which did adorne 
His meanesse much, and make her th' 

others riches scorne. 



So, having both found fit occasion, 
They met together in that lucklesse 

glade ; 
Where that proud Knight in his presump- 
tion 
The gentle Aladine did earst invade, 
Being unarm'd and set in secret shade. 
Whereof she now bethinking, gan t' ad- 
vize 
How great a hazard she at earst had made 
Of her good fame ; and further gan devize 
How she the blame might salve with col- 
oured disguize. 

IX. 

But Calidore with all good courtesie 
Fain'd her to frolicke, and to put away 
The pensive fit of her melancholic ; 
And that old Knight by all meanes did 

assay 
To make them both as merry as he may. 
So they the evening past till time of 

rest; 
When Calidore in seemly good array 
Unto his bowre was brought, and there 

undrest 
Did sleepe all night through weary travell 

of his quest. 

X. 

But faire Priscilla (so that Lady hight) 
Would to no bed, nor take no kindely 

sleepe, 
But by her wounded love did watch all 

night. 
And all the night for bitter anguish weepe. 
And with her teares his wounds did wash 

and steepe : 
So well she washt them, and so well she 

wacht him, 
That of the deadly swound, in which full 

deepe 
He drenched was, she at the length dis- 

pacht him. 
And drove away the stound which mor- 
tally attach t him. 



The morrow next, when day gan to up- 

looke. 
He also gan uplooke with drery eye. 
Like one that out of deadly dreame 

awooke : 
Where when he saw his faire Priscilla by, 
He deepely sigh'd, and groaned inwardly. 
To thinke of this ill state in which she 

stood ; 
To which she for his sake had weetingly 
Now brought her selfe, and blam'd her 

noble blood : 
For first, next after life, he tendered her 

good. 

XII. 

Which she perceiving did with plenteous 
teares 

His care more then her owne compassion- 
ate, 

Forgetfull of her owne to minde his feares : 

So both conspiring gan to intimate 

Each others griefe with zeale affection- 
ate, 

And twixt them twaine with equall care 
to cast 

How to save hole her hazarded estate ; 

For which the onely helpe now left them 
last 

Seem'd to be Calidore : all other helpes 
were past. 

XIII. 

Him they did deeme, as sure to them he 

seemed, 
A courteous Knight and full of faithfull 

trust ; 
Therefore to him their cause they best 

esteemed 
Whole to commit, and to his dealing just. 
Earely, so soone as Titans beanres forth 

brust 
Through the thicke clouds in which they 

steeped lay 
All night in darkenesse, duld with yron 

rust, 
Calidore rising up as fresh as day 
Gan freshly him addresse unto his former 

way. 

XIV. 

But first him seemed fit that wounded 

Knight 
To visite, after this nights perillous passe. 
And to salute him, if he were in plight. 
And eke that Lady, his faire lovely lasse. 
There he him found much better then he 

was; 
And moved speach to him of things of 

course. 
The anguish of his paine to overpasse : 



466 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book VI. 



Mongst which he namely did to him dis- 
course 

Of former daies mishap, his sorrowes 
wicked sourse. 



Of which occasion Aldine taking hold 
Gan breake to him the f ortmies of his love, 
And all his disadventures to unfold, 
That Calidore it dearly deepe did move : 
In th' end, his kyndly courtesie to prove. 
He him by all the bands of love besought, 
And as it mote a faithfull friend behove, 
To safe-conduct his love, and not for 

ought 
To leave, till to her fathers house he had 

her brought. 



Sir Calidore his faith thereto did plight 
It to performe : so after little stay, 
That she her selfe had to the journey 

dight. 
He passed forth with her in faire array, 
Fearlesse who ought did thinke or ought 

did say, 
Sith his own thought he knew most cleare 

from wite : 
So, as they past together on their way. 
He can devize this counter-cast of slight. 
To give faire colour to that Ladies cause 

in sight. 

XVII. 

Streight to the earkasse of that Knight 

he went. 
The cause of all this evill, who was slaine 
The day before by just avengemeut 
Of noble Tristram, where it did remaine : 
There he the necke thereof did cut in 

twaine, 
And tooke with him the 'head, the signe 

of shame. 
So forth he passed thorough that daies 

paine, 
Till to that Ladies fathers house he came ; 
Most pensive man, through feare what of 

his childe became. 



There he arriving boldly did present 
The fearefull Lady to her father deare. 
Most perfect pure, and guiltlesse innocent 
Of blame, as he did on his Knighthood 

sweare. 
Since first he saw her, and did free from 

feare 
Of a discourteous Knight, who her had reft 
And by outragious force away did beare : 
Witnesse thereof he shew'd his head there 

left. 



And wretched life forlorne for vengement 
of his theft. 

XIX. 

Most joyfull man her sire was her to 
see. 
And heare th' adventure of her late mis- 

chauuce ; 
And thousand thankes to Calidore for fee 
Of his large paiues in her deliveraunce 
Did yeeld : Ne lesse the Lady did 

advaunce. 
Thus having her restored trustily. 
As he had vow'd, some small continuance 
He there did make, and then most care- 
fully 
Unto his first exploite he did him selfe 
apply. 

XX. 

So, as he was pursuing of his quest. 
He chaunst to come whereas a jolly 

Knight 
In covert shade him selfe did safely rest, 
To solace with his Lady in delight : 
His warlike armes he had from him un- 

dight. 
For that him selfe he thought from daun- 

ger free. 
And far from envious eyes that mote him 

spight; 
And eke the Lady was full faire to see. 
And courteous withall, becomming her 



To whom Sir Calidore approaching nye, 
Ere they were well aware of living wight. 
Them much abasht, but more him selfe 

thereby. 
That he so rudely did uppon them light. 
And troubled had their quiet loves de- 
light: 
Yet since it was his fortune, not his fault, 
Him selfe thereof he labour'd to acquite, 
And pardon crav'd for his so rash de- 
fault. 
That he gainst courtesie so fowly did 
default. 

XXII. 

With which his gentle words and goodly 

wit 
He soone allayd that Knights conceiv'd 

displeasure. 
That he besought him downe by him to sit. 
That they mote treat of things abrode at 

leasure, 
And of adventures, which had in his 

measure 
Of so long waies to him befallen late. 
So downe he sate, and with delightfuU 

pleasure 



CANTO III.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



467 



His long adventures gan to him relate, 
Which he endured had through daunger- 
ous debate : 



Of which whilest they discoursed both 

together, 
The faire Serena (so his Lady hight) 
Allur'd with mylduesse of the gentle 

wether 
And pleasauuce of the place, the which 

was diglit 
With divers flowres distinct with rare 

delight, 
Wandred about the fields, as likiug led 
Her wavering lust after her wandring 

sight, 
To make a garland to adorne her hed, 
Without suspect of ill or daungers hidden 

dred. 

XXIV. 

All sodainely out of the forrest nere 
The Blatant Beast forth rushing unaware 
Caught her, thus loosely wandring here 

and there. 
And in his wide great mouth away her 

bare 
Crying aloud to shew her sad misfare 
Unto the Knights, and calling oft for 

ayde; 
Who with the horrour of her haplesse 

care 
Hastily starting up, like men dismayde. 
Ran after fast to reskue the distressed 

mayde. 

XXV. 

The Beast, with their pursuit incited 

more, 
Into the wood was bearing her apace 
For to have spoyled her, when Calidore, 
Who was more light of foote and swift in 

chace. 
Him overtooke in middest of his race ; 
And, fiercely charging him with all his 

might, 
Forst to forgoe his pray there in the 

place, 
And to betake him selfe to fearefull 

flight ; 
For he durst not abide with Calidore to 

fight. 

XXVI. 

Who nathelesse, when he the Lady saw 
There left on ground, though in full evill 

plight, 
Yet knowing that her Knight now neare 

did draw, 
Staide not to succour her in that affright, 
But follow'd fast the Monster in his 

flight : 



Through woods and hils he follow'd him 
so fast, 

That he nould let him breath, nor gather 
spright, 

But forst him gape and gaspe, with dread 
aghast, 

As if his lungs and lites were nigh asun- 
der brast. 

XXVII.'' 

And now by this Sir Calepiue (so hight) 
Came to the place where he his Lady found 
In dolorous dismay and deadly plight, 
All in gore bloud there tumbled on the 

ground, 
Having both sides through grypt with 

griesly wound. 
His weapons soone from him he threw 

away, 
And stouping downe to her in drery 

swouud 
Uprear'd her from the ground whereon 

she lay. 
And in his tender armes her forced up to 

stay. 

xxvin. 

So well he did his busie paines apply. 
That the faint sprite he did revoke againe 
To her fraile mansion of mortality : 
Then up he tooke her twixt his armes 

twaine. 
And setting on his steede her did sustaine 
With carefull hands, soft footing her be- 
side; 
Till to some place of rest they mote attaine. 
Where she in safe assuraunce mote abide, 
Till she recured were of those her 
woundes wide. 

XXIX. 

Now when as Phoebus with his fiery 

waine 
Unto his Inne began to draw apace ; 
Tho wexing weary of that toylesome 

paine. 
In travelling on foote so long a space, 
Not wont on foote with heavy armes to 

trace, 
Downe in a dale forby a rivers syde 
He chaunst to spie a faire and stately 

place. 
To which he meant his weary steps to 

guyde, 
In hope there for his love some succour 

to provyde. 

XXX. 

But, comming to the rivers side, he 

found 
That hardly passable on foote it was ; 
Therefore there still he stood as in a 

stound, 



468 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book VI. 



Ne wist which way he through the foord 

mote pas: 
Thus whilest he was in this distressed 

case, 
Devising what to doe, he nigh espyde 
An armed Knight approaching to the 

place 
With a faire Lady lincked by his syde, 
The which themselves prepard thorough 

the foord to ride. 

XXXI. 

Whom Calepine saluting (as became) 
Besought of courtesie, in that his neede. 
For safe conducting of his sickely Dame 
Through that same perillous foord with 

better heede. 
To take him up behinde upon his steed ; 
To whom that other did this taunt re- 

turne : 
Terdy, thou peasant Knight mightst 

rightly reed 
Me then to be full base and evill borne. 
If I would beare behinde a burden of such 

scorne. 

XXXII. 

' But, as thou hast thy steed forlorne 

with shame, 
So fare on foote till thou another gayne, 
And let thy Lady likewise doe the same, 
Or beare her on thy backe with pleasing 

payne, 
And prove thy manhood on the billowes 

vayne.' 
With which rude speach his Lady much 

displeased 
Did him reprove, yet could him not re- 

strayne, 
And would on her owne Palfrey him 

have eased. 
For pitty of his Dame whom she saw so 

diseased. 

XXXIII. 

Sir Calepine her thanckt ; yet, inly wroth 
Against her Knight, her gentlenesse re- 
fused. 
And carelesly into the river goth, 
As in despight to be so fowle abused 
Of a rude churle, whom often he accused 
Of fowle discourtesie, unfit for Knight, 
And, strongly wading through the waves 

unused, 
With speare in th' one hand stayd him 

selfe upright, 
With th' other staide his Lady up with 
steddy might. 



And all the while that same discour- 
teous Knight 



Stood on the further bancke beholding 

him; 
At whose calamity, for more despight. 
He laught, and mockt to see him like to 

swim: 
But when as Calepine came to the brim, 
And saw his carriage past that perill well, 
Looking at that same Carle with count'- 

nance grim, 
His heart with vengeaunce inwardly did 

swell. 
And forth at last did breake in speaches 

sharpe and fell : 

XXXV. 

* Unknightly Knight, the blemish of 

that name. 
And blot of all that armes uppon them 

take. 
Which is the badge of honour and of 

fame, 
Loe! I defie thee; and here challenge 

make. 
That thou for ever doe those armes for- 
sake, 
And be for ever held a recreant Knight, 
Unlesse thou dare, for thy deare Ladies 

sake 
And for thine owne defence, on foote 

alight 
To justifie thy fault gainst me in equall 

fight.' 

XXXVI. 

The dastard, that did heare him selfe 
defyde, 

Seem'd not to weigh his threatfull words 
at all. 

But laught them out, as if his greater 
pryde 

Did scorne the challenge of so base a 
thrall ; 

Or had no courage, or else had no gall. 

So much the more was Calepine offended. 

That him to no revenge he forth could 
call. 

But both his challenge and him selfe con- 
temned, 

Ne cared as a coward so to be condemned. 

XXXVII. 

But he, nought weighing what he sayd 

or did. 
Turned his steede about another way, 
And with his Lady to the Castle rid, 
Where was his won: ne did the other 

stay. 
But after went directly as he may. 
For his sicke charge some harbour there 

to seeke ; 
Where he arriving with the fall of day 



CANTO III.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



469 



Drew to the gate, and there with prayers 

meeke 
And myld entreaty lodging did for her 

beseeke. 

xxxvni. 

But the rude Porter that no manners 

had 
Did shut the gate against him in his face, 
And entraimce boldly unto him forbad : 
Nathelesse the Knight, now in so needy 

case, 
Gan him entreat even with submission 

base, 
And humbly praid to let them in that 

night ; 
Who to him aunswer'd, that there was no 

place 
Of lodging fit for any errant Knight, 
Unlesse that with his Lord he formerly did 
- fight. 

XXXIX. 

' Full loth am I,' (quoth he) ' as now at 

earst 
When day is spent, and rest us needeth 

most. 
And that this Lady, both whose sides are 

pearst 
With wounds, is ready to forgo the ghost ; 
Ne would I gladly combate with mine 

host, 
That should to me such curtesie afford, 
Unlesse that I were thereunto enforst: 
But yet aread to me, howhight thy Lord, 
That doth thus strongly waVd the Castle 

of the Ford ? ' 

XL. 

'His name,' (quoth he), *if that thou 

list to learue. 
Is hight Sir Turpine, one of mickle might 
And manhood rare, but terrible and 

stearne 
In all assaies to every errant Knight, 
Because of one that wrought him fowle 

despight.' 
' 111 seemes,' (sayd he) ' if he so valiaunt be. 
That he should be so sterne to stranger 

wight ; 
For seldome yet did living creature see 
That curtesie and manhood ever disagree. 

XLI. 

' But go thy waies to him, and fro me 

say, 
That here is at his gate an errant Knight, 
That house-rome craves; yet would be 

loth t' assay 
The proofe of batteU now in doubtfull 

night. 
Or curtesie with rudenesse to requite : 



Yet, if he needes will fight, crave leave 

till morue. 
And tell with all the lamentable plight 
In which this Lady lauguisheth forlorne, 
That pitty craves, as he of woman was 

yborne.' 

XLII. 

The groome went streight way in, and 

to his Lord 
Declar'd the message which that Elnight 

did move ; 
Who, sitting with his Lady then at bord. 
Not onely did not his demauud approve. 
But both himselfe revil'd and eke his love ; 
Albe his Lady, that Blandina hight, 
Him of ungentle usage did reprove. 
And earnestly entreated, that they might 
Finde favour to be lodged there for that 

same night. 

xxm. 

Yet would he not perswaded be for 
ought, 
Ne from his currish will a whit reclame. 
Which answer when the groome returning 

brought 
To Calepine, his heart did inly flame 
With wrathfull fury for so foule a shame. 
That he could not thereof avenged bee ; 
But most for pitty of his dearest Dame, 
TMiom now in deadly daunger he did see. 
Yet had no meanes to comfort, nor pro- 
cure her glee. 

XLIV. 

But all in vaine ; for-why no remedy 
He saw the present mischiefe to redresse. 
But th' utmost end perforce for to aby. 
Which that nights fortune would for him 

addresse. 
So downe he tooke his Lady in distresse. 
And layd her underneath a bush to sleepe, 
Cover'd with cold, and wrapt in wretched- 

nesse ; 
Whiles he him selfe all night did nought 

but weepe. 
And wary watch about her for her safe- 

gard keepe. 

XLV. 

The morrow next, so soone as joyous day 
Did shew it selfe in sunny beames bedight, 
Serena full of dolorous dismay, 
Twixt darkenesse dread and hope of living 

light, 
Uprear'd her head to see that chearefuU 

sight. 
Then Calepine, however inly wroth, 
And greedy to avenge that vile despight, 
Yet for the feeble Ladies sake, full loth 



470 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book VI. 



To make there leuger stay, forth on his 
journey goth. 



He goth on foote all armed by her side, 
Upstaying still her selfe uppon her steede, 
Being unhable else alone to ride, 
So sore her sides, so much her wounds 

did bleede ; 
Till that at length, in his extreamest 

neede, 
He chaunst far off an armed Knight to spy 
Pursuing him apace with greedy speede ; 
Whom well he wist to be some enemy, 
That meant to make advantage of his 

misery. 

XL VII. 

Wherefore he stayd, till that he nearer 

drew. 
To weet what issue would thereof betyde : 
Tho, whenas he approched nigh in vew, 
By certaine signes he plainly him descryde 
To be the man that with such scornefull 

pryde 
Had him abusde and shamed yesterday ; 
Therefore, misdoubting least he should 

misguyde 
His former malice to some new assay. 
He cast to keepe him selfe so safely as he 

may. 

XLVIII. 

By this the other came in place likewise. 
And couching close his speare and all his 

powre. 
As bent to some malicious enterprise, 
He bad him stand t' abide the bitter 

stoure 
Of his sore vengeaunce, or to make avoure 
Of the lewd words and deedes which he 

had done : 
With that ran at him, as he would de- 
vour e 
His life attonce ; who nought could do but 

shun 
The perill of his pride, or else be over-run. 



Yet he him still pursew'd from place to 

place. 
With full intent him cruelly to kill. 
And like a wilde goate round about did 

chace 
Flying the fury of his bloudy will : 
But his best succour and refuge was still 
Behind his Ladies back; who to him 

cryde, 
And called oft with prayers loud and 

shrill, 
As ever he to Lady was affyde. 
To spare her Knight, and rest with reason 

pacif yde : 



But he the more thereby enraged was. 
And with more eager felnesse him pur- 
sew'd; 
So that at length, after long weary chace. 
Having by chaunce a close advantage 

vew'd. 
He over raught him, having longeschew'd 
His violence in vaine ; and with his spere 
Strooke through his shoulder, that the 

blood ensew'd 
In great aboundance, as a well it were 
That forth out of an hill fresh gushing 
did appere. 

LI. 

Yet ceast he not for all that cruell 

wound, 
But chaste him still for all his Ladies 

cry; 
Not satisfyde till on the fatall ground 
He saw his life powrd forth dispiteously ; 
The which was certes in great jeopardy, 
Had not a wondrous chaunce his reskue 

wrought, 
And saved from his cruell villany. 
Such chaunces oft exceed all humaine 

thought ! 
That in another Canto shall to end be 

brought. 



CANTO IV. 

Calepine by a salvage man 
From Turpine reskewed is ; 

And, whylest an Infant from a Beare 
He saves, his love doth misse. 



Like as a ship with dreadfull storme 

long tost, 
Having spent all her mastes and her 

groundhold. 
Now farre from harbour likely to be lost, 
At last some fisher-barke doth neare behold. 



That giveth comfort to her courage 

cold : 
Such was the state of this most courteous 

knight 
Being oppressed by that faytour bold, 
That he remayned in most perilous plight, 
And his sad Ladle left in pitif ull affright : 



CANTO IV.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



471 



Till that, by fortune passing all fore- 
sight, 
A salvage man, which in those woods did 

wouue, 
Drawne with that Ladies loud and piteous 

sh right, 
Toward the same incessantly did ronne 
To understand what there was to be 

donue: 
There he this most discourteous craven 

found, 
As fiercely yet as when he first begonne. 
Chasing the gentle Calepine around, 
Ne sparing him the more for all his griev- 
ous wound. 

III. 

The salvage man, that never till this 

houre 
Did -taste of pittie, neither gentlesse knew, 
Seeing his sharpe assault and cruell stoure, 
Was much emmoved at his perils vew, 
That even his ruder hart began to rew, 
And feele compassion of his evill plight, 
Against his foe that did him so pursew ; 
From whom he meant to free him, if he 

might, 
And him avenge of that so villenous de- 

spight. 

IV. 

Yet armes or weapon had he none to 
fight, 
Ne knew the use of warlike instruments, 
Save such as sudden rage him lent to 

smite ; 
But naked, without needfull vestiments 
To clad his corpse with meete habili- 
ments. 
He cared not for dint of sword nor speere. 
No more then for the stroke of strawes 

or bents : 
For from his mothers wombe, which him 

did beare. 
He was hivulnerable made by Magicke 
leare. 

V. 

He stayed not t' advize which way were 

best 
His foe t' assayle, or how himself e to gard. 
But with fierce fury and with force infest 
Upon him ran ; who being well prepard 
His first assault full warily did ward. 
And with the push of his sharp-pointed 

speare 
Full on the breast him strooke, so strong 

and hard 
That forst him backe recoyle and reele 

areare, 
Yet in his bodie made no wound nor bloud 

appeare. 



With that the wyld man more enraged 

grew, 
Like to a Tygre that hath mist his pray, 
And with mad moode againe upon him 

fiow. 
Regarding neither speare that mote him 

slay. 
Nor his fierce steed that mote him much 

. dismay: 
The salvage nation doth all dread despize, 
Tho on his shield he griple hold did lay, 
And held the same so hard, that by no 

wize 
He could him force to loose, or leave his 

enterprize. 

VII. 

Long did he wrest and wring it to and 

fro, 
And every way did try, but all in vaine ; 
For he would not his greedie grype forgoe, 
But hay Id and puld with all his might and 

maine. 
That from his steed him nigh he drew 

againe: 
Who having now no use of his long speare 
So nigh at hand, nor force his shield to 

straine. 
Both speare and shield, as things that 

needlesse were, 
He quite forsooke, and fled himselfe away 

for feare. 

VIII. 

But after him the wyld man ran apace. 
And him pursewed with importune speed, 
(For he was swift as any Bucke in chace) 
And, had he not in his extreamest need 
Bene helped through the swif tnesse of his 

steed. 
He had him overtaken in his flight. 
Who, ever as he saw him nigh succeed, 
Gan cry aloud with horrible affright. 
And shrieked out, a thing uncomely for a 

knight. 

IX. 

But, when the Salvage saw his labour 
vaine 
In following of him that fled so fast. 
He wearie woxe, and backe return'd 

againe 
With speede unto the place, whereas he 

last 
Had left that couple nere their utmost 

cast: 
There he that knight full sorely bleeding 

found, 
And eke the Ladie fearefully aghast, 
Both for the perill of the present stound. 
And also for the sharpnesse of her ran- 
kling wound : 



472 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book VI. 



For though she were right glad so rid 

to bee 
From that vile lozell which her late 

offended ; 
Yet now no lesse encombrance she did see, 
And perill, by this salvage man pretended, 
Gainst whom she saw no meaues to be 

defended, 
By reason that her knight was wounded 

sore: 
Therefore her selfe she wholy recom- 
mended * 
To Gods sole grace, whom she did oft 

implore 
To send her succour, being of all hope for- 

lore. 

XI. 

But the wyld man, contrarie to her 

feare. 
Came to her creeping like a fawning hound, 
And by rude tokens made to her appeare 
His deepe compassion of her dolefull 

stound. 
Kissing his hands, and crouching to the 

ground ; 
For other language had he none, nor 

speach, 
But a soft murmure and confused sound 
Of senselesse words, which nature did 

him teach 
T' expresse his passions, which his reason 

did empeach. 



And, comming likewise to the wounded 

knight, 
When he beheld the streames of purple 

blood 
Yet flowing fresh, as moved with the sight, 
He made great mone after his salvage 

mood; 
And, running streight into the thickest 

wood, 
A certaine herbe from thence unto him 

brought, 
Whose vertue he by use well understood ; 
The juyce whereof into his wound he 

wrought, 
And stopt the bleeding straight, ere he it 

staunched thought. 



Then taking up that Recreants shield 

and speare, 
Which earst he left, he signes unto them 

made 
With him to wend unto his wonning neare ; 
To which he easily did them perswade. 
Farre in the forrest, by a hollow glade 



Covered with mossie shrubs, which spred- 

ding brode 
Did underneath them make a gloomy 

shade. 
Where foot of living creature never trode, 
Ne scarse wyld beasts durst come, there 

was this wights abode. 



Thether he brought these unacquainted 

guests, 
To whom faire semblance, as he could, 

he shewed 
By signes, by lookes, and all his other 

gests ; 
But the bare ground with hoarie mosse 

bestrowed 
Must be their bed; their pillow was un- 

sowed ; 
And the frutes of the forrest was their 

feast ; 
For their bad Stuard neither plough 'd 

nor sowed, 
Ne fed on flesh, ne ever of wyld beast 
Did taste the blond, obaying natures first 

beheast. 

XV. 

Yet, howsoever base and meane it were, 
They tooke it well, and thanked God for 

all, 
Which had them freed from that deadly 

feare. 
And sav'd from being to that caytive 

thrall. 
Here they of force (as fortune now did 

fall) 
Compelled were themselves awhile to 

rest, 
Glad of that easement, though it were but 

small ; 
That having there their wounds awhile 

redrest, 
They mote the abler be to passe unto the 

rest. 

XVI. 

During which time that wyld man did 

apply 
His best endevour and his daily paine 
In seeking all the woods both farre and 

nye 
For herbes to dresse their wounds ; still 

seeming faine 
When ought he did, that did their lyking 

gaine. 
So as ere long he had that knightes wound 
Recured well, and made him whole againe 
But that same Ladies hurt no herbe he 

found 
Which could redresse, for it was inwardly 

unsound. 



CANTO IV.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



473 



xvii. 
Now when as Calepine was woxen 

strong, 
Upon a day he cast ahrode to wend, 
To take the ayre and heare the thrushes 

song, 
Unarm'd, as fearing neither foe nor frend, 
And without sword his person to defend: 
There him hefell, unlooked for before, 
An hard adventure with uuhappie end, 
A cruell Beare, the which an infant bore 
Betwixt his bloodie jawes, besprinckled 

all with gore. 



The litle babe did loudly scrike and 

squall, 
And all the woods with piteous plaints did 

fill, 
As-if his cry did meane for helpe to call 
To Calepine, whose eares those shrieches 

shrill, 
Pereiug his hart, with pities point did 

thrill ; 
That after him he ran with zealous haste 
To rescue th' infant, ere he did him kill : 
Whom though he saw now somewhat 

overpast. 
Yet by the cry he foUow'd, and pursewed 

fast. 

XIX. 

Well then him chaunst his heavy armes 

to want. 
Whose burden mote empeach his needfull 

speed. 
And hinder him from libertie to pant ; 
For having long time, as his daily weed. 
Them wont to weare, and wend on foot 

for need, 
Now wanting them he felt himself e so light, 
That like an Hauke, which feeling her 

selfe freed 
From bels and jesses which did let her 

flight, 
Him seem'd his feet did fly and in their 

speed delight. 



So well he sped him, that the wearie 
Beare 
Ere long he overtooke and forst to stay ; 
And without weapon him assayling neare, 
Compeld him soone the spoyle adowne 

to lay. 
Wherewith the beast enrag'd to loose his 

pray 
Upon him turned, and, with greedie force 
And furie to be crossed in his way, 
Gaping full wyde, did thinke without re- 
morse 



To be aveng'd on him and to devoure his 
corse. 

XXI. 

But the bold knight no whit thereat dis- 

mayd. 
But catching up in hand a ragged stone 
Which lay thereby (so fortune him did 

ayde) 
Upon him ran, and thrust it all attone 
Into his gaping throte, that made him 

grone 
And gaspe for breath, that he nigh choked 

was, 
Being unable to digest that bone ; 
Ne could it upward come, nor downward 

passe. 
Ne could he brooke the coldnesse of the 

stony masse. 

xxn. 

Whom when as he thus combred did be- 
hold, 
Stryving in vaine that nigh his bowels 

brast. 
He with him closd, and, laying mightie 

hold 
Upon his throte, did gripe his gorge so fast, 
That wanting breath him downe to ground 

he cast ; 
And, then oppressing him with urgent 

paine. 
Ere long enforst to breath his utmost 

blast, .' 

Gnashing his cruell teeth at him in vaine, 
And threatning his sharpe clawes, now 

wanting powre to traine. 



Then tooke he up betwixt his armes 

twaine 
The litle babe, sweet relickes of his pray ; 
Whom pitying to heare so sore complaine, 
From his soft eyes the teares he wypt 

away. 
And from his face the filth that did it ray ; 
And every litle limbe he searcht around. 
And every part that under sweath-bands 

lay, 
Least that the beasts sharpe teeth had any 

wound 
Made in his tender flesh ; but whole them 

all he found. 



So, having all his bands againe uptyde, 
He with him thought backe to returne 

againe ; 
But when he lookt about on every syde, 
To weet which way were best to enter- 

taine 



474 



THE FAERIE QUEEN E. 



[book VI. 



To briug him to the place where he would 

faiue, 
He could no path nor tract of foot descry, 
Ne by inquirie learne, nor ghesse by aynie ; 
For nought but woods and forrests farre 

and nye, 
That all about did close the compasse of 

his eye. 

XXV. 

Much was he then encombred, ne could 

tell 
Which way to take: now West he went 

awhile, 
Then North, then neither, but as fortune 

fell: 
So up and downe he wandred many a mile 
With weary travell and uncertaine toile, 
Yet nought the nearer to his journeys end ; 
And evermore his lovely litle spoile 
Crying for food did greatly him offend : 
So all that day in wandring vainely he did 

spend. 

XXVI. 

At last, about the setting of the Sunne, 
Him selfe out of the forest he did wynd, 
And by good fortune the plaine champion 

wonne : 
Where, looking all about where he mote 

fynd 
Someplace of succour to content his mynd, 
At length he heard under the forrests syde 
A voice, that seemed of some woman kynd. 
Which to her selfe lamenting loudly cryde. 
And oft complayn'd of fate, and fortune 

oft defyde. 



To whom approching, when as she per- 
ceived 
A stranger wight in place, her plaint she 

stayd. 
As if she doubted to have bene deceived, 
Or loth to let her sorrowes be bewrayd : 
Whom when as Calepine saw so dismayd, 
He to her drew, and with faire blandish- 
ment 
Her chearing up, thus gently to her sayd : 
' What be you, wof nil Dame, which thus 

lament, 
And for what cause, declare ; so mote ye 
not repent.' 

XXVIII. 

To whom she thus : ' What need me. Sir, 

to tell 
That which your selfe have earst ared so 

right ? 
A wofull dame ye have me termed well : 
So much more wofull, as my wofull plight 
Cannot redressed be by living wight!' 



'Nathlesse,' (quoth he) 'if need doe not 
you bynd. 

Doe it disclose to ease your grieved 
spright : 

Of times it haps that sorrowes of the mynd 

Find remedie unsought, which seeking can- 
not fynd.' 

XXIX. 

Then thus began the lamentable Dame : 
' Sith then ye needs will know the griefe 

I hoord, 
I am th' unfortunate Matilde by name. 
The wife of bold Sir Bruin, who is Lord 
Of all this land, late couquer'd by his 

sword 
From a great Gyant, called Cormoraunt, 
Whom he did overthrow by yonder f oonl ; 
And in three battailes did so deadly daunt. 
That he dare not returne for all his daily 

vaunt. 

XXX. 

' So is my Lord now seiz'd of all the land , 
As in his fee, with peaceable estate, 
And quietly doth hold it in his hand, 
Ne any dares with him for it debate : 
And to these happie fortunes cruell fate 
Hath joyu'd one evill, which doth over- 
throw , 
All these our joyes, and all our blisse 

abate ; 
And like in time to further ill to grow. 
And all this laud with endlesse losse to 
overflow. 

XXXI. 

' For th' heavens, envying our pros- 
peritie. 
Have not vouchsaft to graunt unto us 

twaine 
The gladfull blessing of posteritie, 
Which we might see after our selves re- 

maiue 
In th' heritage of our unhappie paine: 
So that for want of heires it to defend. 
All is in time like to returne againe 
To that foule feend, who dayly doth at- 
tend 
To leape into the same after our lives end. 

XXXII. 

' But most my Lord is grieved herewith- 
all, 

And makes exceeding mone, when he does 
thinke 

That all this land unto his foe shall fall, 

For which he long in value did sweate and 
swinke, 

That now the same he greatly doth for- 
thinke. 

Yet was it sayd, there should to him a 
Sonne 



CANTO IV.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



475 



Be gotten, not begotten; which should 

drinke 
And dry up all the water which doth ronne 
In the next brooke, by whom that feend 

shold be fordonne. 

xxxin. 
' Well hop't he then, when this was 

propheside, 
That from his sides some noble chyld 

should rize, 
The which through fame should farre be 

magnifide, 
And this proud gyant should with brave 

emprize 
Quite overthrow ; who now ginnes to de- 

spize 
The good Sir Bruin growing farre in yeares, 
Who thinkes from me his sorrow all doth 

rize. 
Le! this my cause of grief e to you ap- 

peares ; 
For which I thus doe mourne, and poure 

forth ceaselesse teares.' 

XXXIV. 

Which when he heard, he inly touched 
was 

With tender ruth for her unworthy griefe ; 

And, when he had devized of her case, 

He gan in mind conceive a fit reliefe 

For all her paine, if please her make the 
priefe ; 

And, having cheared her, thus said : 
' Faire Dame, 

In evils counsell is the comfort chief e ; 

Which though I be not wise enough to 
frame, 

Yet, as I well it meane, vouchsafe it with- 
out blame. 



' If that the cause of this your languish- 
ment 
Be lacke of children to supply your place, 
Lo ! how good fortune doth to you present 
This litle babe, of sweete and lovely face, 
And spotlesse spirit in which ye may en- 

chace 
Whatever formes ye list thereto apply, 
Being now soft and fit them to embrace ; 
Whether ye list him traine in chevalry, 
Or noursle up in lore of learn 'd Philos- 
ophy. 

XXXVI. 

* And, certes, it hath oftentimes bene 

scene, 
That of the like, whose linage was un- 

knowne. 
More brave and noble knights have raysed 

beene 



(As their victorious deedes have often 
showen, 

Being with fame through many Nations 
blowen,) 

Then those which have bene dandled in 
the lap: 

Therefore some thought that those brave 
imps were soweu 

Here by the Gods, and fed with heavenly 
sap, 

That made them grow so hight t' all hon- 
orable hap.' 



The Ladie, hearkning to his sensefull 

speach, 
Found nothing that he said unmeet nor 

geason, 
Having oft scene it tryde as he did teach : 
Therefore inclyning to his goodly reason. 
Agreeing well both with the place and 

season. 
She gladly did of that same babe accept, 
As of her owne by liverey and seisin ; 
And, having over it a litie wept, 
She bore it thence, and ever as her owne 

it kept. 

XXXVIII. 

Right glad was Calepine to be so rid 
Of his young charge whereof he skilled 

nought, 
Ne she lesse glad ; for she so wisely did. 
And with her husband under hand so 

wrought, 
That, when that infant unto him she 

brought. 
She made him think it surely was his 

owne ; 
And it in goodly thewes so well up- 
brought. 
That it became a famous knight well 

knowne, 
And did right noble deedes; the which 

elswhere are showne. 



But Calepine, now being left alone 
Under the greenewoods side in sorie 

plight, 
Withouten armes or steede to ride upon, 
Or house to hide his head from heavens 

spight, 
Albe that Dame, by all the raeanes she 

might. 
Him oft desired home with her to wend. 
And off red him, his courtesie to requite, 
Both horse and armes and what so else to 

lend. 
Yet he them all refusd, though thankt 

her as a f rend ; 



476 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book VI. 



And, for exceeding grief e which inly 

grew 
That he his love so lucklesse now had 

lost, 
On the cold ground maugre himselfe he 

threw 
For fell despight to be so sorely crost ; 



And there all night himselfe in anguish 

tost, 
Vowing that never he in bed againe 
His limbes would rest, ne lig in ease em- 

bost. 
Till that his Ladies sight he mote attaine, 
Or understand that she in safetie did re- 

maine. 



CANTO V. 

The salvage serves Serena well, 
Till she Prince Arthure fynd ; 

"Who her, tog-ether with his Squyre, 
"With th' Hermit leaves behynd. 



O WHAT an easie thing is to descry 
The gentle bloud, how ever it be wrapt 
In sad misfortunes foule deformity 
And wretched sorrowes, which have often 

hapt ! 
For howsoever it may grow mis-shapt, 
Like this wyld man being undisciplynd. 
That to all vertue it may seeme unapt. 
Yet will it shew some sparkes of gentle 

mynd, 
And at the last breake forth in his owne 

proper kynd. 



That plainely may in this wyld man be 

red. 
Who, though he were still in this desert 

wood, 
Mongst salvage beasts both rudely borne 

and bred, 
Ne ever saw faire guize, ne learned good. 
Yet shewd some token of his gentle blood 
By gentle usage of that wretched Dame : 
For certes he was borne of noble blood. 
How ever by hard hap he hether came, 
As ye may know when time shall be to 

tell the same. 



Who, when as now long time he lacked 

had 
The good Sir Calepine, that farre was 

strayd, 
Did wexe exceeding sorrowfull and sad, 
As he of some misfortune were afrayd ; 
And, leaving there this Ladie all dismayd, 
Went forth streightway into the forrest 

wyde 
To seeke if he perchance asleep were layd, 
Or what so else were unto him betyde : 
He sought him farre and neare, yet him 

no where he spyde. 



Tho, backe returning to that sorie 
Dame, 
He shewed semblant of exceeding mone 
By speaking signes, as he them best could 

frame, 
Now wringing both his wretched hands 

in one, 
Now beating his hard head upon a stone, 
That ruth it was to see him so lament : 
By which she well perceiving what was 

done, 
Gan teare her hayre, and all her gar- 
ments rent. 
And beat her breast, and piteously her 
selfe torment. 



Upon the ground her selfe she fiercely 

threw, 
Regardlesse of her wounds yet bleeding 

rife, 
That with their bloud did all the fiore 

imbrew. 
As if her breast, new launcht with mur- 

drous knife, 
Would streight dislodge the wretched 

wearie life. 
There she long groveling and deepe gron- 

ing lay. 
As if her vitall powers were at strife 
With stronger death, and feared their 

decay : 
Such were this Ladies pangs and dolo- 
rous assay. 

VI. 

Whom when the Salvage saw so sore 

distrest. 
He reared her up from the bloudie 

ground, 
And sought by all the meanes that he 

could best 
Her to recure out of that stony swound, 



CANTO v.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



477 



And staunch the bleeding of her dreary- 
wound : 

Yet nould she be recomforted for nought, 

Nor cease her sorrow and impatient 
stound, 

But day and night did vexe her carefull 
thought, 

And ever more and more her owne afflic- 
tion wrought. 



At length, when as no hope of his re- 
tourne 

She saw now left, she cast to leave the 
place, 

And wend abrode, though feeble and for- 
lorne. 

To seeke some comfort in that sorie 
case. 

His steede, now strong through rest so 
. long a space, 

Well as she could she got, and did be- 
dight ; 

And being thereon mounted forth did pace 

Withouten guide her to conduct aright. 

Or gard her to defend from bold oppress- 
ors might. 

VIII. 

Whom when her Host saw readie to de- 
part, 
He would not suffer her alone to fare, 
But gan himselfe addresse to take her 

part. 
Those warlike armes which Calepine 

whyleare 
Had left behind he gan eftsoones prepare, 
And put them all about himselfe unfit, 
His shield, his helmet, and his curats 

bare ; 
But without sword upon his thigh to sit : 
Sir Calepine himselfe away had hidden it. 



So forth they traveld, an uneven payre 
That mote to all men seeme an uncouth 

sight ; 
A salvage man matcht with a Ladie fayre, 
That rather seem'd the conquest of his 

might. 
Gotten by spoyle then purchaced aright : 
But he did her attend most carefully. 
And faithfully did serve both day and 

night 
Withouten thought of shame or villeny, 
Ne ever shewed signe of foule disloyalty. 



Upon a day, as on their way they went, 
It chaunst some furniture about her steed 
To be disordred by some accident, 



Which to redresse she did th' assistance 

need 
Of this her groome ; which he by signes 

did reede. 
And streight his combrous armes aside 

did lay 
Upon the ground withouten doubt or 

dreed; 
And in his homely wize began to assay 
T' amend what was amisse, and put in 

right aray. 

XI. 

Bout which whilest he was busied thus 

hard, 
Lo! where a knight, together with his 

squire, 
All arm'd to point came ryding thether- 

ward; 
Which seemed, by their portance and 

attire. 
To be two errant knights, that did inquire 
After adventures, where they mote them 

get. 
Those were to weet (if that ye it require) 
Prince Arthur and young Timias, which 

met 
By straunge occasion that here needs 

forth be set. 



After that Timias had againe recured 
The favour of Belphebe (as ye heard) 
And of her grace did stand againe as- 
sured, 
To happie blisse he was full high up- 

rear'd, 
Nether of envy nor of chaunge afeard : 
Though many foes did him maligne there- 
fore, 
And with unjust detraction him did 

beard. 
Yet he himselfe so well and wisely bore. 
That in her soveraine lyking he dwelt 
evermore. 

XIII. 

But of them all which did his mine 

seeke, 
Three mightie enemies did him most de- 

spight, 
Three mightie ones, and cruell minded 

eeke, 
That him not onely sought by open might 
To overthrow, but to supplant by slight : 
The first of them by name was cald De- 

spetto. 
Exceeding all the rest in powre and hight ; 
The second, not so strong but wise, De- 

cetto ; 
The third, nor strong nor wise, but spight- 

fullest, Defetto. 



478 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book VI. 



Oftimes their sundry powres they did 
employ, 

And several deceipts, but all in vaine ; 

For neither they by force could him de- 
stroy, 

Ne yet entrap in treasons subtill traine. 

Therefore, conspiring all together plaine, 

They did their counsels now in one com- 
pound : 

Where siugled forces faile, conjoynd may 
gaine. 

The Blatant Beast the fittest meanes they 
found 

To worke his utter shame, and throughly 
him confound. 



Upon a day, as they the time did waite, 
When he did raunge the wood for salvage 

game, 
They sent that Blatant Beast to be a 

baite 
To draw him from his deare beloved dame 
Un wares into the daunger of defame ; 
For well they wist that Squire to be so 

bold, 
That no one beast in forrest, wylde or 

tame, 
Met him in chase but he it challenge 

would. 
And plucke the pray oftimes out of their 

greedy hould. 



The hardy boy, as they devised had, 
Seeing the ugly Monster passing by, 
Upon him set, of perill nought adrad, 
Ne skilfull of the uncouth jeopardy; 
And charged him so fierce and furiously, 
That his great force unable to endure, 
He forced was to turne from him and fly : 
Yet ere he fled he with his tooth impure 
Him heedlesse bit, the whiles he was 
thereof secure. 



Securely he did after him pursew. 
Thinking by speed to overtake his flight ; 
Who through thicke woods and brakes 

and briers him drew, 
To weary him the more and waste his 

spight, 
So that he now has almost spent his 

spright, 
Till that at length unto a woody glade 
He came, whose covert stopt his further 

sight : 
There his three foes shrowded in guilef ull 

shade 



Out of their ambush broke, and gan him 
to invade. 

XVIII. 

Sharpely they all attonce did him as- 

saile. 
Burning with inward rancour and de- 

spight, 
And heaped strokes did round about him 

haile 
With so huge force, that seemed nothing 

might 
Beare on their blowes from percing 

thorough quite: 
Yet he them all so warily did ward, 
That none of them in his soft fleSh did 

bite; 
And all the while his backe for best safe- 

gard 
He lent against a tree, that backeward 

onset bard, 

XIX. 

Like a wylde Bull, that, being at a bay, 
Is bayted of a mastiffe and a hound 
And a curre-dog, that doe him sharpe 

assay 
On every side, and beat about him round; 
But most that curre, barking with bitter 

sownd, 
And creeping still behinde, doth him in- 

comber. 
That in his chauffe he digs the trampled 

ground. 
And threats his horns, and bellowes like 

the thonder : 
So did that Squire his foes disperse and 

drive asonder. 



Him well behoved so ; for his three foes 
Sought to encompasse him on every side, 
And dangerously did round about enclose : 
But most of all Defetto him annoyde, 
Creeping behinde him still to have de- 

stroyde ; 
So did Decetto eke him circumvent ; 
But stout Despetto in his greater pryde 
Did front him, face to face against him 

bent: 
Yet he them all withstood, and often 

made relent. 



Till that at length, nigh tyrd with for- 
mer chace. 

And weary now with carefull keeping 
ward, 

He gan to shrinke and somewhat to give 
place, 

Full like ere long to have escaped hard ; 

When as unwares he in the forrest heard 



CANTO v.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



479 



A trampling steede, that with his neigh- 

iug fast 
Did warue his rider be uppon his gard ; 
With noise whereof the Squire, now nigh 

aghast, 
Revived was, and sad dispaire away did 

cast. 

XXII. 

Ef tsoones he spide a Knight approching 
nye; 
Who, seeing one in so great daunger set 
Mongst many foes, him selfe did faster 

hye 
To reskue him, and his weake part abet. 
For pitty so to see him overset : 
AVhom soone as his three enemies did vew. 
They fled, and fast into the wood did get. 
Him booted not to thinke them to pursew. 
The covert was so thicke that did no pas- 
sage shew. 



Then turning to that swaine him well 

he knew 
To be his Timias, his owne true Squire ; 
Whereof exceeding glad he to him drew, 
And, him embracing twixt his armes 

entire, 
Him thus bespake : * My liefe, my lifes 

desire. 
Why have ye me alone thus long yleft ? 
Tell me what worlds despight, or heavens 

yre. 
Hath you thus long away from me bereft ? 
Where have ye all this while bin wan- 

dring, where bene weft ? ' 



With that he sighed deepe for inward 

tyne: 
To whom the Squire nought aunswered 

againe. 
But, shedding few soft teares from tender 

eyne, 
His dear affect with silence did restraine. 
And shut up all his plaint in privy paine. 
There they awhile some gracious speaches 

spent. 
As to them seemed fit time to entertaine ; 
After all which up to their steedes they 

went. 
And forth together rode, a comely cou- 

plement. 

XXV. 

So now they be arrived both in sight 
Of this wyld man, whom they full busie 

found 
About the sad Serena things to dight, 
With those brave armours lying on the 

ground. 



That seem'd the spoile of some right well 

renownd : 
Which when that Squire beheld, he to 

them stept 
Thinking to take them from that hylding 

hound ; 
But he it seeing lightly to him lept. 
And sternely with strong hand it from his 

handling kept. 



Gnashing his grinded teeth with griesly 

looke. 
And sparkling fire out of his furious eyne, 
Him with his list unwares on th' head he 

strooke. 
That made him downe unto the earth en- 

cline ; 
Whence soone upstarting much he gan 

repine. 
And laying hand upon his wrathfull blade 
Thought therewithall forthwith him to 

have slaine ; 
Who it perceiving hand upon him layd. 
And greedily him griping his avengement 

stayd. 

XXVII. 

With that aloude the faire Serena cryde 
Unto the Knight, them to dispart in 

twaine ; 
Who to them stepping did them soone 

divide. 
And did from further violence restraine, 
Albe the wy Id-man hardly would refraine. 
Then gan the Prince of her for to demand 
What and from whence she was, and by 

what traine 
She fell into that salvage villaines hand ? 
And whether free with him she now were, 

or in band ? 

XXVIII. 

To whom she thus : ' I am , as now ye 

see, 
The wretchedst Dame that lives this day 

on ground ; 
Who both in minde, the which most 

gi-ieveth me. 
And body have receiv'd a mortall wound, 
That hath me driven to this drery stound. 
I was erewhile the love of Calepine ; 
Who whether he alive be to be found. 
Or by some deadly chaunce be done to 

pine 
Since I him lately lost, uneath is to define. 



' In salvage forrest T him lost of late. 
Where I had surely long ere this bene 
dead, 



48o 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book VI. 



Or else remained in most wretched state, 
Had not this wylde man iu that wofull 

stead 
Kept and delivered me from deadly 

dread, 
In such a salvage wight, of brutish kyud, 
Amongst wildebeastes in desert forrests 

bred. 
It is most straunge and wonderfuU to 

fynd 
So milde humanity and perfect gentle 

mynd. 

XXX. 

' Let me therefore this favour for him 

finde. 
That ye will not your wrath upon him 

wreake, 
Sith he cannot expresse his simple minde, 
Ne yours conceive, ne but by tokens 

speake : 
Small praise to prove your powre on 

wight so weake.' 
With such faire words she did their heat 

ass wage, 
And the strong course of their displeasure 

breake, 
That they to pitty turnd their former 

rage, 
And each sought to supply the office of 

her page. 

XXXI. 

So having all things well about her 

dight, 
She on her way cast forward to proceede, 
And they her forth conducted, where they 

might 
Finde harbour fit to comfort her great 

neede ; 
For now her wounds corruption gan to 

breed : 
And eke this Squire, who likewise 

wounded was 
Of that same Monster late, for lacke of 

heed 
Now gan to faint, and further could not 

pas 
Through feeblenesse, which all his limbes 

oppressed has. 

XXXII. 

So forth they rode together all in troupe 
To seeke some place the which mote j^eeld 

some ease 
To these sicke twaine, that now began to 

droupe : 
And all the way the Prince sought to ap- 
pease 
The bitter anguish of their sharpe disease 
By all the courteous meanes he could in- 
vent; 



Somewhile with merry purpose, fit to 

please, 
And otherwhile with good encouragement 
To make them to endure the pains did 

them torment. 



Mongst which Serena did to him relate 
The foule discourt'sies and unknightly 

parts, 
Which Turpine had unto her shewed late, 
Without compassion of her cruell smarts : 
Although Blandina did with all her arts 
Him otherwise perswade all that she 

might, 
Yet he of malice, without her desarts. 
Not onely her excluded late at night. 
But also trayterously did wound her 

weary Knight. 



Wherewith the Prince sore moved there 

avoud 
That soone as he returned backe againe. 
He would avenge th' abuses of that proud 
And shamefull EJiight of whom she did 

complaine. 
This wize did they each other entertaine 
To passe the tedious travell of the way, 
Till towards night they came unto a plaine. 
By which a little Hermitage there lay. 
Far from all neighbourhood the which 

annoy it may. 



And nigh thereto a little Chappell 
stoode, 
Which being all with Yvy overspred 
Deckt all the roofe, and, shadowing the 

roode, 
Seem'd like a grove faire braunched over- 
bed: 
Therein the Hermite, which his life here 

led 
In streight observaunce of religious vow. 
Was wont his howres and holy things to 

bed; 
And therein he likewise was praying now, 
Whenas these Knights arriv'd, they wist 
not where nor how. 

XXXVI. 

They stayd not there, but streightway 

in did pas : 
Whom when the Hermite present saw in 

place. 
From his devotion streight he troubled 

was; 
Which breaking off he toward them did 

pace 



CANTO v.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



481 



With stayed steps and grave beseeming 

grace : 
For well it seem'd that whilome he had 

beene 
Some goodly person, and of gentle race, 
That could "his good to all ; and well did 

weene 
How each to entertaine with curt'sie well 



XXXVII. 

And soothly it was sayd by common 

fame, 
So long as age enabled him thereto, 
That he had bene a man of mickle name, 
Renowmed much in armes and derring doe ; 
But being aged now, and weary to 
Of warres delight and worlds contentious 

toyle. 
The name of knighthood he did disavow ; 
And, hanging up his armes and warlike 

' spoyle, 
From all this worlds incombraunce did 

himselfe assoyle. 

XXXVIII. 

He thence them led into his Hermitage, 
Letting their steedes to graze upon the 

greene. 
Small was his house, and like a little cage, 
For his o"v\Tie turne, yet inly neate and 

clene, 
Deckt with greene boughes and flowers 

gay beseene : 
Therein he them full faire did entertaine 
Not with such forged showes, as fitter 

beene 
For courting fooles that curtesies would 

faine. 
But with entire affection and appearaunce 

plaine. 

XXXIX. 

Yet was their fare but homely, such as 

hee 
Did use his feeble body to sustaine. 
The which full gladly they did take in 

gree, 
Such as it was, ne did of want complaine, 



But being well suflfiz'd them rested faine. 

But fair Serene all night could take no 
rest, 

Ne yet that gentle Squire, for grievous 
paine 

Of their late woundes, the which the Bla- 
tant Beast 

Had given them, whose grief e through 
suffraunce sore increast. 



XL. 

So all that night they past in great dis- 
ease. 
Till that the morning, bringing earely 

light 
To guide mens labours, brought them also 

ease, 
And some asswagement of their painefull 

plight. 
Then up they rose, and gan them selves 

to dight 
Unto their journey ; but that Squire and 

Dame 
So faint and feeble were, that they ne 

might 
Endure to travell, nor one foote to frame : 
Their hearts were sicke ; their sides were 

sore ; their feete were lame. 

XLI. 

Therefore the Prince, whom great 

affaires in mynd 
Would not permit to make there lenger 

stay, 
Was forced there to leave them both be- 

hynd 
In that good Hermits charge; whom he 

did pray 
To tend them well. So forth he went his 

way. 
And with him eke the salvage, (that why 

leare 
Seeing his royall usage and array 
Was greatly growne in love of that brave 

pere,) 
Would needes depart; as shall declared 

be elsewhere. 



CANTO VI. 

The Ilermite heales both Squire and dame 

Of their sore maladies : 
He Turpine dotli defeate, and shame 

For his late villanies. 



No wound, which warlike hand of en- 
emy 
Inflicts with dint of sword, so sore doth 
light 



As doth the poysnous sting, which in- 
famy 
Infixeth in the name of noble wight : 
For by no art, nor any leaches might, 
It ever can recured be againe ; 



482 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book VI. 



Ne all the skill, which that immortall 

spright 
Of Podalyrius did in it retaine, 
Can remedy such hurts: such hurts are 

hellish paiue. 

II. 

Such were the wounds the which that 
Blatant Beast 

Made in the bodies of that Squire and 
Dame ; 

And, being such, were now much more 
iucreast 

For want of taking heede unto the same, 

That now corrupt and curelesse they be- 
came : 

Howbe that carefull Hermite did his best, 

With many kindes of medicines meete, to 
tame 

The poysnous humour which did most in- 
fest 

Their ranckling wounds, and every day 
them duely drest. 

III. 

For he right well in Leaches craft was 
scene ; 
And thi'ough the long experience of his 

dayes. 
Which had in many fortunes tossed beene 
And past through many perillous assayes. 
He knew the diverse went of mortal! 

wayes. 
And in the mindes of men had great in- 
sight ; 
Which with sage counsell, when they went 

astray. 
He could enforme, and them reduce aright, 
And all the passions heale which wound 
the weaker spright. 

IV. 

For whylome he had bene a doughty 

Knight, 
As any one that lived in his dales, 
And proved oft in many perillous fight. 
Of which he grace and glory wonne al- 

waies, 
And in all battels bore away the bales : 
But being now attacht with timely age, 
And weary of this worlds unquiet waies, 
He tooke him selfe unto this Hermitage, 
In which he liv'd alone, like carelesse bird 

in cage. 

V. 

One day, as he was searching of their 
wounds, 
He found that they had festred privily; 
And ranckling inward with unruly stounds, 
The inner parts now gan to putrify, 



That quite they seem'd past helpe of sur- 
gery ; 
And rather needed to be disciplmde 
With liolesome reede of sad sobriety, 
To rule the stubborne rage of passion 

blinde : 
Give salves to every sore, but counsell to 
the miude. 

VI. 

So, taking them apart into his cell. 
He to that point fit speaohes gan to frame. 
As he the art of words knew wondrous 

well, 
And eke could doe as well as say the 

same ; 
And thus he to them sayd : ' Faire daugh- 
ter Dame, 
And you, faire Sonne, which here thus 

long now lie 
In piteous languor since ye hither came, 
In value of me ye hope for remedie. 
And I likewise in value doe salves to you 
applie : 

VII. 

' For in your selfe your onely helpe doth 

lie 
To heale your selves, and must proceed 

alone 
From your owne will to cure your maladie. 
AVho can him cure that will, be cur'd of 

none? 
If therefore health ye seeke, observe this 

one: 
First learne your outward senses to re- 

fraine 
From things that stirre up f raile affection ; 
Your eies, your eares, your tongue, your 

talk restraine 
From that they most affect, and in due 

termes containe. 

VIII. 

'For from those outward sences, ill 

affected, 
The seede of all this evill first doth spring. 
Which at the first, before it had infected, 
Mote easie be supprest with little thing ; 
But being growen strong it forth doth 

bring 
Sorrow, and anguish, and impatient paine. 
In th' inner parts ; and lastly, scattering 
Contagious poyson close through every 

vaine. 
It never rests till it have wrought his 

fiuall bane. 

IX. 

' For that beastes teeth, which wounded 
you tofore. 
Are so exceeding venemous and keene, 



CANTO VI.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



483 



Made all of rusty yron ranckling sore, 
That where they bite it booteth not to 

weene 
With salve, or antidote, or other raene, 
It ever to amend : ne niarvaile ought, 
For that same beast was bred of hellish 

strene, 
And long in darksome Stygian den up- 
brought, 
Begot of foule Echidna, as in bookes is 
taught. 

X. 

' Echidna is a Monster direfull dred, 
Whom Gods doe hate, and heavens abhor 

to see ; 
So hideous is her shape, so huge her bed. 
That even the hellish fiends affrighted 

bee 
At sight thereof, and from her presence 

. flee: 
Yet did her face and former parts prof esse 
A faire young Mayden, full of comely 

glee; 
But all her hinder parts did plaine ex- 

presse 
A monstrous Dragon, full of fearefull 

uglinesse. 

XI. 

' To her the Gods, for her so dreadful! 

face. 
In fearefull darkenesse, furthest from the 

skie 
And from the earth, appointed have her 

place 
Mongst rocks and caves, where she en- 

rold doth lie 
In hideous horrour and obscurity, 
Wasting the strength of her immortall 

age: 
There did Typhaon with her company; 
Cruell Typhaon, whose tempestuous rage 
Makes th' heavens tremble oft, and him 

with vowes ass wage. 

XII. 

* Of that commixtion they did then be- 
get 
This hellish Dog, that hight the Blatant 

Beast ; 
A wicked Monster, that his tongue doth 

whet 
Gainst all, both good and bad, both most 

and least, 
And pours his poysnous gall forth to in- 
fest 
The noblest wights with notable defame : 
Ne ever Knight that bore so lofty creast, 
Ne ever Lady of so honest name. 
But he them spotted with reproch, or 
secrete shame. 



XIII. 

' In vaine therefore it were with medi- 
cine 
To goe about to salve such kynd of sore. 
That rather needes wise read and disci- 
pline, 
Then outward salves that may augment 
it more.' 

* Aye me ! ' (sayd then Serena, sighing 

sore) 

' What hope of helpe doth then for us 
remaine, 

If that no salves may us to health re- 
store ? ' 

'But sith we need good coun sell,' (sayd 
the swain e) 

* Aread, good Sire, some counsell that may 

us sustaine.' 



' The best ' (sayd he) ' that I can you 

advize, 
Is to avoide the occasion of the ill : 
For when the cause, whence evill doth 

arize. 
Removed is, th' effect surceaseth still. 
Abstaine from pleasure, and restraine 

your will ; 
Subdue desire, and bridle loose delight; 
Use scanted diet, and forbeare your fill ; 
Shun secresie, and talke in open sight : 
So shall you soone repaire your present 

evill plight.' 

XV. 

Thus having sayd, his sickely patients 
Did gladly hearken to his grave beheast, 
And kept so well his wise comraaunde- 

ments, 
That in short space their malady was 

ceast. 
And eke the biting of that harmefull Beast 
Was throughly heal'd. Tho when they 

did perceave 
Their wounds recur 'd, and forces rein- 

creast, 
Of that good Hermite both they tooke 

their leave, 
And went both on their way, ne ech would 

other leave : 



But each the other vow'd t' accompany : 
The Lady, for that she was much in dred. 
Now left alone in great extremity ; 
The Squire, for that he courteous was in- 
deed. 
Would not her leave alone in her great 

need. 
So both together traveld, till they met 



484 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book VI. 



With a faii-e Mayden clad in mouruing 

weed, 
Upon a mangy jade unmeetely set, 
And a lewd foole her leading thorough 

dry and wet. 



But by what meaues that shame to her 

befell, 
And how thereof her selfe she did acquite, 
I must awhile forbeare to you to tell ; 
Till that, as comes by course, I doe recite 
What fortune to the Briton Prince did 

lite, 
Pursuing^ that proud Knight, the which 

whileare 
Wrought to Sir Calepineso foule despight ; 
And eke his Lady, though she sickely 

were. 
So lewdly had abusde, as ye did lately 

heare. 

xviir. 

The Prince, according to the former 

token 
Which faire Serene to him delivered had, 
Pursu'd him streight; in mynd to bene 

ywroken 
Of all the vile demeane and usage bad. 
With which he had those two so ill bestad : 
Ne wight with him on that adventure 

went, 
But that wylde man ; whom though he oft 

forbad, 
Yet for no bidding, nor for being shent. 
Would he restrayned be from his attende- 

ment. 

xrx. 

Arriving there, as did by chaunce befall, 
He found the gate wyde ope, and in he 

rode, 
Ne stayd, till that he came into the hall; 
Where soft dismounting, like a weary 

lode. 
Upon the ground with feeble feete he 

trode, 
As he unable were for very neede 
To move one foote, but there must make 

abode : 
The whiles the salvage man did take his 

steede, 
And in some stable neare did set him up 

to feede. 

XX. 

Ere long to him a homely groome there 

came, 
That in rude wise him asked, what he 

was 
That durst so boldly, without let or 

shame, 
Into his Lords forbidden hall to passe ? 



To whome the Prince, him fayning to em- 
base, 

Mylde answer made, he was an errant 
Knight, 

The which was falTn into this feeble case 

Through many wounds, which lately he in 
fight 

Received had, and praj^d to pitty his ill 
plight. 

XXI. 

But he, the more outrageous and bold, 
Sternely did bid him quickely thence 

avaunt, 
Or deare aby ; for-why his Lord of old 
Did hate all errant Knights which there 

did haunt, 
Ne lodging would to any of them graunt ; 
And therefore lightly bad him packe 

away, 
Not sparing him with bitter words to 

taunt. 
And therewithal! rude hand on him did 

lay, 
To thrust him out of dore doing his worst 



Which when the Salvage, comming now 

in place, 
Beheld, eftsoones he all enraged grew. 
And, running streight upon that villaine 

base. 
Like a fell Lion at him fiercely flew. 
And with his teeth and nailes, in present 

vew 
Him rudely rent and all to peeces tore ; 
So miserably him all helpelesse slew. 
That with the noise, whilest he did loudly 

rore. 
The people of the house rose forth in great 

uprore. 

XXIII. 

Who when on ground they saw their 
fellow slaine, 
And that same Knight and Salvage stand- 
ing by, 
Upon them two they fell with might and 

maine. 
And on them layd so huge and horribly, 
As if they would have slaine them pres- 
ently : 
But the bold Prince defended him so well, 
And their assault withstood so mightily. 
That, maugre all their might, he did- repell 
And beat them back, whilest many un- 
derneath him fell. 

XXIV. 

Yet he them still so sharpely did pur- 



CANTO VI.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



485 



That few of them he left alive, which fled 
Those evill tidings to their Lord to shew : 
Who, hearing how his people badly sped, 
Came fortli in hast; where, when as with 

the dead 
He saw the ground all strow'd, and that 

same Knight 
And salvage with their blond fresh steem- 

ing red, 
He woxe nigh mad with wrath and fell 

despight. 
And with reprochfuU words him thus be- 
spake on hight. 



* Art thou he, traytor, that with treason 

vile 
Hast slaine my men in this unmanly 

maner, 
And now triumphest in the piteous spoile 
Of these poore folk, whose soules with 

black dishonor 
And foule defame doe decke thy bloudy 

baner ? 
The meede whereof shall shortly be thy 

shame, 
And wretched end which still attendeth 

on her.' 
With that himself e to battell he did frame ; 
So did his forty yeomen, which there with 

him came. 

XXVI. 

With dreadfull force they all did him 

assaile, 
And round about with boystrous strokes 

oppresse, 
That on his shield did rattle like to haile 
In a great tempest ; that in such distresse 
He wist not to which side him to ad- 

dresse : 
And evermore that craven cowherd Knight 
Was at his backe with heartlesse heedi- 

nesse, 
Wayting if he unwares him murther 

might ; 
For cowardize doth still in villany delight. 

XXVII. 

Whereof whenas the Prince was well 
aware. 
He to him turnd with furious intent. 
And him against his powre gan to pre- 
pare; 
Like a fierce Bull, that being busie bent 
To fight with many foes about him ment, 
Feeling some curre behinde his heeles to 

bite. 
Turned bim about with fell avengement : 
So likewise turnde the Prince upon the 
Knight, 



And layd at him amaine with all his will 
and might. 



Who, when he once his dreadfull strokes 

had tasted. 
Durst not the furie of his force abyde, 
But turn'd abacke, and to retyre him 

hasted 
Through the thick prease, there thinking 

him to liyde : 
But, when the Prince had once him 

plainely eyde. 
He foot by foot him followed alway, 
Ne would him suffer once to shrinke 

asyde, 
But joyning close huge lode at him did 

lay; 
Who flying still did ward, and warding 

fly away. 

XXIX. 

But, when his foe he still so eager saw, 
Unto his heeles himselfe he did betake. 
Hoping unto some refuge to withdraw : 
Ne would the Prince him ever foot forsake 
Where so he went, but after him did 

make. 
He fled from roome to roome, from place 

to place, 
Whylest every joynt for dread of death 

did quake, 
Still looking after him that did him chace, 
That made him evermore increase his 

speedie pace. 



At last he up into the chamber came 
Whereas his love was sitting all alone, 
Wayting what tydings of her folke be- 
came. 
There did the Prince him overtake anone. 
Crying in vaine to her him to bemone ; 
And with his sword him on the head did 

smyte, 
That to the ground he fell in senselesse 

swone : 
Yet, whether thwart or flatly it did lyte. 
The tempred Steele did not into his 
braynepan byte. 

XXXI. 

Which when the Ladie saw, with great 

affright 
She starting up began to shrieke aloud ; 
And with her garment covering him from 

sight, 
Seem'd under her protection him to 

shroud ; 
And falling lowly at his feet her bowd 
Upon her knee, intreating him for grace, 



486 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book VI. 



And often him besought, and prayd, and 

vo wd , 
That with the ruth of her so wretched case, 
He stayd his second strooke, and did his 

hand abase. 

XXXII. 

Her weed she then withdrawing did 

him discover; 
Who now come to himselfe yet would not 

rize, 
But still did lie as dead, and quake, and 

quiver, 
That even the Prince his basenesse did 

despize ; 
And eke his Dame, him seeing in such 

guize, 
Gan him recomfort and from ground to 

reare : 
Who rising up at last in ghastly wize. 
Like troubled ghost, did dreadfully ap- 

peare. 
As one that had no life him left through 

former feare. 

XXXIII. 

Whom when the Prince so deadly saw 

dismayd. 
He for such basenesse shamefully him 

sheut. 
And with sharpe words did bitterly up- 

brayd : 
* Vile cowheard dogge ! now doe I much 

repent. 
That ever I this life unto thee lent. 
Whereof thou, caytive, so unworthie art, 
That both thy love, for lacke of hardi- 

ment, 
And eke thy selfe, for want of manly hart. 
And eke all knights hast shamed with 

this knightlesse part. 

XXXIV. 

* Yet further hast thou heaped shame to 

shame. 
And crime to crime, by this thy cowheard 

feare : 
For first, it was to thee reprochfull blame 
To erect this wicked custome, which I 

heare 
Gainst errant Knights and Ladies thou 

dost reare ; 
Whom when thou mayst thou dost of 

arms despoile, 
Or of their upper garment which they 

weare ; 
Yet doest thou not with manhood, but 

with guile, 
Maintaine this evil use, thy foes thereby 

to foile. 



XXXV. 

' And lastly, in approvance of thy 
wrong, 
To shew such faiutnesse and foule cow- 
ard ize 
Is greatest shame ; for oft it falles, that 

strong 
And valiant Knights doe rashly enterprize 
Either for fame, or else for exercize, 
A wrongfull quarrell to maintaine by 

fight; 
Yet have through prowesse and their 

brave emprize 
Gotten great worship in this wo rides sight : 
For greater force there needs to main- 
taine wrong then right. 



' Yet, since thy life unto this Ladie 

fayre 
I given have, live in reproch and scorne, 
Ne ever armes ne ever knighthood dare 
Hence to prof esse ; for shame is to adorne 
With so brave badges one so basely borne : 
But onely breath, sith that I did forgive.' 
So having from his craven bodie torue 
Those goodly armes, he them away did 

give. 
And onely suffred him this wretched life 

to live. 

xxxvii. 
There whilest he thus was setling things 

above, 
Atwene that Ladie myld and recreant 

knight, 
To whom his life he graunted for her love. 
He gan bethinke him in what perilous 

plight 
He had behynd him left that salvage wight 
Amongst so many foes, whom sure he 

thought 
By this quite slaine in so unequall fight: 
Therefore descending backe in haste he 

sought 
If yet he were alive, or to destruction 

brought. 

XXXVIII. 

There he him found environed about 
With slaughtred bodies which his hand 

had slaine, 
And laying yet afresh, with courage stout, 
Upon the rest that did alive reraaine ; 
Whom he likewise right sorely did con- 

straine. 
Like scattred sheepe, to seeke for safetie, 
After he gotten had with busie paine 
Some of their weapons which thereby did 

lie. 
With which he layd about, and made 

them fast to flie. 



CANTO VI.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



48' 



XXXIX. 

Whom when the Priuce so felly saw to 

rage, 
Approching to him neare, his hand he 

stayd, 
And sought by making signes him to as- 

swage ; 
Who them perceiving straight to him 

obayd, 
As to his Lord, and downe his weapons 

layd, 
As if he long had to his heasts bene 

trayned. 
Thence he him brought away, and up con- 

vayd 
Into the chamber, where that Dame re- 

mayned 
With her unworthy knight, who ill him 

entertayned. 

XL. 

Whom when the Salvage saw from 

daimger free. 
Sitting beside his Ladie there at ease, 
He well remembred that the same was 

hee, 
Which lately sought his Lord for to dis- 
please : 
Tho all in rage he on him streight did 

seaze, 
As if he would in peeces him have rent ; 
And, were not that the Prince did him 

appeaze. 
He had not left one limbe of him un- 

rent : 
But streight he held his hand at his com- 

maundement. 

XLI. 

Thus having all things well in peace or- 

dayned, 
The Priuce himselfe there all that night 

did rest ; 
Where him Blandina fayrely entertayned 
With all the courteous glee and goodly 

feast 
The which for him she could imagine 

best: 
For well she knew the wayes to win good 

will 
Of every wight, that were not too infest ; 
And how to please the minds of good and 

ill. 



Through tempering of her words and 
lookes by wondrous skill. 

XLII. 

Yet were her words and lookes but false 

and fayned. 
To some hid end to make more easie way, 
Or to allure such fondlings whom she 

trayned 
Into her trap unto their owne decay : 
Thereto, when needed, she could weepe 

and pray, 
And when her listed she could fawne and 

flatter ; 
Now smyling smoothly, like to sommers 

day, 
Xow glooming sadly, so to cloke her mat- 
ter; 
Yet were her words but wynd, and all her 

teares but water. 



Whether such grace were given her by 

kynd, 
As women wont their guilefull wits to 

guyde, 
Or learn'd the art to please, I doe not 

fynd : 
This well I wote, that she so well applyde 
Her pleasing tongue, that soone she paci- 

fyde 
The wrath full Prince, and wrought her 

husbands peace : 
Who nathelesse, not therewith satisfyde. 
His rancorous despight did not releasse, 
Ne secretly from thought of fell revenge 

surceasse : 

XLIV. 

For all that night, the whyles the Prince 
did rest 
In carelesse couch, not weeting what was 

ment, 
He watcht in close awayt with weapons 

prest. 
Willing to worke his villenous intent 
On him that had so shamefully him shent : 
Yet durst he not for very cowardize 
Effect the same, why lest all the night was 

spent. 
The morrow next the Prince did early 

rize, 
And passed forth to follow his first enter- 
prize. 



488 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book VI. 



CANTO VII. 

Turpine is baffuld ; his two knights 
Doe gaiiie thoir treasons meed : 

Fayre Mirabellaes punishment 
For Loves disdaine decreed. 



Like as the gentle hart it selfe bewrayes 
In doing gentle deedes with franke de- 
light, 
Even so the baser mind it selfe displayes 
In cancred malice and revengeful! spight : 
For to maligne, t' envie, t' use shifting 

slight^ 
Be arguments of a vile donghill mind, 
Which, what it dare not doe by open 

might. 
To worke by wicked treason wayes doth 

find, 
By such discourteous deeds discovering 
his base kind. 



That well appears in this discourteous 
knight. 
The coward Turpine, whereof now I 

treat ; 
Who notwithstanding that in former 

fight 
He of the Prince his life received late, 
Yet in his mind, malitious and ingrate. 
He gan devize to be aveng'd anew 
For all that shame, which kindled in- 
ward hate : 
Therefore, so soone as he was out of 

vew, 
Himselfe in hast he arm'd, and did him 
fast pursew. 



Well did he tract his steps ashe did ryde, 
Yet would not neare approch in daungers 

eye. 
But kept aloofe for dread to be descryde, 
Untiil fit time and place he mote espy, 
Where he mote worke him scath and 

villeny. 
At last he met two knights to him un- 

knowne. 
The which were armed both agreeably. 
And both combynd, whatever chaunce 

were blowne 
Betwixt them to divide, and each to make 

his owne. 



To whom false Turpine comming cour- 
teously. 



To cloke the mischi»fe which he inly 

ment, 
Gan to complaine of great disco urtesie, 
Which a straunge knight, that neare afore 

him went. 
Had doen to him, and his deare Ladie 

shent : 
Which if they would afford him ayde at 

need 
For to avenge in time convenient. 
They should accomplish both a knightly 

deed. 
And for their paines obtaine of him a 

goodly meed. 



The knights beleev'd that all he sayd 

was trew ; 
And being fresh and full of youthly 

spright. 
Were glad to heare of that adventure 

new. 
In which they mote make triall of their 

might 
Which never yet they had approv'd in 

fight. 
And eke desirous of the off red meed : 
Said then the one of them ; ' Where is 

that wight, 
The which hath doen to thee this wrong- 
full deed. 
That we may it avenge, and punish him 

with speed ? ' 

VI. 

' He rides ' (said Turpine) * there not 
farre afore, 
With a wyld man soft footing by his 

syde; 
That, if ye list to haste a litle more. 
Ye may him overtake in timely tyde.' 
Eftsoones they pricked forth with for- 
ward pryde. 
And, ere that litle while they ridden had. 
The gentle Prince not farre away they 

spyde, 
Ryding a softly pace with portance sad, 
Devizing of his love more then of daunger 
drad. 

VII. 

Then one of them aloud unto him 
cryde, 



CANTO VII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



489 



Bidding him turne againe, false traytour 

knight, 
Foule woman-wronger, for he him defyde. 
With that they both at once with equall 

spight 
Did bend their speares, and both with 

equall might 
Against him ran ; but th' one did misse 

his marke, 
And being carried with his force forth- 
right 
Glaunst swiftly by ; like to that heavenly 

sparke, 
Which glyding through the ayre lights all 

the heavens darke. 



But th' other, ayming better, did him 

smite 
Full in the shield with so impetuous 

powre, 
That all his launce in peeces shivered 

quite, 
And scattered all about fell on the fiowre : 
But the stout Prince, with much more 

steddy stowre, 
Full on his bever did him strike so sore, 
That the cold Steele, through piercing, did 

devowre 
His vitall breath, and to the ground him 

bore, 
Where still he bathed lay in his owne 

bloody gore. 



As when a cast of Faulcons make their 

flight 
At an Herneshaw, that lyes aloft on wing, 
The whyles they strike at him with heed- 

lesse might, 
The warie foule his bill doth backward 

wring ; 
On which the first, whose force her first 

doth bring, 
Her selfe quite through the bodie doth 

engore. 
And falleth downe to ground like sense- 

lesse thing; 
But th' other, not so swift as she before, 
Fayles of her souse, and passing by doth 

hurt no more. 



By this the other, which was passed by, 
Himselfe recovering was return'd to fight, 
Where when he saw his fellow lifelesse ly, 
He much was daunted with so dismall 

sight ; 
Yet, nought abating of his former spight. 
Let drive at him with so malitious mynd, 



As if he would have passed through him 

quight ; 
But the steele-head no stedfast hold could 

fynd. 
But glauncing by deceiv'd him of that he 

desynd. 

XI. 

Not so the Prince ; for his well-learned 

speare 
Tooke surer hould, and from his horses 

backe • 
Above a launces length him forth did 

beare. 
And gainst the cold hard earth so sore 

him strake, 
That all his bones in peeces nigh he 

brake. 
Where seeing him so lie, he left his steed. 
And to him leaping vengeance thought to 

take 
Of him for all his former follies meed, 
With flaming sword in hand his terror 

more to breed. 

XII. 

The fearfull swayne beholding death 

so nie, 
Cryde out aloud for mercie, him to 

save ; 
In lieu whereof he would to him descrie 
Great treason to him meant, his life to 

reave. 
The Prince soone hearkned, and his life 

forgave. 
Then thus said he : ' There is a straunger 

knight. 
The which, for promise of great meed, us 

drave 
To this attempt to wreake his hid de- 

spight. 
For that himselfe thereto did want suffi- 
cient might.' 

xin. 

The Prince much mused at such villenie, 
And sayd : * Now sure ye well have 

earn'd your meed ; 
For th' one is dead, and th' other soone 

shall die, 
Unlesse to me thou hether bring with 



The wretch that hyr'd you to this wicked 

deed.' 
He glad of life, and willing eke to wreake 
The guilt on him which did this mischiefe 

breed. 
Swore by his sword, that neither day nor 

weeke 
He would surceasse, but him where so he 

were would seeke. 



490 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book VI. 



XIV. 

So up he rose, and forth streightway he 

went 
Backe to the place where Turpine late he 

lore; 
There he him found in great astonish- 
ment, 
To see him so bedight with bloodie gore, 
And griesly wounds that him appalled 

sore ; 
Yet thus at length he said : * How now, 

Sir knight, 
What meaneth this which here I see 

before ? 
How fortuneth this foule uncomely 

plight, 
So different from that which earst ye 

seem'd in sight ? ' 



' Perdie,' (said he) * in evill houre it 

fell, 
That ever I for meed did undertake 
So hard a taske as life for hyre to sell ; 
The which I earst adventur'd for your 

sake: 
Witnesse the wounds, and this wyde 

bloudie lake. 
Which ye may see yet all about me 

steeme. 
Therefore now yeeld, as ye did proi-nise 

make, 
My due reward, the which right well I 

deeme 
I yearned have, that life «o dearely did 

redeeme.' 

XVI. 

' But where then is ' (quoth he halfe 

wrothfully) 
' Where is the bootie, which therefore I 

bought. 
That carsed caytive, my strong enemy. 
That recreant knight, whose hated life I 

sought ? 
And where is eke your friend which halfe 

it ought ? ' 
* He lyes ' (said he) ' upon the cold bare 

ground, 
Slayne of that errant knight with whom 

he fought ; 
Whom afterwards my selfe with many a 

wound 
Did slay againe, as ye may see there in 

the stound.' 

XVII. 

Thereof false Turpin was full glad and 
faine. 
And needs with him streight to the place 
would ryde, 



Where he himselfe might see his foeman 

slaine ; 
For else his feare could not be satisfyde. 
So as they rode he saw the way all dyde 
With streames of blond ; which trading 

by the traile. 
Ere long they came, whereas in evill 

tyde 
That other swayne, like ashes deadly 

pale. 
Lay in the lap of death, rewing his 

wretched bale. 

XVIII. 

Much did the Craven seeme to mone 
his case. 
That for his sake his deare life had for- 
gone ; 
And, him bewayling with affection base, 
Did counterfeit kind pittie where was 

none: 
For wheres no courage, theres no ruth nor 

mone. 
Thence passing forth, not farre away he 

found 
Whereas the Prince himselfe lay all alone, 
Loosely displayd upon the grassie ground, 
Possessed of sweete sleepe that luld him 
soft in swound. 

XIX. 

Wearie of travell in his former fight. 
He there in shade himselfe had layd to 

rest. 
Having his armes and warlike things un- 

dight, 
Fearelesse of foes that mote his peace mo- 
lest; 
The whyles his salvage page, that wont 

be prest, 
Was wandred in the wood another way. 
To doe some thing that seemed to him 

best; 
The whyles his Lord in silver slomber 

lay. 
Like to the Evening starre adorn'd with 

deawy ray. 

XX. 

Whom when as Turpin saw so loosely 
layd, 
He weened well that he in deed was dead, 
Like as that other knight to him had sayd ; 
But, when he nigh approcht, he mote aread 
Plaine signes in him of life and livelihead : 
Whereat, much griev'd against that 

straunger knight, 
That him too light of credence did mis- 
lead. 
He would have backe retyred from that 
sight, 



CANTO VII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



491 



That was to him on earth the deadliest 
despight. 

XXI. 

But that same knight would not once 
let him start, 
But plainely gan to him declare the case 
Of all his mischiete and late lucklesse 

smart ; 
How both he and his fellow there in place 
Were vanquished, and put to foule dis- 
grace ; 
And how that he, in lieu of life him lent, 
Had vow'd unto the victor him to trace 
And follow through the world where so he 

went, 
Till that he him delivered to his punish- 
ment. 

XXII. 

He, therewith much abashed and affrayd, 
Began to tremble every limbe and vaine ; 
And, softly whispering him, entyrely 

prayd 
T' advize him better then by such a traiue 
Him to betray unto a straunger swaine : 
Yet rather couusekl him contrarywize, 
Sith he likewise did wrong by him sus- 

taine. 
To joyne with him and vengeance to de- 
vize, 
Whylest time did offer meanes him sleep- 
ing to surprize. 



Nathelesse, for all his speach the gentle 
knight 
Would not be tempted to such villenie, 
Regarding more his faith which he did 

plight, 
All were it to his mortall enemie. 
Then to entrap him by false treacherie : 
Great shame in lieges blood to be em- 
brew 'd ! 
Thus whylest they were debating di verslie, 
The Salvage forth out of the wood issew'd 
Backe to the place, whereas his Lord he 
sleeping vew'd. 

XXIV. 

There when he saw those two so neare 
him stand, 

He doubted much what mote their mean- 
ing bee ; 

And throwing downe his load out of his 
hand, 

(To weet, great store of forrest frute 
which hee 

Had for his food late gathered from the 
tree,) 

Himself e unto his weapon he betooke, 

That was an oaken plant, which lately hee 



Rent by the root; which he so sternely 

sliooke, 
That like an hazell wand it quivered and 

quooke. 

XXV. 

Whereat the Prince awaking, when he 

spyde 
The traytour Turpin with that other 

knight, 
He started up; and snatching neare his 

syde 
His trustie sword, the servant of his 

might. 
Like a fell Lyon leaped to him light, 
And his left hand upon his collar layd. 
Therewith the cowheard, deaded with 

affright. 
Fell flat to ground, ne word unto him 



But, holding up his hands, with silence 
mercie prayd. 



But he so full of indignation was. 
That to his prayer nought he would in- 
cline, 
But, as he lay upon the humbled gras. 
His foot he set on his vile necke, in signe 
Of servile yoke, that nobler harts repine: 
Then, letting him arise like abject thrall. 
He gan to him object his haynous crime, 
And to revile, and rate, and recreant call. 
And lastly to despoyle of knightly ban- 
nerall. 

XXVII. 

And after all, for greater infamie. 
He by the heeles him hung upon a tree. 
And baffuld so, that all which passed by 
The picture of his punishment might see. 
And by the like ensample warned bee. 
How ever they through treason doe tres- 

passe. 
But turne we now backe to that Ladie 

free, 
Whom late we left ryding upon an Asse, 
Led by a Carle and foole which by her side 

did passe. 

XXVIII. 

She was a Ladie of great dignitie, 
And lifted up to honorable place, 
Famous through all the land of Faerie : 
Though of meane parentage and kindred 

base. 
Yet deckt with wondrous giftes of natures 

grace, 
That all men did her person much admire, 
And praise the feature of her goodly face ; 
The beames whereof did kindle lovely fire 
In th' harts of many a knight, and many 

a gentle squire. 



492 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book VI. 



But she thereof grew proud and insolent, 
That none she worthie thought to be her 

fere, 
But scornd them all that love unto her 

ment : 
Yet was she lov'd of many a worthy pere : 
Unworthy she to be belov'd so dere, 
That could not weigh of worthinesse 

aright ; 
For beautie is more glorious bright and 

clere, 
The more it is admir'd of many a wight, 
And noblest she that served is of noblest 

knight. 

XXX. 

But this coy Damzell thought contrari- 

wize, 
That such proud looks would make her 

praysed more ; 
And that, the more she did all love despize, 
The more would wretched lovers her 

adore. 
What cared she who sighed for her sore, 
Or who did wayle or watch the wearie 

night ? 
Let them that list their lucklesse lot de- 
plore, 
She was borne free, not bound to any 

wight. 
And so would ever live, and love her owne 

delight. 

XXXI. 

Through such her stubborne stifnesse 

and hard hart. 
Many a wretch for want of remedie 
Did languish long in life-consuming smart, 
And at the last through dreary dolour die : 
Why lest she, the Ladie of her libertie, 
Did boast her beautie had such soveraine 

might. 
That with the onely twinckle of her eye 
She could or save or spill whom she would 

bight : 
What could the Gods doe more, but doe it 

more aright ? 



But loe ! the Gods, that mortall follies 

vew. 
Did worthily revenge this maydens pride ; 
And, nought regarding her so goodly hew, 
Did laugh at her that many did deride, 
Whilest she did weepe, of no man merci- 

fide: 
For on a day, when Cupid kept his court. 
As he is wont at each Saint Valentide, 
Unto the which all lovers doe resort. 
That of their loves successe they there 

may make report ; 



It fortun'd then, that when the roules 

were red 
In which the names of all loves f olke were 

fyled, 
That many there were missing; which 

were ded. 
Or kept in bands, or from their loves 

exyled. 
Or by some other violence despoyled : 
Which when as Cupid heard, he wexed 

wroth ; 
And doubting to be wronged or beguyled, 
He bad his eyes to be unblindfold both, 
That he might see his men, and muster 

them by oth. 



Then found he many missing of his crew, 
Which wont doe suit and service to his 

might. 
Of whom what was becomen no man knew. 
Therefore a Jurie was impaneld streight 
T' enquire of them, whether by force, or 

sleight, 
Or their owne guilt, they were away con- 

vayd ? 
To whom foule Infamie and fell Despight 
Gave evidence, that they were all betrayd 
And murdred cruelly by a rebellious Mayd. 



Fayre Mirabella was her name, whereby 
Of all those crymes she there indited was : 
All which when Cupid heard, he by and by 
In great displeasure wild a Capias 
Should issue forth t' attach that scorne- 

full lasse. 
The warrant straight was made, and 

therewithall 
A Baylieffe-errant forth in post did passe. 
Whom they by name there Portamore did 

call; 
He which doth summon lovers to loves 

judgement hall. 

XXXVI. 

The damzell was attacht, and shortly 
brought 

Unto the barre whereas she was arrayned ; 

But she thereto nould plead, nor answere 
ought. 

Even for stubborne pride which her re- 
stray ned. 

So judgement past, as is by law ordayned 

In cases like ; which when at last she saw. 

Her stubborne hart, which love before 
disdayned, 

Gan stoupe; and, falling downe with 
humble awe, 



CANTO VII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



493 



Cryde mercie, to abate the extremitie of 
law. 

XXXVII. 

The Sonne of Venus, who is myld by 

kynd 
But where he isprovokt Avith peevishnesse, 
Unto her prayers piteously enclynd, 
And did the rigour of his doome re- 

presse ; 
Yet not so freely, but that nathelesse 
He unto her a penance did impose, 
Which was, that through this worlds 

wyde wildernes 
She wander should in companie of those, 
Till she had sav'd so many loves as she 

did lose. 

XXXVIII. 

So now she had bene wandring two 

whole yeares 
TJiroughout the world in this uncomely 

case. 
Wasting her goodly hew in heavie teares. 
And her good dayes in dolorous disgrace : 
Yet had she not in all these two yeares 

space 
Saved but two ; yet in two yeares before. 
Through her dispiteous pride, whilest 

love lackt place. 
She had destroyed two and twenty more. 
Aie me! how could her love make half 

amends therefore ? 



And now she was uppon the weary 
way, 

When as the gentle Squire, with faire 
Serene, 

Met her in such misseeming foule array ; 

The whiles that mighty man did her de- 
meane 

With all the evill termes and cruell meane 

That he could make : And eeke that angry 
foole 

Which follow'd her, with cursed hands 
uncleane 

Whipping her horse, did with his smart- 
ing toole 

Oft whip her dainty selfe, and much aug- 
ment her doole. 

XL. 

Ne ought it mote availe her to entreat 
The one or th' other better her to use ; 
For both so wilfull were and obstinate 
That all her piteous plaint they did re- 
fuse. 
And rather did the more her beate and 

bruse : 
But most the former villaine, which did 
lead 



Her tyreling jade, was bent her to abuse; 
Who, though she were with wearinesse 

nigh dead. 
Yet would not let her lite, nor rest a little 

stead : 

XLI. 

For he was sterne and terrible by 

nature, 
And eeke of person huge and hideous, 
Exceeding much the measure of mans 

stature. 
And rather like a Gyant monstruous : 
For sooth he was descended of the hous 
Of those old Gyants, which did warres 

darraine 
Against the heaven in order battailous ; 
And sib to great Orgolio, which was 

slaine 
By Arthure, when as Unas Knight he did 

maintaine. 

XLII. 

His lookes were dreadfull, and his fiery 

eies, 
Like two great Beacons, glared bright 

and wyde, 
Glauncing askew, as if his enemies 
He scorned in his overweening pryde ; 
And stalking stately, like a Crane, did 

stryde 
At every step uppon the tiptoes hie : 
And, all the way he went, on every syde 
He gaz'd about and stared horriblie, 
As if he with his lookes would all men 

terrific. 



He wore no armour, ne for none did 
care, 
As no whit dreading any living wight ; 
But in a Jacket, quilted richly rare 
Upon checklaton, he was straungely 

dight ; 
And on his head a roll of linnen plight. 
Like to the Mores of Malaber, he wore, 
With which his locks, as blacke as pitchy 

night. 
Were bound about and voyded from be- 
fore ; 
And in his hand a mighty yron club he 
bore. 



This was Disdaine, who led that Ladies 
horse 

Through thick and thin, through moun- 
tains and through plains. 

Compelling her, wher she would not, by 
force. 

Haling her palfrey by the hempen raines : 

But that same foole, which most increast 
her paines. 



494 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book VI. 



Was Scorne; who having in his hand a 
whip, 

Her therewith yirks ; and still, when she 
complaines, 

The more he laughes, and does her closely 
quip, 

To see her sore lament and bite her ten- 
der lip. 

XLV. 

Whose cruell handling when that Squire 

beheld. 
And saw those villaines her so vildely 

use. 
His gentle heart with indignation sweld, 
And could no lenger beare so great 

abuse 
As such a Lady so to beate and bruse ; 
But, to him stepping, such a stroke him 

lent, 
That forst him th' halter from his hand 

to loose, 
And maugre all his might backe to re- 
lent: 
Else had he surely there bene slaine, or 

fowly shent. 

XLVI. 

The villaine, wroth for greeting him so 

sore. 
Gathered him selfe together soone againe, 
And with his yron batton which he bore 
Let drive at him so dreadfully ainaine, 
That for his safety he did him constraine 
To give him ground, and shift to every 

side, 
Kather then once his burden to sustaine : 
For bootelesse thing him seemed to 

abide 
So mighty blowes, or prove the puis- 

saunce of his pride. 

XL VII. 

Like as a Mastiffe having at a bay 
A salvage Bull, whose cruell homes doe 

threat 
Desperate daunger, if he them assay, 
Traceth his ground, and round about doth 

beat, 
To spy where he may some advauntage 

get, 
The whiles the beast doth rage and loudly 

rore ; 
So did the Squire, the whiles the Carle 

did fret 
And fume in his disdainefull mynd the 

more, 



And oftentimes by Turmagant and Ma- 
hound swore. 



Nathelesse so sharpely still he him pur- 
se wd, 

That at advantage him at last he tooke, 

When his foote slipt, (that slip he dearely 
rewd) 

And with his yron club to ground him 
strooke ; 

Where still he lay, ne out of swoune 
awooke. 

Till heavy hand the Carle upon him layd. 

And bound him fast: Tho, when he up 
did looke 

And saw him selfe captiv'd, he was dis- 
may d, 

Ne powre had to withstand, ne hope of 
any ayd. 

XLIX. 

Then up he made him rise, and forward 

fare. 
Led in a rope which both his hands did 

bynd; 
Ne ought that foole for pitty did him 

spare. 
But with his whip, him following behynd, 
Him often scourg'd, and forst his feete to 

fynd: 
And other-whiles with bitter mockes and 

mowes 
He would him scorne, that to his gentle 

mynd 
Was much more grievous then the others 

blowes : 
Words sharpely wound, but greatest 

griefe of scorning growes. 



The faire Serena, when she saw him fall 
Under that villaines club, then surely 

thought 
That slaine he was, or made a wretched 

thrall, 
And fled away with all the speede she 

mought. 
To seeke for safety ; which long time she 

sought. 
And past through many perils by the 

way, 
Ere she againe to Calepine was brought : 
The which discourse as now I must de- 
lay, 
Till Mirabellaes fortunes I doe further 

say. 



CANTO VIII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



495 



CANTO VIII. 

Prince Arthure overcomes Disdaine ; 

Quites Mirabell from dreed : 
Serena, found of Salvages, 

By Calepiue is freed. 



Ye gentle Ladies, in whose soveraine 

powre 
Love hath the glory of his kingdome left, 
And th' hearts of men, as your eternall 

dowre, 
In yron chaines of liberty bereft. 
Delivered hath into your hands by gift, 
Be well aware how ye the same doe use, 
That pride doe not to tyranny you lift ; 
Least, if men you of cruelty accuse. 
He from you take that chiefedome which 

ye doe abuse. 



And as ye soft and tender are by kynde, 
Adornd with goodly gifts of beauties 

grace. 
So be ye soft and tender eeke in mynde ; 
But cruelty and hardnesse from you 

chace, 
That all your other praises will deface, 
And from you turne the love of men to 

hate : 
Ensample take of Mirabellaes case, 
Who from the high degree of happy state 
Fell into wretched woes, which she re- 
pented late. 

III. 

Who after thraldome of the gentle 
Squire, 
Which she beheld with lamentable eye, 
Was touched with compassion entire. 
And much lamented his calamity. 
That for her sake fell into misery ; 
Which booted nought for prayers nor for 

threat 
To hope for to release or mollify, 
For aye the more that she did them en- 
treat. 
The more they him misust, and cruelly 
did beat. 

IV. 

So as they forward on their way did pas, 
Him still reviling and afflicting sore, 
They met Prince Arthure with Sir Enias, 
(That was that courteous Knight, whom 

he before 
Having subdew'd yet did to life restore ;) 
To whom as they approcht, they gan aug- 
ment 



Their cruelty, and him to punish more. 
Scourging and haling him more vehe- 
ment ; 
As if it them should grieve to see his 
punishment. 



The Squire him selfe, when as he saw 

his Lord 
The witnesse of his wretchednesse in 

place. 
Was much asham'd that with an hempen 

cord 
He like a dog was led in captive case. 
And did his head for bashfulnesse abase, 
As loth to see or to be scene at all : 
Shame would be hid. But whenas Enias 
Beheld two such, of two such villaines 

thrall. 
His manly mynde was much emmoved 

therewithall ; 



And to the Prince thus sayd : ' See you, 

Sir Knight, 
The greatest shame that ever eye yet saw, 
Yond Lady and her Squire with foule 

despight 
Abusde, against all reason and all law, 
Without regard of pitty or of awe ? 
See, how they doe that Squire beat and 

revile ! 
See, how they doe the Lady hale and 

draw ! 
But, if ye please to lend me leave awhile, 
I will them soone acquite, and both of 

blame assoile.' 



The Prince assented; and then he, 

streightway 
Dismounting light, his shield about him 

threw, 
With which approching thus he gan to 

say: 
' Abide, ye caytive treachetours untrew. 
That have with treason thralled unto 

you 
These two, unworthy of your wretched 

bands. 
And now j^our crime with cruelty pursew ! 



496 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book VI. 



Abide, and from them lay your loathly 

hands, 
Or else abide the death that hard before 

you stands.' 



The villain e stayd not aunswer to in- 
vent, 
But with his yron club preparing way, 
His mindes sad message backe unto him 

sent; 
The which descended with such dreadfull 

sway. 
That seemed nought the course thereof 

could stay, 
No more then lightening from the lofty 

sky: 
Ne list the Knight the powre thereof 

assay. 
Whose doome was death; but, .lightly 

slipping by, 
Unwares defrauded his intended destiny : 



And, to requite him with the like againe, 
With his sharpe sword he fiercely at him 

flew, 
And strooke so strongly, that the Carle 

with paine 
Saved him selfe but that he there him 

slew; 
Yet sav'd not so, but that the bloud it 

drew, 
And gave his foe good hope of victory : 
Who therewith flesht upou him set anew, 
And with the second stroke thought cer- 

tainely 
To have sui^plyde the first, and paide the 

usury. 

X. 

But Fortune aunswerd not unto his 

call; 
For, as his hand was heaved up on bight. 
The villaine met him in the middle fall. 
And with his club bet backe his brondyron 

bright 
So forcibly, that with his owne hands 

might, 
Rebeaten backe upon himself e againe. 
He driven was to ground in selfe despight ; 
From whence ere he recovery could gaine, 
He in his necke had set his foote with fell 

disdaine. 

XI. 

With that the foole, which did that end 

awayte, 
Came running in ; and, whilest on ground 

he lay, 
Laide heavy hands on him and held so 

strayte, 



That downe he kept him with his scorne- 

full sway. 
So as he could not weld him any way : 
The whiles that other villaine went about 
Him to have bound and thrald without 

delay ; ' 
The whiles the foole did him revile and 

flout, 
Threatning to yoke them two and tame 

their corage stout. 



As when a sturdy ploughman with his 

hynde 
By strength have overthrowne a stub- 
borne steare. 
They downe him hold, and fast with cords 

do bjoide. 
Till they him force the buxome yoke to 

beare : 
So did these two this Knight oft tug and 

teare. 
Which when the Prince beheld, there 

standing by. 
He left his lofty steede to aide him neare ; 
And, buckling soone him selfe, gan 

fiercely fly 
Upon that Carle to save his friend from 

jeopardy. 

XIII. 

The villaine, leaving him unto his mate 
To be captiv'd and handled as he list, 
Himselfe addrest unto this new debate, 
And with his club him all about so blist. 
That he which way to turne him scarcely 

wist: 
Sometimes aloft he layd, sometimes 

alow. 
Now here, now there, and oft him neare 

he mist ; 
So doubtfully, that hardly one could 

know 
Whether more wary were to give or ward 

the blow. 

XIV. 

But yet the Prince so well enured was 
With such huge strokes, approved oft in 

fight, 
That way to them he gave forth right to 

pas; 
Ne would endure the daunger of their 

might. 
But wayt advantage when they -downe 

did light. 
At last the caytive, after long discourse, 
When all his strokes he saw avoyded 

quite, 
Resolved in one t' assemble all his force. 
And make one end of him without ruth 

or remorse. 



CANTO VIII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



497 



His dreadfull hand he heaved up aloft, 
And with his dreadfull instrument of 

yre 
Thought sure have pownded him to 

powder soft, 
Or deepe emboweld in the earth entyre : 
But Fortune did not with his will con- 
spire ; 
For, ere his stroke attayned his intent. 
The noble childe, preventing his desire, 
Under his club with wary boldnesse went, 
And smote him on the knee that never 
yet was bent. 



It never yet was bent, ne bent it now, 
Albe the stroke so strong and puissant 

were, 
That seem'd a marble pillour it could bow ; 
But all that leg, which did his body beare, 
It crackt throughout, (yet did no blond 

appeare,) 
So as it was unable to support 
So huge a burden on such broken geare. 
But fell to ground, like to a lumpe of 

durt; 
Whence he assayd to rise, but could not 

for his hurt. 

XVII. 

Eftsoones the Prince to him full nimbly 

stept. 
And least he should recover foote againe, 
His head meant from his shoulders to 

have swept. 
Which when the Lady saw, she cryde 

amaine ; 
* Stay, stay. Sir Knight! for love of God 

abstaine 
From that unwares ye weetlesse doe in- 
tend; 
Slay not that Carle, though worthy to be 

slaine, 
For more on him doth then him selfe 

depend : 
My life will by his death have lamentable 

end.' 

xvin. 

He staide his hand according her desire, 
Yet nathemore him suffred to arize ; 
But, still suppressing, gan of her inquii-e, 
What meaning mote those uncouth words 

comprize. 
That in that villaines health her safety 

lies; 
That, were no might in man, nor heart in 

Knights, 
Which durst her dreaded reskue enter- 
prize, 



Yet heavens them selves, that favour 

feeble rights, 
Would for it selfe redresse, and punish 

such despights. 



Then bursting forth in teares, which 
gushed fast 
Like many water streames, awhile she 

stayd ; 
Till the sharpe passion being overpast, 
Her tongue to her restord, then thus she 



* Nor heavens, nor men, can me, most 

wretched mayd. 
Deliver from the doome of my desart, 
The which the God of love hath on me 

layd. 
And damned to endure this direfull smart, 
For penaunce of my proud and hard re- 
bellious hart. 



' In prime of youthly yeares, when first 

the flowre 
Of beauty gan to bud, and bloosme de- 
light. 
And Nature me endu'd with plenteous 

dowre 
Of all her gifts, that pleasde each living 

sight, 
I was belov'd of many a gentle Knight, 
And sude and sought with all the service 

dew: 
Full many a one for me deepe groand and 

sight, 
And to the dore of death for sorrow drew, 
Complayning out on me that would not 

on them rew. 



' But let them love that list, or live or 

die, 
Me list not die for any lovers doole ; 
Ne list me leave my loved libertie 
To pitty him that list to play the foole ; 
To love my selfe I learned had in schoole. 
Thus I triumphed long in lovers paine. 
And, sitting carelesse on the scorners 

stoole. 
Did laugh at those that did lament and 

plaine ; 
But all is now repayd with interest againe. 



' For loe ! the winged God that woundeth 

harts 
Causde me be called to accompt therefore ; 
And for revengement of those wrongful! 

smarts. 



498 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book VI. 



Which I to others did inflict afore, 
Addeem'd me to endure this penaunce 

sore; 
That in this wize, and this unmeete array, 
With these two lewd companions, and no 

more, 
Disdaine and Scorne, I through the world 

should stray, 
Till I have sav'd so many as I earst did 

slay.' 

XXIII. 

' Certes,' (sayd then the Prince) ' the 

God is just. 
That taketh vengeaunce of his peoples 

spoile; 
For were no law in love, but all that lust 
Might them oppresse, and paiuefully tur- 

moile. 
His kingdome would continue but a while. 
But tell me, Lady, wherefore doe you 

beare 
This bottle thus before you with such toile. 
And eeke this wallet at your backe 

arreare. 
That for these Carles to carry much more 

comely were ? ' 



' Here in this bottle ' (sayd the sory Mayd) 
' I put the tears of my contrition. 
Till to the brim I have it full defrayd : 
And in this bag, which I behinde me 

don, 
I put repentaunce for things past and gou. 
Yet is the bottle leake, and bag so torne. 
That all which I put in fals out anon, 
And is behinde me trodden downs of 

Scorne, 
Who mocketh all my paine, and laughs 

the more I mourn.' 

XXV. 

The Infant hearkned wisely to her tale. 
And wondred much at Cupids judg'ment 

wise, 
That could so meekly make proud hearts 

avale, 
And wreake him selfe on them that him 

despise. 
Then suffred he Disdaine up to arise. 
Who was not able up him selfe to reare, 
By lueanes his leg, through his late lucke- 

lesse prise, 
Was crackt in twaine, but by his foolish 

feare 
Was holpen up, who him supported stand- 
ing neare. 

XXVI. 

But being up he lookt againe aloft, 
As if he never had received fall ; 



And with sterne eye-browes stared at him 

oft. 
As if he would have daunted him withall : 
And standing on his tiptoes, to seeme tall, 
Downe on his golden feete he often gazed, 
As if such pride the other could apall ; 
Who was so far from being ought amazed. 
That he his lookes despised, and his boast 

dispraized. 

XXVII. 

Then turning backe unto that captive 

thrall. 
Who all this while stood there beside them 

bound. 
Unwilling to be knowne or scene at all. 
He from those bands weend him to have 

unwound ; 
But when approaching neare he plainely 

found 
It was his owne true groome, the gentle 

Squire, 
He thereat wext exceedingly astound, 
And him did oft embrace, and oft admire, 
Ne could with seeing satisfie his great 

desire. 

XXVIII. 

Meane-while the Salvage man, when he 

beheld 
That huge great foole oppressing th' other 

Knight, 
Whom with his weight unweldy downe he 

held. 
He flew upon him like a greedy kight 
Unto some carrion offered to his sight ; 
And, downe him plucking, with hisnayles 

and teeth 
Gan him to hale, and teare, and scratch, 

and bite ; 
And, from him taking his owne whip, 

therewith 
So sore him scourgeth that the bloud 

downe foUoweth. 

XXIX. 

And sure I weene, had not the Ladies 

cry 
Procur'd the Prince his cruell hand to 

stay. 
He would with whipping him have done to 

dye; 
But being checkt he did abstaine streight- 

way. 
And let him rise. Then thus the Prince 

gan say : 
' Now, Lady, sith your fortunes thus dis- 
pose. 
That if ye list have liberty ye may ; 
Unto your selfe I freely leave to chose, 
Whether I shall you leave, or from these 

villaines lose.' 



CANTO VIII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



499 



*Ah! nay, Sir Knight,' (said she) 'it 
may not be, 

But that I needes must by all meanes ful- 
fill 

This penaunce, which enjojmed is to me, 

Least unto me betide a greater ill ; 

Yet no lesse thankes to you for your good 
will.' 

So humbly taking leave she turnd aside ; 

But Arthure with the rest went onward 
still 

On his first quest, in which did him betide 

A great adventure, which did him from 
them devide. 



But first it falleth me by course to tell 
Of faire Serena ; who, as earst you heard. 
When first the gentle Squire at variaunce 

fell 
With those two Carles, fled fast away, 

afeard 
Of villany to be to her inferd : 
So fresh the image of her former dread, 
Yet dwelling in her eye, to her appeard. 
That every foote did tremble which did 

tread, 
And every body two, and two she foure 

did read. 

XXXII. 

Through hils and dales, through bushes 

and through breres, 
Long thus she fled, till that at last she 

thought 
Her selfe now past the perill of her feares : 
Then looking round about, and seeing 

nought 
Which doubt of daunger to her offer 

mought, 
She from her palfrey lighted on the plaine ; 
And, sitting downe, her selfe awhile be- 
thought 
Of her long travell and turmoyling 

paine ; 
And often did of love, and oft of lucke 

complaine. 

XXXIII. 

And evermore she blamed Calepine, 
The good Sir Calepine, her owne true 

Knight, 
As th' onely author of her wofull tine ; 
For being of his love to her so light. 
As her to leave in such a piteous plight : 
Yet never Turtle truer to his make, 
Tben he was tride unto his Lady bright; 
Who all this while endured for her sake 
Great perill of his life, and restlesse paines 

did take. 



Tho when as all her plaints she had dis- 
play d, 
And well disburdened her engrieved 

brest, 
Upon the grasse her seKe adowne she 

layd; 
Where, being tyrde with travell, and op- 

prest 
With sorrow, she betooke her selfe to rest : 
There whilest in Morpheus bosome safe 

she lay, 
Fearelesse of ought that mote her peace 

molest. 
False Fortune did her safety betray 
Unto a strange mischaunce that menac'd 

her decay. 



In these wylde deserts where she now 

abode. 
There dwelt a salvage nation, which did 

live 
Of stealth and spoile, and making nightly 

rode 
Into their neighbours borders ; ne did give 
Them selves to any trade, (as for to drive 
The painefull plough, or cattell for to 

•breed. 
Or by adventrous marchandize to thrive,) 
But on the labours of poore men to feed, 
And serve their owne necessities with 

others need. 



Thereto they usde one most accursed 

order. 
To eate the flesh of men whom they mote 

fynde. 
And straungers to devoure, which on their 

border 
Were brought by errour or by wreckfull 

wynde ; 
A monstrous cruelty gainst course of 

kynde ! 
They, towards evening wandering every 

way 
To seeke for booty, came by fortune 

blynde 
Whereas this Lady, like a sheepe astray, 
Now drowned in the depth of sleepe all 

fearelesse lay. 

xxxvii. 

Soone as they spide her, Lord ! what 

gladfull glee 
They made amongst them selves ; but 

when her face 
Like the faire yvory shining they did see, 
Each gan his fellow solace and embrace 



500 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book VI. 



For joy of such good hap by heavenly 

grace. 
Then gan they to devize what course to 

take; 
Whether to slay her there upon the place, 
Or suffer her out of her sleepe to wake, 
x\nd then her eate attonce, or many meales 

to make. 

XXXVIII. 

The best advizement was, of bad, to let 

her 
Sleepe out her fill without encomberment ; 
For sleepe, they sayd, would make her 

battill better : 
Then when she wakt they all gave one 

consent 
That, since by grace of God she there was 

sent, 
Unto their God they would her sacrifize. 
Whose share, her guiltlesse bloud, they 

would present; 
But of her dainty flesh they did devize 
To make a common feast, and feed with 

gurmandize. 

XXXIX. 

So round about her they them selves 

did place 
Upon the grasse, and diversely disptose 
As each thought best to spend the lingring 

space : 
Some with their eyes the daintest morsels 

chose ; 
Some praise her paps ; some praise her lips 

and nose ; 
Some whet their knives, and strip their 

elboesbare: 
The Priest him selfe a garland doth com- 
pose 
Of finest flowers, and with full busie care 
His bloudy vessels wash, and holy fire 

prepare. 

XL. 

The Damzell wakes; then all attonce 

upstart. 
And round about her flocke, like many 

flies. 
Whooping and hallowing on every part. 
As if they would have rent the brasen 

skies. 
Which when she sees with ghastly griefful 

eies, 
Her heart does quake, and deadly pallied 

hew 
Benumbes her cheekes: Then out aloud 

she cries. 
Where none is nigh to heare what will her 

rew. 
And rends her golden locks, and snowy 

brests embrew. 



But all bootes not ; they hands upon her 

lay: 
And first, they spoile her of her jewels 

deare, 
And afterwards of all her rich array ; 
The which amongst. them they in peeces 

teare. 
And of the pray each one a part doth 

beare. 
Now being naked, to their sordid eyes 
The goodly threasures of nature ap- 

peare : 
Which as they view with lustfull fanta- 
sies. 
Each wisheth to him selfe, and to the rest 

envyes : — 

XLH. 

Her y vorie neck ; her alablaster brest ; 
Her paps, which like white silken pillowes 

were 
For love in soft delight thereon to rest ; 
Her tender sides; her bellie white and 

clere. 
Which like an Altar did itselfe uprere 
To offer sacrifice divine thereon ; 
Her goodly thighes, whose glorie did ap- 

peare 
Like a triumphal Arch, and thereupon 
The spoiles of Princes hang'd which were 

in battel won. 



Those daintie parts, the dearlings of de- 
light, 
Which mote not be prophan'd of common 

eyes. 
Those villeins view'd with loose lascivious 

sight. 
And closely tempted with their craftie 

spyes ; 
And some of them gan mongst themselves 

devize 
Thereof by force to take their beastly 

pleasure : 
But them the Priest rebuking did advize 
To dare not to pollute so sacred threasure 
Vow'd to the gods: religion held even 

theeves in measure. 

XLIV. 

So, being stayd, they her from thence 

directed 
Unto a litle grove not farre asyde. 
In which an altar shortly they erected 
To slay her on. And now the Eventyde 
His brode black wings had through the 

heavens wyde 
By this dispred, that was the tyrae or- 

dayned 



CANTO VIII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



501 



For such adismall deed , their guilt to hyde : 
Of few greene turfes an altar soone they 

fayned, 
And deckt it all with flowres which they 

nigh hand obtayued. 



Tho, when as all things readie were 

aright, 
The Damzell was before the altar set, 
Being alreadie dead with fearefull fright: 
To whom the Priest with naked armes full 

net 
Approehing nigh, and murdrous knife 

well whet, 
Gan mutter close a certains secret charme, 
With other divelish ceremonies met : 
Which doen, he gan aloft t'advance his 

arme. 
Whereat they shouted all, and made a 

loud alarme. 



Then gan the bagpypes and the homes 

to shrill « 

And shrieke aloud^that, with the peoples 

voyce 
Confused, did the ayre with terror fill, 
And made the wood to tremble at the 

noyce ; 
The whyles she wayld, the more they did 

rejoyce. 
Now mote ye understand that to this 

grove 
Sir Calepine, by chaunce more then by 

choyce, 
The selfe same evening fortune hether 

drove, 
As he to seeke Serena through the woods 

did rove. 

XLVII. 

Long had he sought her, and through 

many a soyle 
Had traveld still on foot in heavie armes, 
Ne ought was tyred with his endlesse 

toyle, 
Ne ought was feared of his certaine 

harmes : 
And now, all weetlesse of the wretched 

stormes, 
In which his love was lost, he slept full 

fast; 
Till, being waked with these loud alarmes. 
He lightly started up like one aghast. 
And, catching up his arms, streight to 

the noise forth past. • 



There by th' uncertaiue glims of starry 
night, 



And, by the twinkling of their sacred fire, 
He mote perceive a litle dawning sight 
Of all which there was doing in that quire : 
Mongst whom a woman spoyld of all at- 
tire 
He spyde lamenting herunluckie strife, 
And groning sore from grieved hart entire: 
Eftsoones he saw one with a naked knife 
Readie to launch her brest, and let out 
loved life. 

XLIX. 

With that he thrusts into the thickest 

throng 
And, even as his right hand adowne de- 
scends. 
He him preventing layes on earth along, 
And sacrifizeth to th' infernall feends : 
Then to the rest his wrathfull hand he 

bends ; 
Of whom he makes such havocke and 

such hew. 
That swarmes of damned soules to hell he 

sends : 
The rest, that scape his sword and death 

eschew. 
Fly like a flocke of doves before a Faul- 

cons vew. 

L. 

From them returning to that Ladie 

backe, 
Whom by the Altar he doth sitting find 
Yet fearing death, and next to death the 

lacke 
Of clothes to cover what they ought by 

kind. 
He first her hands beginneth to unbind, 
And then to question of her present woe, 
And afterwards to cheare with speaches 

kind ; 
But she, for nought that he could say or 

doe, 
One word durst speake, or answere him 

awhit thereto. 



So inward shame of her uncomely case 
She did conceive, through care of woman- 
hood. 
That though the night did cover her dis- 
grace, 
Yet she in so unwomanly a mood 
Would not bewray the state in which she 

stood. 
So all that night to him unknowen she 

past; 
But day, that doth discover bad and good, 
Ensewing, made her knowen to him at 

last : 
The end whereof He keepe imtill another 
cast. 



502 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book VI. 



CANTO IX. 

Calidore hostes with Meliboe, 
And loves fayre Pastorell : 

Coridon envies him, yet he 
For ill rewards him well. 



Now turne againe my teme, thou jolly 
swayne, 
Backe to the furrow which I lately left. 
I lately left a furrow, one or twayne, 
Uuplough'd, the which my coulter hath 

uot cleft; 
Yet seem'd the soyle both fayre and frute- 

f ull eft, 
As I it past : that were too great a shame, 
That so rich frute should be from us be- 
reft; 
Besides the great dishonour and defame, 
Which should befall to Calidores immor- 
tall name. 

II. 

Great travell hath the gentle Calidore 
And toyle endured, sith I left him last 
Sewing the Blatant Beast ; which I forbore 
To finish then, for other present hast. 
Full many pathes and perils he hath past, 
Through hils, through dales, through for- 
ests, and through plaines, 
In that same quest which fortune on him 

cast. 
Which he atchieved to his owne great 

gaines. 
Reaping eternall glorie of his restlesse 
paines. 

ni. 

So sharply he the Monster did pursew. 
That day nor night he suffred him to 

rest, 
Ne rested he himselfe, but natures dew, 
For dread of daunger not to be redrest. 
If he for slouth forslackt so famous quest. 
Him first from court he to the citties 

coursed, 
And from the citties to the townes him 

prest. 
And from the townes into the countrie 

forsed. 
And from the country back to private 

farmes he scorsed. 



From thence into the open fields he fled, 
Whereas the Heardes were keeping of 

their neat. 
And shepherds singing to their flockes 
(that fed) 



Layes of sweete love and youthes delight- 
full heat: 

Him thether eke, for all his fearefuU 
threat. 

He followed fast, and chaced him so nie. 

That to the folds, where sheepe at night 
doe seat. 

And to the little cots, where shepherds 
lie 

In winters wrathfull time, he forced him 
to flie. 



There on a day, as he pursew'd the 
chace. 

He chaunst to spy a sort of shepheard 
groome% 

Playing on pipes and (jjiroling apace, 

The wliyles their beasts there in the bud- 
ded broomes 

Beside them fed, and nipt the tender 
bloomes ; 

For other worldly wealth they cared 
nought. 

To whom Sir Calidore yet sweating comes, 

And them to tell him courteously be- 
sought. 

If such a beast they saw, which he had 
thether brought. 



They answer'd him that no such beast 

they saw. 
Nor any wicked f eend that mote offend 
Their happie flockes, nor daunger to them 

draw ; 
But if that such there were (as none they 

kend) 
They prayd high God them farre from 

them to send. 
Then one of them, him seeing so to 

sweat, 
After his rusticke wise, that well he 

weend, 
Offred him drinke to quench his thirstie 

heat. 
And, if he hungry were, him offred eke to 

eat« 

VII. 

The knight was nothing nice, where was 
no need. 
And tooke their gentle offer : so adowne 



CANTO IX.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



503 



They prayd him sit, aud gave him for to 

feed 
Such homely what as serves the simple 

clowne, 
That doth despise the daiuties of the 

towne. 
Tho, having fed his fill, he there besyde 
Saw a faire damzell, which did weare a 

crowne 
Of sundry flowres with silken ribbands 

tyde, 
Yclad in home-made greene that her own 

hands had dyde. 



Upon a litle hillocke she was placed 
Higher then all the rest, aud rouud about 
Euvirou'd with a girlaud, goodly graced, 
Of lovely lasses ; and them all without 
The lustie shepheard swaynes sate in a 

rout. 
The which did pype and sing her prayses 

dew, 
Aud oft rejoyce, and oft for wonder shout, 
As if some miracle of heavenly hew 
"Were downe to them descended in that 

earthly vew. 

IX. 

And soothly sure she was full fayre of 

face, 
And perfectly well shapt in every lim, 
"Which she did more augment with modest 

grace 
And comely carriage of her count'nance 

trim. 
That all the rest like lesser lamps did dim : 
Who, her admiring as some heavenly 

wight, 
Did for their soveraine goddesse her 

esteeme. 
And, caroling her name both day and 

night, 
The fayrest Pastorella her by name did 

hight. 

X. 

Ne was there heard, ne was there shep- 

heards swayne. 
But her did honour; and eke many a 

one 
Burnt in her love, and with sweet pleasing 

payne 
Full many a night for her did sigh and 

grone : 
But most of all the shepheard Coridon 
For her did languish, and his deare life 

spend ; 
Yet neither she for him nor other none 
Did care a whit, ne any liking lend : 
Though meane her lot, yet higher did her 

mind ascend. 



Her whyles Sir Calidore there vewed 

well, 
And markt her rare demeauure, which 

him seemed 
So farre the meane of shepheards to excell, 
As that he in his mind her worthy deemed 
To be a Princes Paragon e esteemed, 
He was un wares surprisd in subtile bands 
Of the blyud boy; ne thence could be 

redeemed 
By any skill out of his cruell hands ; 
Caught like the bird which gazing still on 

others stands. 



So stood he still long gazing thereupon, 
Ne any will had thence to move away. 
Although his quest were farre afore him 

gou : 
But after he had fed, yet did he stay 
And sate there still, untill the flying day 
Was farre forth spent, discoursiugdiversly 
Of sundry things as fell, to worke delay ; 
And evermore his speach he did apply 
To th' beards, but meant them to the dam- 
zels fantazy. 



By this the moj stie night approching 

fast 
Her deawy humour gan on th' earth to 

shed. 
That warn 'd the shepheards to their homes 

to hast 
Their tender flocks, now being fully 

fed. 
For feare of wettiug them before their 

bed. 
Then came to them a good old aged syre, 
Whose silver lockes bedeckt his beard and 

hed. 
With .shepheards hooke in hand, and fit 

at tyre. 
That wild the damzell rise; the day did 

now expyre. 



He was, to weet, by common voice es- 
teemed 
The father of the fayrest Pastorell, 
And of her selfe in very deede so deemed ; 
Yet was not so; but, as old stories tell, 
Found her by fortune, which to him befell, 
In th' open fields an Infant left alone ; 
Aud, taking up, brought home and noursed 

well 
As his owne chyld ; for other he had none ; 
That she in tract of time accompted was 
his owne. 



504 



THE FAERIE QUEEN E, 



[book VI. 



XV. 

She at his bidding meekely did arise, 
And streight unto her litle flocke did fare : 
Then all the rest about her rose likewise, 
And each his sundrie sheepe with several! 

care 
Gathered together, and them homeward 

bare: 
Whylest everie one with helping hands did 

strive, 
Amongst themselves, and did their labours 

share. 
To helpe faire Pastorella home to drive 
Her fleecie flocke ; but Coridon most helpe 

did give. 

XVI. 

But Melibcee (so higlit that good old 

man) 
Now seeing Calidore left all alone. 
And night arrived hard at hand, began 
Him to invite unto his simple home ; 
Which though it were a cottage clad with 

lome, 
And all things therein meane, yet better 

so 
To lodge then in the salvage fields to rome. 
The knight full gladly soone agreed 

thereto, 
(Being his harts owne wish,) and home 

with him did go. 

XVII. 

There he was welcom'd of that honest 
syre 
And of his aged Beldame homely well; 
Who him besought himselfe to disattyre, 
And rest himselfe till supper time be- 
fell; 
By which home came the fayrest Pastorell, 
After her flocke she in their fold had 

tyde: 
And supper readie dight they to it fell 
With small adoe, and nature satisfyde, 
The which doth litle crave contented to 
abyde. 

XVIII. 

The when they had their hunger slaked 

well, 
And the fayre mayd the table ta'neaway. 
The gentle knight, as he that did excell 
In courtesie and well could doe and say, 
For so great kindnesse as he found that 

day 
Gan greatly thanke his host and his good 

wife ; 
And drawing thence his speach another 

way, 
Gan highly to commend the happie life 
Which Shepheardslead, without debate or 

bitter strife. 



' How much ' (sayd he) * more happie is 
the state 
In which ye, father, here doe dwell at ease, 
Leading a life so free and fortunate 
From all the tempests of these worldly 

seas. 
Which tosse the rest in daungerous dis- 
ease ; 
Where warres, and wreckes, and wicked 

enmitie 
Doe them afllict, which no man can ap- 
pease ; 
That certes I your happinesse envie. 
And wish my lot were plast in such feli- 
citie.' 

XX. 

'Surely, my sonne,' (then answer'd he 
agaiue) 
' If happie, then it is in this intent. 
That having small yet doe I not complaine 
Of want, ne wish for more it to augment. 
But doe my self e with that I have content ; 
So taught of nature, which doth litle need 
Of forreine helpes to lifes due nourish- 
ment: 
The fields my food, my flocke my ray- 

ment breed ; 
No better doe I weare, no better doe I feed. 



' Therefore I doe not any one envy, 
Nor am envyde of any one therefore : 
They, that have much, feare much to 

loose thereby, 
And store of cares doth follow riches store. 
The litle that I have growes dayly more 
Without my care, but onely to attend 

it; 
My lambes doe every yeare increase their 

score. 
And my flockes father daily doth amend it. 
What have I, but to praise th' Almighty 

that doth send it ! 



' To them that list the worlds gay showes 
I leave. 

And to great ones such follies doe for- 
give; 

Which oft through pride do their owne 
perill weave, 

And through ambition downe themselves 
doe drive 

To sad decay, that might contented live. 

Me no such cares nor combrous thoughts 
cifend, 

Ne once my minds unmoved quiet grieve; 

But all the night in silver sleepe I spend. 

And all the day to what I list I doe attend. 



CANTO IX.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



505 



* Sometimes I hunt the Fox, the vowed 

foe 
Unto ray Lambes, and him dislodge away ; 
Sometime the fawne I practise from the 

Doe, 
Or from the Goat her kidde, how to con- 

vay: 
Another wliile I haytes and nets display 
The birds to catch, or fishes to beguyle ; 
And when I wearie am, I downe doe lay 
My limbes in every shade to rest from 

toyle, 
And drinke of every brooke when thirst 

my throte doth boyle. 



* The time was once, in my first prime 

of yeares, 
When pride of youth forth pricked my 

desire, 
That I disdain'd amongst mine equall 

peares 
To follow sheepe and shepheards base 

attire : 
For further fortune then I would inquire ; 
And , leaving home, to roiall court I sought, 
Where I did sell my selfe for yearely 

hire, 
And in the Princes gardin daily wrought : 
There I beheld such vainenesse as I 

never thought. 



* With sight whereof soone cloyd, and 

long deluded 
With idle hopes which them doe enter- 

taine, 
After I had ten yeares my selfe excluded 
From native home, and spent my youth 

in vaine, 
I gan my follies to my selfe to plaine. 
And this sweet peace, whose lacke did 

then appeare : 
Tho, backe returning to my sheepe againe, 
I from thenceforth have learn'd to love 

more deare 
This lowly quiet life which I inherite here.' 

XXVI. 

Whylest thus he talkt, the knight with 

greedy eare 
Hong still upon his melting mouth attent ; 
Whose sensefull words empierst his hart 

so neare, 
That he was rapt with double ravishment. 
Both of his speach, that wrought him 

great content. 
And also of the object of his vew. 
On whichiiis hungry eye was alwayes bent ; 



That twixt his pleasing tongue, and her 

faire hew, 
He lost himselfe, and like one halfe en- 

traunced grew. 



Yet to occasion meanes to worke his 

mind, 
And to insinuate his harts desire. 
He thus replyde : ' Now surely, syre, I 

find, 
That all this worlds gay showes, which 

we admire, 
Be but vaine shadowes to this safe retyre 
Of life, which here in lowlinesse ye lead, 
Fearelesse of foes, or fortunes wrackfull 

yre 
Which tosseth states, and under foot 

doth tread 
The mightie ones, affrayd of every 

chaunges dread. 



' That even I, which daily doe behold 
The glorie of the great mongst whom I 

won. 
And now have prov'd what happinesse ye 

hold 
In this small plot of your dominion, 
Now loath great Lordship and ambition ; 
And wish th' heavens so much had graced 

mee. 
As graunt me live in like condition ; 
Or that my fortunes might transposed 

bee 
From pitch of higher place unto this low 

degree.' 

XXIX. 

' In vaine ' (said then old Meliboe) ' doe 

men 
The heavens of their fortunes fault 

accuse, 
Sith they know best what is the best for 

them; 
For they to each such fortune doe diffuse, 
As they doe know each can most aptly 

use: 
For not that which men covet most is 

best, 
Nor that thing worst which men do most 

refuse ; 
But fittest is, that all contented rest 
With that they hold : each hath his for- 
tune in his brest. 



' It is the mynd that maketh good or 
ill. 
That maketh wretch or happie, rich or 
poore ; 



5o6 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book VI. 



For some, that hath abundance at his 

will, 
Hath not enough, but wants in greatest 

store, 
And other, that hath litle, askes no 

more, 
But in that litle is both rich and wise ; 
For wisedome is most riches : fooles 

therefore 
They are which fortunes doe by vowes 

devize, 
Sith each unto himselfe his life may 

fortunize.' 

XXXI. 

' Since then in each mans self ' (said 

Calidore) 
' It is to fashion his owne lyfes estate. 
Give leave awhyle, good father, in this 

shore 
To rest my barcke, which hath bene 

beaten late 
With stormes of fortune and tempestuous 

fate 
In seas of troubles and of toylesome 

paine ; 
That, whether quite from them for to re- 

trate 
I shall resolve, or backe to turne againe, 
I may here with your selfe some small 

repose obtaine. 

XXXII. 

' Not that the burden of so bold a guest 
Shall chargefull be, or chaunge to you at 

all; 
For your meane food shall be my daily 

feast, 
And this your cabin both my bowre and 

hall: 
Besides, for recompence hereof I shall 
You well reward, and golden guerdon 

give, 
That may perhaps you better much with- 

all. 
And in this quiet make you safer live.' 
So forth he drew much gold, and toward 

him it drive. 

XXXIII. 

But the good man, nought tempted with 

the offer 
Of his rich mould, did thrust it farre 

away, 
And thus bespake : * Sir knight, your 

bounteous proffer 
Be farre fro me, to whom ye ill display 
That mucky masse, the cause of mens 

decay, 
That mote empaire my peace with daun- 

gers dread ; 



But, if ye algates covet to assay 

This ^simple sort of life that shepheards 

lead, 
Be it your owne : our rudenesse to your 

selfe aread.' 



So there that night Sir Calidore did 

dwell. 
And long while after, whilest him list 

remaine, 
Dayly beholding the faire Pastorell, 
And feeding on the bayt of his owne 

bane: 
During which time he did her entertaine 
With all kind courtesies he could invent; 
And every day, her companie to gaine. 
When to the field she went he with her 

went : 
So for to quench his fire he did it more 

augment. 

XXXV. 

But she that never had acquainted 
beene 
With such queint usage, fit for Queenes 

and Kings, 
Ne ever had such knightly service scene, 
But, being bred under base shepheards 

wings. 
Had ever learn'd to love the lowly things, 
Did litle whit regard his courteous guize, 
But cared more for Colins carolings 
Then all that he could doe, or ever de- 
vize : 
His layes, his loves, his lookes, she did 
them all despize. 

XXXVI. 

Which Calidore perceiving, thought it 

best 
To chaunge the manner of his loftie 

looke ; 
And doffing his bright armes himselfe 

addrest 
In shepheards weed ; and in his hand he 

tooke. 
Instead of steele-head speare, a shep- 
heards hooke ; 
That who had scene him then, would 

have bethought 
On Phrygian Paris by Plexippus brooke. 
When he the love of fayre Oenone sought. 
What time the golden apple was unto him 

brought. 

XXXVII. 

So being clad unto the fields he went 
With the faire Pastorella every day. 
And kept her sheepe with diligent attent, 
Watching to drive the ravenous Wolfe 
away, 



CANTO IX.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



507 



The whylest at pleasure she mote sport 

aud play ; 
And every evening helping them to fold : 
And otherwhiles, lor need, he did assay 
In his strong hand their rugged teats to 

hold, 
And out of them to presse the milke : 

love so much could. 



Which seeing Coridon, who her like- 
wise 
Long time had lov'd, and hop'd her love 

to gaiue. 
He much was trouhled at that straungers 

guize, 
And many gealous thoughts conceiv'd in 

vaine, 
That this of all his labour aud long paine 
Should reap the harvest ere it ripened 

were : 
That made him scoule, and pout, and oft 

complaine 
Of Pastorell to all the shepherds there, 
That she did love a stranger swayne then 

him more dere. 



And ever, when he came in companie 
Where Calidore was present, he would 

loure 
And byte his lip, and even for gealousie 
Was readie oft his owne heart to devoure, 
Impatient of any paramoure : 
Who, on the other side, did seeme so 

farre 
From malicing, or grudging his good 

houre, 
That all he could he graced him with her, 
Ne ever shewed signe of rancour or of 

Jarre. 

XL. 

And oft, when Coridon unto her brought 
Or litle sparrowes stolen from their nest, 
Or wanton squirrels in the woods farre 

sought, 
Or other daintie thing for her addrest, 
He would commend his guift, and make 

the best; 
Yet she no whit his presents did regard, 
Ne him could find to faucie in her brest : 
This new-come shepheard had his market 

mard. 
Old love is litle worth when new is more 

prefard. 

XLI. 

One day, when as the shepheard swaynes 
together 
Were met to make their sports and merrie 
. glee, 



As they are wont in faire sunshynie 

weather. 
The whiles their fllockes in shadowes 

shrouded bee. 
They fell to daunce: then did they all 

agree 
That Colin Clout should pipe, as one most 

fit; 
And Calidore should lead the ring, as 

hee 
That most in Pastorellaes grace did sit : 
Thereat frown'd Coridon, and his lip 

closely bit. 

XLII. 

But Calidore, of courteous inclination, 
Tooke Coridon and set him in his place. 
That he should lead the daunce, as was 

his fashion ; 
For Coridon could daunce, and trimly 

trace : 
And when as Pastorella, him to grace, 
Her flowry garlond tooke from her owne 

head, 
And plast on his, he did it soone displace, 
And did it put on Coridons instead : 
Then Coridon woxe frollicke, that earst 

seemed dead. 



Another time, when as they did dispose 
To practise games and maisteries to 

try. 
They for their Judge did Pastorella chose; 
A garland was the meed of victory: 
There Coridon forth stepping openly 
Did chalenge Calidore to wrestling game ; 
For he, through long and perfect industry, 
Therein well practisd was, and in the 

. same 
Thought sure t' avenge his grudge, and 

worke his foe great shame. 



But Calidore he greatly did mistake, 
For he was strong and mightily stiffs 

pight, . 

That with one fall his necke he almost 

brake ; 
And had he not upon him fallen light, 
His dearest joyut he sure had broken 

quight. 
Then was the oaken crowne by Pastorell 
Given to Calidore as his due right ; 
But he, that did in courtesie excell, 
Gave it to Coridon, aud said he wonue it 

well. 

XLV. 

Thus did the gentle knight himselfe 
abeare 



5o8 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book VI. 



Amongst that rusticke rout in all his 

deeds, 
That even they, the which his rivals were, 
Could not maligna him, but commend him 

needs; 
For courtesie amongst the rudest breeds 
Good will and favour. So it surely 

wrought 
With this faire Mayd, and in her mynde 

the seeds 
Of perfect love did sow, that last forth 

brought 
The fruite of joy and blisse, though long 

time dearely bought. 



Thus Calidore contiuu'd there long time 
To winne the love of the faire Pastorell, 
Which having got, he used without crime 
Or blamefull plot; but menaged so well, 
That he, of all the rest which there did 

dwell. 
Was favoured and to her grace com- 
mended. 
But what straunge fortunes unto him be- 
fell, 
Ere he attain 'd the point by him intended, 
Shall more conveniently in other place be 
ended. 



CANTO X. 

Calidore sees the Graces daunce 

To Oolins melody ; 
The whiles his Pastorell is led 

Into captivity. 



I. 



Who now does follow the foule Blatant 

Beast, 
Whilest Calidore does follow that faire 

Mayd, 
Unmyndfull of his vow, and high beheast 
Which by the Faery Queene was on him 

layd. 
That he should never leave, nor be delayd 
From chacing him, till he had it at- 

tchieved ? 
But now, entrapt of love, which him be- 

trayd. 
He mindeth more how he may be relieved 
With grace from her, whose love his heart 

hath sore engrieved. 

II. 

That from henceforth he meanes no 

morj to sew 
His former quest, so full of toile and paine : 
Another quest, another game in vew 
He hath, the guerdon of his love to gaine ; 
With whom he myndes for ever to re- 

maine. 
And set his rest amongst the rusticke sort, 
Rather then hunt still after shadowes vaine 
Of courtly favour, fed with light report 
Of every blaste, and sayling alwaies in 

the port. 

III. 

Ne certes mote he greatly blamed be 
From so high step to stoupe unto so low ; 
For who had tasted once (as oft did he) 
The happy peace which there doth over- 
flow. 
And prov'd the perfect pleasures which 
doe grow 



Amongst poore hyndes, in hils, in woods, 

in dalfss. 
Would never more delight in painted show 
Of such false blisse, as there is set for 

stales 
T' entrap unwary fooles in their eternall 

bales. 

IV. 

For what hath all that goodly glorious 

gaze 
Like to one sight which Calidore did vew ? 
The glaunce whereof their dimmed eies 

would daze. 
That never more they should endure the 

shew 
Of that sunne-shine that makes them 

looke askew : 
Ne ought, in all that world of beauties 

rare, 
(Save onely Glorianaes heavenly hew, 
To which what can compare ?) can it com- 
pare; 
The which, as commeth now by course, I 

will declare. 

V. 

One day, as he did raunge the fields 
abroad, 

Whilest his faire Pastorella was else- 
where. 

He chaunst to come, far from all peoples 
troad, 

Unto a place whose pleasaunce did appere 

To passe all others on the earth which 
were : 

For all that ever was by natures skill 

Devized to worke delight was gathered 
there. 

And there by her were poured forth at fill, 



CANTO X.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



509 



As if, this to adorne, she all the rest did 
pill. 

VI. 

It was an hill plaste in an open plaine, 
That round about was bordered with a 

wood 
Of matchlesse hight, that seem'd th' earth 

to disdaine ; 
In which all trees of honour stately stood, 
And did all winter as in sommer bud, 
Spredding pavilions for the birds to bowre, 
Which in their lower braunches sung 

aloud ; 
And in their tops the soring hauke did 

towre, 
Sitting like King of fowles in majesty and 

powre : 

VII. 

And at the foote thereof a gentle flud 
His silver waves did softly tumble downe, 
Unmard with ragged mosse or lilthy 

mud; 
Ne mote wylde beastes, ne mote the ruder 

clowne, 
Thereto approch; ne filth mote therein 

drowne : 
But Nymphes and Faeries by the bancks 

did sit 
In the woods shade which did the waters 

crowne. 
Keeping all noysome things away from it, 
And to the waters fall tuning their ac- 
cents fit. 

VIII. 

And on the top thereof a spacious plaine 
Did spred it selfe, to serve to all delight, 
Either to daunce, when they to daunce 

would faiue, 
Or else to course about their bases light ; 
Ne ought there wanted which for pleasure 

might 
Desired be, or thence to banish bale. 
So pleasauntly the hill with equall hight 
Did seeme to overlooke the lowly vale ; 
Therefore it rightly cleeped was mount 

Acidale. 



They say that Venus, when she did dis- 
pose 
Her selfe to pleasaunce, used to resort 
Unto this place, and therein to repose 
And rest her selfe as in a gladsome port, 
Or with the Graces there to play and 

'sport; 
That even her owne Cytheron, though in it 
She used most to keepe her royall court, 
And in her soveraine Majesty to sit. 
She in regard hereof refusde and thought 
unfit. 



Unto this place when as the Elfin Knight 
Approcht, him seemed that the merry 

sound 
Of a shrill pipe he playing heard on hight, 
And many feete fast thumping th' hollow 

ground. 
That through the woods their Eccho did 

rebound. 
He nigher drew to weete what mote it be : 
There he a troupe of Ladies dauncing 

found 
Full merrily, and making gladf ull glee. 
And in the midst a Shepheard piping he 

did see. 

XI. 

He durst not enter into th' open greene, 
For dread of them un wares to be descryde. 
For breaking of their daunce, if he were 

scene; 
But in the covert of the wood did byde, 
Beholding all, yet of them unespyde. 
There he did see that pleased much his 

sight, 
That even he him selfe his eyes envyde, 
An hundred naked maidens lilly white 
All raunged in a ring and dauncing in de- 
light. 

XII. 

All they without were raunged in a ring, 
And daunced round ; but in the midst of 

them 
Three other Ladies did both daunce and 

sing, 
The whilest the rest them round about did 

hemme, 
And like a girlond did in compasse 

stemme : 
And in the middest of those same three 

was placed 
Another Damzell, as a precious gemme 
Amidst a ring most richly well enchaced. 
That with her goodly presence all the rest 

much graced. 

XIII. 

Looke ! how the crowne, which Ariadne 
wore 
Upon her yvory forehead, that same day 
That Theseus her unto his bridale bore. 
When the bold Centaures made that 

bloudy fray 
With the fierce Lapithes which did them 

dismay. 
Being now placed in the firmament. 
Through the bright heaven doth her beams 

display. 
And is unto the starres an ornament. 
Which round about her move in order ex- 
cellent. 



5^0 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book VI. 



Such was the beauty of this goodly 

band, 
Whose sundry parts were here too long to 

tell; 
But she that in the midst of them did 

stand 
Seem'd all the rest in beauty to excell, 
Crownd with a rosiegirlond that right well 
Did her beseeme : And ever, as the crew 
About her daunst, sweet flowres that far 

did smell 
And fragrant odours they uppon her 

threw ; 
But most of all those three did her with 

gifts endew. 



Those were the Graces, daughters of 

delight, 
Handmaides of Venus, which are wont to 

haunt 
Uppon this hill, and daunce there day and 

night: 
Those three to men all gifts of grace do 

graunt ; 
And all that Venus in her selfe doth vaunt 
Is borrowed of them. But that faire one, 
That in the midst was placed paravaunt. 
Was she to whom that shepheard pypt 

alone ; 
That made him pipe so merrily, as never 

none. 

XVI. 

She was, to weete, that jolly Shep- 

heards lasse, 
Which piped there unto that merry rout ; 
That jolly shepheard, which there piped, 

was 
Poore Colin Clout, (who knowes not Colin 

Clout?) 
He pypt apace, whilest they him daunst 

about. 
Pype, jolly shepheard, pype thou now 

apace 
Unto thy love that made thee low to lout : 
Thy love is present there with thee in 

place ; 
Thy love is there advauust to be another 

Grace. 

XVII. 

Much wondred Calidore at this straunge 

sight, 
Whose like before his eye had never 

scene ; 
And standing long astonished in spright, 
And rapt with pleasaunce, wist not what 

to weene ; 
Whether it were the traine of beauties 

Queene, 



Or Nymphes, or Faeries, or enchaunted 

show, 
With which his eyes mote have deluded 

beeue. 
Therefore,' resolving what it was to know, 
Out of the wood he rose, and toward them 

did go. 

XVIII. 

But, soone as he appeared to their vew. 
They vanisht all away out of his sight, 
And cleaue were gone, which way he 

never knew ; 
All save the shepheard, who, for fell de- 

spight 
Of that displeasure, broke his bag-pipe 

quight. 
And made great mone for that unhappy 

turne : 
But Calidore, though no lesse sory wight 
For that mishap, yet seeing him to mourne. 
Drew neare, that he the truth of all by 

him mote learne. 



And, first him greeting, thus unto him 

spake : 
' Haile, jolly shepheard, which thy joyous 

dayes 
Here leadest in this goodly merry-make. 
Frequented of these gentle Nymphes al- 

wayes, 
Which to thee flocke to heare thy lovely 

layes ! 
Tell me, what mote these dainty Damzels 

be, 
Which here with thee doe make their 

pleasant playes? 
Right happy thou that mayst them freely 

see! 
But why, when I them saw, fled they 

away from me ? ' 



' Not I so happy,' answerd then that 

swaine, 
' As thou unhappy, which them thence 

didst chace, 
Whom by no meanes thou canst recall 

againe ; 
For, being gone, none can them bring in 

place, 
But whom they of them selves list so to 

grace.' 
'Right sory I,' (saide then Sir Calidore) 
' That my ill fortune did them hence dis- 
place ; 
But since things passed none may now 

restore. 
Tell me what were they all, whose lacke 

thee grieves so sore? ' 



CANTO X.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



511 



Tho gan that shepheard thus for to 

dilate : 
' Then wote, thou shepheard, whatsoever 

thou hee, 
That all those Ladies, which thou sawest 

'late, 
Are Venus Damzels, all within her fee, 
But differing in honour and degree : 
They all are Graces which on her depend, 
Besides a thousand more which ready bee 
Her to adorue, when so she forth doth 

wend; 
But those three in the midst doe chiefe on 

her attend. 

XXII. 

* They are the daughters of sky-ruling 

Jove, 
By him begot of faire Eurynome, 
The Oceans daughter, in this pleasant 

grove, 
As he, this way comming from feastfull 

glee 
Of Thetis wedding with ^acidee, 
In sommers shade him selfe here rested 

weary : 
The first of Uiem bight mylde Euphrosyne, 
Next faire Agiaia, last Thalia merry ; 
Sweete Goddesses all three, which me in 

mirth do cherry ! 

XXIII. 

* These three on men all gracious gifts 

bestow, 
Which decke the body or adorne the 

mynde. 
To make them lovely or well-favoured 

show ; 
As comely carriage, entertainement 

'kyi\de, 
Sweete semblaunt, friendly ofl&ces that 

bynde, 
And all the complements of curtesie : 
They teach us how to each degree and 

kynde 
We should our selves demeane, to low, to 

hie, 
To friends, to foes ; which skill men call 

Civility. 

XXIV. 

* Therefore they alwaies smoothly seeme 

to smile, 
That we likewise should mylde and gentle 

be; 
And also naked are, that without guile 
Or false dissemblaunce all them plaine 

may see. 
Simple and true, from covert malice free; 
And eke them selves so in their daunce 

they bore, 



That two of them still froward seem'd to 

bee, 
But one still towards shew'd her selfe 

afore ; 
That good should from usgoe, then come, 

in greater store. 

XXV. 

* Such were those Goddesses which ye 
did see ; 
But that fourth Mayd, which there amidst 

them traced, 
^Vho can aread what creature mote she bee, 
Whether a creature, or a goddesse graced 
With heavenly gifts from heven first en- 
raced ? 
But what so sure she was, she worthy was 
To be the fourth with those three other 

placed : 
Yet was she certes but a countrey lasse ; 
Yet she all other countrey lasses farre 
did passe: 

XXVI. 

' So farre, as doth the daughter of the 

day 
All other lesser lights in light excell ; 
So farre doth she in beautyf nil array 
Above all other lasses beare the bell; 
Ne lesse in a- ertue that beseemes her well 
Doth she exceede the rest of all her race ; 
For which the Graces, that here wont to 

dwell. 
Have for more honor brought her to this 

place, 
And graced her so much to be another 

Grace. 

XXVII. 

' Another Grace she well deserves to be, 
In whom so many Graces gathered are, 
Excelling much the meane of her degree: 
Divine resemblaunce, beauty soveraine 

rare, 
Firme Chastity, that spight ne blemish 

dare: 
All which she with such courtesie doth 

grace, 
That all her peres cannot with her com- 
pare, 
But quite are dimmed when she is in 

place : 
She made me often pipe, and now to pipe 
apace. 

XXVIII. 

' Sunne of the world, great glory of the 

sky, 
That all the earth doest lighten with thy 

rayes, 
Great Gloriana, greatest Majesty! 
Pardon thy shepheard, mongst so many 

layes 



512 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book VI. 



As he hath sung of thee in all his dayes, 
To make one niinime of thy poore hand- 

mayd, 
And underneath thy feete to place her 

prayse ; 
That when thy glory shall be farre dis- 

playd 
To future age, of her this mention may be 

made ! ' 

xxrx. 

When thus that shepheard ended had 

his speach, 
Sayd Calidore : ' Now sure it yrketh mee, 
That to thy blisse I made this luckelesse 

breach, 
As now the author of thy bale to be, 
Thus to bereave thy loves deare sight 

from thee : 
But, gentle Shepheard, pardon thou my 

shame, 
AVho rashly sought that which I mote not 

see.' 
Thus did the courteous Knight excuse his 

blame. 
And to recomfort him all comely meanes 

did frame. 



In such discourses they together spent 
Long time, as fit occasion forth them led ; 
With which the Knight him selfe did 

much content, 
And with delight his greedy fancy fed 
Both of his words, which he with reason 

red. 
And also of the place, whose pleasures 

rare 
With such regard his sences ravished. 
That thence he had no will away to fare, 
But wisht that with that shepheard he 

mote dwelling share. 



But that envenimd sting, the which of 

yore 
His poysnous point deepe fixed in his hart 
Had left, now gan afresh to rancle sore, 
And to renue the rigour of his smart ; 
Which to recure no skill of Leaches art 
Mote him availe, but to returne againe 
To his wounds worker, that with lovely 

dart 
Dinting his brest had bred his restlesse 

paine ; 
Like as the wounded Whale to shore flies 

from the maine. 



So, taking leave of that same gentle 
Swaine, 



He backe returned to his rusticke wonne. 
Where his f aire Pastorella did remaine : 
To whome, in sort as he at first begonne, 
He daily did apply him selfe to donne 
All dewfuU service, voide of thoughts 

impure ; 
Ne any paines ne perill did he shonne, 
By which he might her to his love allure. 
And liking in her yet untamed heart pro- 
cure. 

XXXIII. 

And evermore the shepheard Coridon, 
What ever thing he did her to aggrate. 
Did strive to match with strong conten- 
tion. 
And all his paines did closely emulate ; 
Whether it were to caroll, as they sate 
Keeping their sheepe, or games to exer- 
cize, 
Or to present her with their labours late ; 
Through which if any grace chaunst to 

arize 
To him, the Shepheard streight with jeal- 
ousie did frize. 



One day, as they all three together 
went 
To the greene wood to gather strawberies, 
There chaunst to them a dangerous acci- 
dent: 
A tigre forth out of the wood did rise. 
That with fell clawes full of fierce gour- 

mandize, 
And greedy mouth wide gaping like hell- 
gate. 
Did runne at Pastorell her to surprize ; 
Whom she beholding, now all desolate, 
Gan cry to them aloud to helpe her all 
too late. 

xxxv. 

Which Coridon first hearing ran in hast 
To reskue her ; but, when he saw the feend. 
Through cowherd feare hie fled away as 

fast, 
Ne durst abide the daunger of the end ; 
His life he steemed dearer then his f rend : 
But Calidore soone comming to her ayde, 
When he the beast saw ready now to 

rend 
His loves deare spoile, in which his heart 

was prayde, 
He ran at him enraged, instead of being 

frayde. 

XXXVI. 

He had no weapon but his shepheards 
hooke 
To serve the vengeauuce of his wrathfull 



CANTO X.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



513 



With which so sternely he the monster 
strooke, 

That to the ground astonished he fell; 

Whence, ere he could recou'r, he did him 
quell, 

And, hewing off his head, he it presented 

Before the feete of the faire Pastorell ; 

Who, scarceley yet from former feare ex- 
empted, 

A thousand times him thankt that had her 
death prevented. 

XXXVII. 

From that day forth she gan him to 
affect. 
And daily more her favour to augment ; 
But Coridon for cowherdize reject. 
Fit to keepe sheepe, unfit for loves con- 
tent: 
The gentle heart scornes base disparage- 
ment. 
Yet Calidore did not despise him quight. 
But usde him friendly for further in- 
tent, 
That by his fellowship he colour might 
Both his estate and love from skill of any 
wight. 

XXXVIII. 

So well he wood her, and so well he 
wrought her, 
With humble service, and with daily 

sute. 
That at the last unto his will he brought 

her; 
Which he so wisely well did prosecute. 
That of his love he reapt the timely 

frute, 
And joyed long in close felicity. 
Till fortune, fraught with malice, blinde 

and brute. 
That envies lovers long prosperity, 
Blew up a bitter storme of foule adver- 
sity. 

XXXIX. 

It fortuned one day, when Calidore 
Was hunting in the woods, (as was his 

trade) 
A lawlesse people, Brigants hight of yore, 
That never usde to live by plough nor 

spade, 
But fed on spoile and booty, which they 

made 
Upon their neighbours which did nigh 

them border. 
The dwelling of these shepheards did in- 
vade. 
And spoyld their houses, and them selves 

did murder, 
And drove away their flocks ; with other 

much disorder. 



Amongst the rest, the which they then 
did pray. 
They spoyld old Melibee of all he had, 
And all his people captive led away ; 
Mongst which this lucklesse mayd away 

was lad, 
Faire Pastorella, sorrowfull and sad, 
Most sorrowfull, most sad, that ever sight, 
Now made the spoile of theeves and Bri- 
gants bad, 
Which was the conquest of the gentlest 

Knight 
That ever liv'd, and th' onely glory of his 
might. 

XLI. 

With them also was taken Coridon, 
And carried captive by those theeves 

away; 
Who in the covert of the night, that 

none 
Mote them descry, nor reskue from their 

pray. 
Unto their dwelling did them close con- 

vay. 
Their dwelling in a little Island was, 
Covered with shrubby woods, in which no 

way 
Appeard for people in nor out to pas. 
Nor any footing fynde for overgrowen 

gras: 

XLTI. 

For underneath the ground their way 

was made 
Through hollow caves, that no man mote 

discover 
For the thicke shrubs, which did them 

alwaies shade 
From view of living wight and covered 

over; 
But darkenesse dred and daily night did 

hover 
Through all the inner parts, wherein they 

dwelt ; 
Ne lightned was with window, nor with 

lover. 
But with continuall candle-light, which 

delt 
A doubtfull sense of things, not so well 

scene as felt. 



Hither those Brigants brought their 
present pray. 

And kept them with continuall watch and 
ward ; 

Meaning, so soone as they convenient 
may, 

For slaves to sell them for no small re- 
ward 



514 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book VI. 



To Merchants, which them kept in bon- 
dage hard, 

Or sold againe. Now when faire Pasto- 
rell 

Into this place was brought and kept with 
gard 

Of griesly theeves, she thought her self in 
hell, 

Where with such damned fiends she 
should in darknesse dwell. 

XLIV. 

But for to tell the dolefull dreri- 
ment 



And pittif ull complaints which there she 
made, 

AVhere day and night she nought did but 
lament 

Her wretched life shut up in deadly shade. 

And waste her goodly beauty, which did 
fade 

Like to a flowre that feeles no heate of 
sunne. 

Which may her feeble leaves with com- 
fort glade — 

And what befell her in that theevish 
wonne, 

Will in another Canto better be begonne. 



CANTO XI. 

The Theeves fall out for Pastorell, 
Whilest Melibee Is slaine : 

Her Calidore from them redeemes, 
And bringeth backe againe. 



The joyes of love, if they should ever 

last 
Without affliction or disquietnesse 
That worldly chaunces doe amongst them 

cast. 
Would be on earth too great a blessed- 

nesse, 
Liker to heaven then mortall wretched- 



Therefore the winged God, to let men 

weet 
That here on earth is no sure happinesse, 
A thousand sowres hath tempred with 

one sweet, 
To make it seeme more deare and dainty, 

as is meet. 

II. 
Like as is now befalne to this faire 

Mayd, 
Faire Pastorell, of whom is now my song : 
Who being now in dreadfuU darknesse 

layd 
Amongst those theeves, which her in 

bondage strong 
Detayud, yet Fortune, not with all this 

wrong 
Contented, greater mischiefe on her threw. 
And sorrowes heapt on her in greater 

throng ; 
That who so heares her heavinesse, would 

rew 
And pitty her sad plight, so chang'd from 

pleasaunt hew. 

III. 

Whylest thus she in these hellish dens 
remayned, 



Wrapped in wretched cares and hearts 

unrest, 
It so befell, (as Fortune had ordayned) 
That he which was their Capitaine profest, 
And had the chiefe commaund of all the 

rest, 
One day, as he did all his prisoners vew, 
With lustfull eyes beheld that lovely 

guest, 
Faire Pastorella, whose sad mournefull 

hew 
Like the faire Morning clad in misty fog 

did shew. 

IV. 

At sight whereof his barbarous heart 

was fired, 
And inly burnt with flames most raging 

whot, 
That her alone he for his part desired 
Of all the other pray which they had got. 
And her in mynde did to him selfe allot. 
From that day forth he kyndnesse to her 

showed, 
And sought her love by all the meanes he 

mote; 
With looks, with words, with gifts he oft 

her wowed. 
And mixed threats among, and much 

unto her vowed. 



But all that ever he could doe or say 
Her constant mynd could not a whit re- 
move. 
Nor draw unto the lure of his lewd lay, 
To graunt him favour or afford him love : 
Yet ceast he not to sew, and all waies 
prove. 



CANTO XI.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



515 



By which he mote accomplish his request, 
Saying and doing all that mote behove ; 
Ne day nor night he suffred her to rest, 
But her all night did watch, and all the 
day molest. 

VI. 

At last, when him she so importune 
saw, 
Fearing least he at length the raines 

would lend 
Unto his lust, and make his will his law, 
Sith in his powre she was to foe or frend, 
She thought it best, for shadow to pre- 
tend 
Some shew of favour, by him gracing 

small. 
That she thereby mote either freely wend. 
Or at more ease continue there his thrall : 
A little well is lent that gaineth more 
withall. 

VII. 

So from thenceforth, when love he to 

her made. 
With better tearmes she did him enter- 

taine. 
Which gave him hope, and did him halfe 

perswade. 
That he in time her joyance should ob- 

taine : 
But when she saw through that small 

favours gaine, 
That further then she willing was he 

prest. 
She found no meanes to barre him, but to 

faine 
A sodaine sickenesse which her sore op- 

prest, 
And made unfit to serve his lawlesse 

mindes behest. 



By meanes whereof she would not him 

permit 
Once to approch to her in privity, 
But onely mongst the rest by her to sit, 
Mourning the rigour of her malady. 
And seeking all things meete for remedy ; 
But she resolv'd no remedy to fynde, 
Nor better cheare to shew in misery, 
Till Fortune would her captive bonds 

unbynde : 
Her sickenesse wasf not of the body, 

but the mynde. 



During which space that she thus sicke 
did lie, 
It chauust a sort of merchants, which 
were wount 



To skim those coastes for bondmen there 

to buy. 
And by such trafficke after gaines to 

hunt. 
Arrived in this Isle, though bare and 

blunt, 
T' inquire for slaves ; where being readie 

met 
By some of these same theeves at the 

instant brunt, 
Were brought unto their Captaine, who 

was set 
By his faire patients side with sorrowfull 

regret. 

X. 

To whom they shewed, how those mar- 
chants were 

Arriv'd in place their bondslaves for to 
buy; 

And therefore prayd that those same 
captives there 

Mote to them for their most commodity 

Be sold, and mongst them shared equally. 

This their request the Captaine much 
appalled. 

Yet could he not their just demaund deny, 

And willed streight the slaves should forth 
be called, 

Aiid sold for most advantage, not to be 
forstalled. 

XI. 

Then forth the good old MelibCB was 

brought. 
And Coridon with many other moe. 
Whom they before in diverse spoyles had 

caught ; 
All which he to the marchants sale did 

showe : 
Till some, which did the sundry prisoners 

knowe, 
Gan to inquire for that faire shepherdesse, 
Which with the rest they tooke not long 

agoe ; 
And gan her forme and feature to ex- 

presse. 
The more t' augment her price through 

praise of comlinesse. 



To whom the Captaine in full angry 

wize 
Made answere, that the mayd of whom 

they spake 
Was his owne purchase and his onely 

prize ; 
With which none had to doe, ne ought 

partake, 
But he himselfe which did that conquest 

make : 
Litle for him to have one silly lasse ; 



5i6 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book VI. 



Besides, through sicknesse now so wan 

and weake, 
That nothing meet in merchandise to 



So shew'd them her, to prove how pale 
and weake she was. 



The sight of whom, though now decayd 

and mard, 
And eke but hardly seene by candle-light, 
Yet, like a Diamond of rich regard. 
In doubtfull shadow of the darkesome 

night 
With starrie beames about her shining 

bright, 
These marchants fixed eyes did so amaze. 
That what through wonder, and what 

through delight, 
A while on her they greedily did gaze, 
And did her greatly like, and did her 

greatly praize. 

XIV. 

At last when all the rest of them offred 

were. 
And prises to them placed at their 

pleasure, 
They all refused in regard of her, 
Ne ought would buy, how ever prisd with 

measure, 
Withouten her, whose worth above all 

threasure 
They did esteeme, and off red store of 

gold. 
But then the Captaine, fraught with more 

displeasure. 
Bad them be still ; his love should not be 

sold; 
The rest take if they would : he her to 



7. 



him would hoi 



Therewith some other of the chiefest 

theeves 
Boldly him bad such injurie forbeare ; 
For that same mayd, how ever it him 

greeves. 
Should with the rest be sold before him 

theare. 
To make the prises of the rest more 

deare. 
That with great rage he stoutly doth 

denay ; 
And, fiercely drawing forth his blade, 

doth sweare 
That who so bardie hand on her doth 

lay, 
It dearely shall aby, and death for hand- 
sell pay. 



Thus, as they words amongst them 

multiply. 
They fall to strokes, the frute of too 

much talke, 
And the mad Steele about doth fiercely 

Not sparing wight, ne leaving any balke, 
But making way for death at large to 

walke ; 
Who, in the horror of the griesly night, 
In thousand dreadful shapes doth mongst 

them stalke. 
And makes huge havocke; whiles the 

candle-light 
Out queuched leaves no skill nor differ- 
ence of wight. 



Like a sort of hungry dogs, ymet 
About some carcase by the common way, 
Doe fall together, stryving each to get 
The greatest portion of the greedie pray, 
All on confused heapes themselves assay. 
And snatch, and byte, and rend, and tug, 

and teare ; 
That who them sees would wonder at their 

fray. 
And who sees not would be affrayd to 

heare : 
Such was the conflict of those cruell 

Brigants there. 



But first of all their captives they doe 

kill, 
Least they should joyne against the 

weaker side. 
Or rise against the remnant at their will : 
Old Meliboe is slaine ; and him beside 
His aged wife, with many others wide ; 
But Coridon, escaping craftily, 
Creepes forth of dores, whilst darkneshim 

doth hide, 
And flyes away as fast as he can bye, 
Ne stayeth leave to take before his friends 

doe dye. 

xrx. 

But Pastorella, wofull wretched Elfe, 

Was by the Captaine all this while de- 
fended, 

Who, minding more Jier safety then him- 
selfe, 

His target alwayes over her pretended ; 

By means whereof, that mote not be 
amended, 

He at the length was slaine and layd on 
ground, 

Yet holding fast twixt both his armes ex- 
tended 



CANTO XI.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



517 



Fayre Pastorell, who, with the selfe same 

wound 
Launcht through the arme, fell down with 

him in drerie s wound. 

XX. 

There lay she covered with confused 

preasse 
Of carcases, which dying on her fell. 
Tho, when as he was dead, the fray gan 

ceasse ; 
And each to other calling did compell 
To stay their cruell hands from slaughter 

fell, 
Sith they that were the cause of all were 

gone: 
Thereto they all attonce agreed well ; 
And, lighting candles new, gan search 

an one. 
How many of their friends were slaine, 

how many fone. 



Their Captaine there they cruelly found 

kild. 
And in his armes the dreary dying mayd, 
Like a sweet Angell twixt two clouds up- 

hild; 
Her lovely light was dimmed and decayd 
With cloud of death upon her eyes dis- 

playd ; 
Yet did the cloud make even that dimmed 

light 
Seeme much more lovely in that dark- 

nesse layd, 
And twixt the twinckling of her eye-lids 

bright 
To sparke out litle heames, like starres in 

foggie night. 

XXII. 

But when they mov'd the carcases 
aside, 
They found that life did yet in her re- 
main e : 
Then all their helpes they busily applyde 
To call the soule backe to her home againe ; 
And wrought so well, with labour and 

long paine, 
That they to life recovered her at last : 
Who, sighing sore, as if her hart in twaine 
Had riven bene and all her hart-strings 

brast, 
With drearie drouping e3me lookt up like 
one aghast. 

XXIII. 

There she beheld, that sore her griev'd 
to see. 
Her father and her friends about her 
lying, 



Her selfe sole left a second spoyle to bee 

Of those, that, having saved her from 
dying, 

Renew'd her death by timely death deny- 
ing. 

What now is left her but to wayle aud 
Aveepe, 

Wringing her hands, and ruefully loud 
crying ? 

Ne cared slie her wound in teares to steepe, 

Albe with all their might those Brigauts 
her did keejDe. 

XXIV. 

But when they saw her now reliv'd 

againe. 
They left her so, in charge of one, the 

best 
Of many worst, who with unkind disdaine 
And cruell rigour her did much molest ; 
Scarse yeelding her due food or timely 

rest, 
And scarsely suff ring her infestred wound, 
That sore her payn'd, by any to be 

drest. 
So leave we her in wretched thraldome 

bound. 
And turne we backe to Calidore where we 

him found. 



Who when he backe returned from the 

wood, 
And saw his shepheards cottage spoyled 

quight. 
And his love reft away, he wexed wood 
And halfe enraged at that ruefull sight ; 
That even his hart, for very fell despight. 
And his owne flesh he readie was to 

teare : 
He chauft, he griev'd, he fretted, and he 

sight. 
And fared like a furious wyld Beare, 
Whose whelpes are stolne away, she being 

otherwhere. 



Ne wight he found to whom he might 

complaine, 
Ne wight he found of whom he might 

inquire. 
That more increast the anguish of his 

paine : 
He sought the woods, but no man could 

see there ; 
He sought the plahies, but could no tyd- 

ings heare : 
The woods did nought but ecchoes vaine 

rebound ; 
The playues all waste and emptie did 

appeare ; 



5i8 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book VI. 



Where woit the shepheards oft' their 

pypes resound, 
And feed an hundred flocks, there now 

not one he found. 

XXVII. 

At last, as there he ronied up and 
downe, 
He chaunst one comming towards him to 

spy, 

That seem'd to he some sorie simple 

clowne, 
With ragged weedes, and lockes upstar- 

ing hye, 
As if he did from some late daunger fly, 
And yet his feare did follow him behynd : 
Who as he unto him approched nye, 
He mote perceive by signes which he did 

fynd, 
That Coridon it was, the silly shepherds 

hynd. 

XXVIII. 

Tho, to him running fast, he did not stay 
To greet him first, but askt where were 

tllB TGSt ^ 

Where Pastorell ? — Who full of fresh 

dismay, 
And gushing forth in teares, was so op- 

prest, 
That he no word could speake, but smit 

his brest. 
And up to heaven his eyes fast-streming 

threw : 
Whereat the knight amaz'd yet did not 

rest, 
But askt againe, what ment that rufull 

hew: 
Where was his Pastorell? where all the 

other crew ? 



' Ah, well-away ! ' (sayd he, then sigh- 
ing sore) 
' That ever I did live this day to see, 
This dismall day, and was not dead be- 

• fore. 
Before I saw faire Pastorella dye.' 
' Die ? out alas ! ' then Calidore did cry, 
' How could the death dare ever her to 

quell ? 
But read thou, shepheard, read what 

destiny 
Or other dyrefull hap from heaven or 

hell 
Hath wrought this wicked deed : doe 
feare away, and tell.' 



Tho, when the Shepheard breathed had 
awhyle, 



He thus began : ' Where shall I then com- 
mence 
This wof ull tale ? or how those Brigants 

vyle, 
With cruell rage and dreadfull violence, 
Spoyld all our cots, and caried us irom 

hence ; 
Or how faire Pastorell should have bene 

sold 
To marchants, but was sav'd with strong 

defence ; 
Or how those theeves, whilest one sought 

her to hold. 
Fell all at ods, and fought through fury 

fierce and bold. 

XXXI. 

' In that same conflict (woe is me!) be- 
fell 
This fatall chaunce, this dolef ull accident, 
Whose heavy tydings now I have to tell. 
First all the captives, which they here 

had hent, 
Were by them slaine by generall consent : 
Old Meliboe and his good wife withall 
These eyes saw die, and dearely did la- 
ment ; 
But, when the lot to Pastorell did fall. 
Their Captaine long withstood, and did 
her death forstall. 

XXXII. 

' But what could he gainst all them doe 

alone ? 
It could not boot : needs mote she die at 

last. 
I onely scapt through great confusione 
Of cryes and clamors which amongst 

them past. 
In dreadfull darknesse dreadfully aghast ; 
That better were with them to have bene 

dead. 
Then here to see all desolate and wast, 
Despoyled of those joyes and jolly-head, 
Which with those gentle shepherds here I 

wont to lead.' 

XXXIII. 

When Calidore these ruefull newes had 
r aught. 

His hart quite deaded was with anguish 
great. 

And all his wits with doole were nigh dis- 
traught, 

That he his face, his head, his brest did 
beat, 

And death it selfe unto himselfe did 
threat ; 

Oft cursing th' heavens, that so cruell 
were 



CANTO XI.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



519 



To her, whose name he often did repeat; 
And wishing oft that he were present 

there 
When she was slaine, or had bene to her 

succour nere. 

XXXIV. 

But after griefe awhile had had his 

course, 
And spent it selfe in mourning, he at last 
Began to mitigate his swelling sourse, 
And in his mind with better reason cast 
How he might save her life, if life did 

' last; 
Or, if that dead, how he her death might 

wreake, 
Sith otherwise he could not mend thing 

past; 
Or if it to revenge he were too weake. 
Then for to die with her, and his lives 

threed to breake. 



Tho Coridon he prayd, sith he well knew 
The readie way unto that theevish wonne, 
To wend with him, and be his conduct 

trew 
Unto the place, to see what should be 

donne; 
But he, whose hart through feare was 

late fordonne, 
Would not for ought be drawne to former 

drede, 
But by all meanes the daunger knowne 

did shonne : 
Yet Calidore so well him wrought with 

meed. 
And faire bespoke with words, that he at 

last agreed. 



So forth they goe together (God before) 
Both clad in shepheards weeds agreeably. 
And both with shepheards hookes: But 

Calidore 
Had, underneath, him armed privily. 
Tho, to the place when they approched 

nye, 
They chaunst, upon an hill not farre 

away. 
Some flockes of sheepe and shepheards to 

espy; 
To whom they both agreed to take their 

way. 
In hope there newes to learne, how they 

mote best assay. 



There did they find, that which they 
did not feare, 



The selfe same flocks the which those 
theeves had reft 

From Meliboe and from themselves whyle- 
are; 

And certaine of the theeves there by them 
left. 

The which, for want of beards, them- 
selves then kept. 

Right well knew Coridon his owne late 



And seeing them for tender pittie wept ; 
But when he saw the theeves which did 

them keepe. 
His hart gan fayle, albe he saw them all 

asleepe. 

XXXVIII. 

But Calidore recomforting his griefe, 
Though not his feare, for nought may 

feare disswade, 
Him hardly forward drew, whereas the 

thiefe 
Lay sleeping soundly in the bushes shade. 
Whom Coridon him counseld to invade 
Now all unwares, and take the spoyle 

away; 
But he, that in his mind had closely made 
A further purpose, would not so them 

slay, 
But gently waking them gave them the 

time of day. 

XXXIX. 

Tho, sitting downe by them upon the 

greene, 
Of sundrie things he purpose gan to faine. 
That he by them might certaine tydings 

weene 
Of Pastorell, were she alive or slaine: 
Mongst which the theeves them ques- 
tioned againe. 
What mister men, and eke from whence 

they were : 
To whom they aunswer'd, as did apper- 

taine, 
That they were poore heardgroomes, the 

which whylere 
Had from their maisters fled, and now 

sought hyre els where. 

XL. 

Whereof right glad they seem'd, and 

offer made 
To hyre them well if they their fiockes 

would keepe ; 
For they themselves were evill groomes, 

they sayd, 
Unwont with beards to watch, or pasture 

sheepe, 
But to forray the land, or secure the 

deepe. 



520 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book VI. 



Thereto they soone agreed, and earnest 

tooke 
To keepe their flockes for litle hyre and 

chepe, 
For they for better hyre did shortly 

looke : 
So there all day they bode, till light the sky 

forsooke. 

XLI. 

Tho, when as towards darksome night 

it drew. 
Unto their hellish dens those theeves them 

brought ; 
Where shortly they in great acquaintance 

grew, 
And all the secrets of their entrayles 

sought. 
There did they find, contrarie to their 

thought, 
That Pastorell yet liv'd ; but all the rest 
Were dead, right so as Coridon had 

taught : 
Whereof they both full glad and blyth 

did rest, 
But chiefly Calidore, whom griefe had 

most possest. 

XLn. 

At length, when they occasion fittest 

found. 
In dead of night, when all the theeves did 

rest, 
After a late forray, and slept full sound, 
Sir Calidore him arm'd as he thought 

best, 
Having of late by diligent inquest 
Provided him a sword of meanest sort ; 
With which he streight went to the Cap- 

taines nest : 
But Coridon durst not with him consort, 
Ne durst abide behind, for dread of worse 

effort. 

XLIII. 

When to the Cave they came, they found 

it fast ; 
But Calidore with huge resistlesse might 
The dores assayled, and the locks up- 

brast : 
With noyse whereof the theefe awaking 

light 
Unto the entrance ran ; where the bold 

knight 
Encountring him with small resistence 

slew. 
The whiles faire Pastorell through great 

affright 
Was almost dead, misdoubting least of- 

new 
Some uprore were like that which lately 

she did vew. 



XLIV. 

But when as Calidore was comen in, 
And gan aloud for Pastorell to call. 
Knowing his voice, although not heard 

long sin. 
She sudden was revived therewithall. 
And wondrous joy felt in her spirits 

thrall : 
Like him that being long in tempest tost. 
Looking each houre into deathes mouth 

to fall. 
At length espyes at hand the happie cost. 
On which he safety hopes that earst f eard 

to be lost. 

XLV. 

Her gentle hart, that now long season 

past 
Had never joyance felt nor chearefull 

thought, 
Began some smacke of comfort new to 

tast. 
Like lyfull heat to nummed senses 

brought, 
And life to feele that long for death had 

sought. 
Ne lesse in hart rejoyced Calidore, 
When he her found ; but, like to one dis- 
traught 
And robd of reason, towards her him 

bore ; 
A thousand times embrast, and kist a 

thousand more. 

XLVI. 

But now by this, with noyse of late up- 
rore, 

The hew and cry was raysed all about ; 

And all the Brigants flocking in great 
store 

Unto the cave gan preasse, nought having 
dout 

Of that was doen, and entred in a rout: 

But Calidore in th' entry close did stand. 

And entertayning them with courage 
stout. 

Still slew the formost that came first to 
hand 

So long till all the entry was with bodies 
mand. 

XL VII. 

Tho, when no more cd\ild nigh to him 

approch, 
He breath'd his sword, and rested him till 

day; 
Which when he spyde upon the earth t' 

encroch. 
Through the dead carcases he made his 

way, 
Mongst which he found a sword of better 



CANTO XI.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE'.' 



521 



With which he forth went into th' open 
light, 

Where all the rest for him did readie stay, 

And, fierce assayling him, with all their 
might 

Gan all upon him lay : there gan a dread- 
full fight. 

XLVIII. 

How many flyes, in whottest sommers 
day. 
Do seize upon some beast whose flesh is 

bare, 
That all the place with swarmes do over- 
lay, 
And with their litle stings right felly fare ; 
So many theeves about him swarming are. 
All which do him assayle on every side, 
And sore oppresse, ne any him doth spare ; 
But he doth with his raging brond divide 
Their thickest troups, and round about 
him scattreth wide. 



Like as a Lion mongst an heard of dere, 
Disperseth them to catch his choysest 

pray; 
So did he fly amongst them here and there. 
And all that nere him came did hew and 

slay, 
Till he had strowd with bodies all the way ; 
That none his daunger daring to abide 
Fled from his wrath, and did themselves 

convay 
Into their caves, their heads from death 

to hide, 



Ne any left that victorie to him en- 
vide. 

L. 

Then, backe returning to his dearest 

deare, 
He her gan to recomfort all he might 
With gladfull speaches and with lovely 

cheare ; 
And forth her bringing to the joyous 

light. 
Whereof she long had lackt the wishf ull 

sight, 
Deviz'd all goodly meanes from her to 

drive 
The sad remembrance of her wretched 

plight : 
So her uneath at last he did revive 
That long had lyen dead, and made again 

alive. 

LI. 

This doen, into those theevish dens he 
went, 

And thence did all the spoyles and 
threasures take, 

Which they from many long had robd and 
rent. 

But fortune now the victors meed did 
make : 

Of which the best he did his love betake ; 

And also all those flockes, which they be- 
fore 

Had reft from Melibce and from his make, 

He did them all to Coridon restore : 

So drove them all away, and his love with 
him bore. 



CANTO XII. 

Fayre Pastorella by great hap 
Her parents understands. 

Calidore doth the Blatant Beast 
Subdew, and bynd in bands. 



Like as a ship, that through the Ocean 

wyde 
Directs her course unto one certaine cost. 
Is met of many a counter winde and tyde. 
With which her winged speed is let and 

crost, 
And she her selfe in stormie surges tost ; 
Yet, making many a horde and many a bay. 
Still winneth way, ne hath her compasse 

lost: 
Right so it fares with me in this long way, 
Whose course is often stayd, yet never is 

astray. 

n. 
For all that hetherto hath long de- 

layd 



This gentle knight from sewing his first 

quest. 
Though out of course, yet hath not bene 

missayd, 
To shew the courtesie by him prof est 
Even unto the lowest and the least. 
But now I come into my course againe. 
To his atchievement of the Blatant 

Beast ; 
Who all this while at will did range and 

raine. 
Whilst none was him to stop, nor none 

him to restraine. 



Sir Calidore, when thus he now had 
raught 



522 



iHE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book VI. 



Faire Pastorella from those Brigants 

powre, 
Unto the Castle of Belgard her brought, 
Whereof was Lord the good Sir Bella- 
mo u re ; 
Who whylome was, in his youthes freshest 

flowre, 
A lustie knight as ever wielded speare. 
And had endured many a dreadful stoure 
In bloudy hattell for a Ladie deare, 
The fayrest Ladie then of all that living 
were: 



Her name was Claribell ; whose father 

hight 
The Lord of Many Hands, farre renound 
For his great riches and his greater might : 
He, through the wealth wherein he did 

abound, 
This daughter thought in wedlocke to 

have bound 
Unto the Prince of Picteland, bordering 

nere; 
But she, whose sides before with secret 

wound 
Of love to Bellamoure empierced were, 
By all meanes shund to match with any 

forrein fere. 



And Bellamour againe so well her 

pleased 
With dayly service and attendance dew, 
That of her love he was entyrely seized, 
And closely did her wed, but knowne to 

few: 
Which when her father understood, he 

grew 
In so great rage that them in dongeon 

deepe 
Without compassion cruelly he threw ; 
Yet did so streightly them asunder keepe, 
That neither could to company of th' other 

creepe. 

VI. 

Nathlesse Sir Bellamour, whether 

through grace 
Or secret guifts, so with his keepers 

wrought, 
That to his love sometimes he came in 

place ; 
AVhereof her wombe, unwist to wight, 

was fraught. 
And in dew time a mayden child forth 

brought : 
Which she streightway, (for dread least 

if her syre 
Should know thereof to slay he would 

have sought,) 
Delivered to her handmayd, that for hyre 



She should it cause be fostred under 
straunge attyre. 



The trustie damzell bearing it abrode 
Into the emptie fields, where living wight 
Mote not bewray the secret of her lode, 
She forth gan lay unto the open light 
The litle babe, to take thereof a sight : 
Whom whylest she did with watrie eyne 

behold, 
Upon the litle brest, like christall bright, 
She mote perceive a litle purple mold. 
That like a rose her silken leaves did faire 

unfold. 

VIII. 

Well she it markt, and pittied the more, 
Yet could not remedie her wretched case ; 
But, closing it againe like as before, 
Bedeaw'd with teares there left it in. the 

place : 
Yet left not quite, but drew a litle space 
Behind the bushes, where she did her 

hyde, 
To weet what mortall hand, or heavens 

grace, 
Would for the wretched infaftts helpe pro- 

vyde; 
For which it loudly cald, and pittifully 

cryde. 

rx. 
At length a Shepheard, which there by 

did keepe 
His fleecie flock upon the playnes around. 
Led with the infants cry that loud did 

weepe. 
Came to the place ; where, when he 

wrapped found 
Th' abandond spoyle, he softly it un- 
bound ; 
And, seeing there that did him pittie sore, 
He tooke it up and in his mantle wound ; 
So home unto his honest wife it bore, 
Who as her owne it nurst (and named) 

evermore. 

X. 

Thus long continu'd Claribell a thrall. 
And Bellamour in bands; till that her 

syre 
Departed life, and left unto them all : 
Then all the stormes of fortunes former 

yre 
Were turnd, and they to freedome did 

retyre. 
Thenceforth they joy'd in happinesse 

together. 
And lived long in peace and love en tyre. 
Without disquiet or dislike of ether, 
Till time that Calidore brought Pastorell:<. 

thether. 



CANTO XII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



523 



XI. 

Both whom they goodly well did enter- 
taine ; 
For Bellamour knew Calidore right well, 
And loved for his prowesse, sith they 

twaine 
Long since had fought in field : Als Clari- 

bell 
Ne lesse did tender the faire Pastorell, 
Seeing her weake and wan through dur- 
ance long. 
There they a while together thus did dwell 
In much delight, and many joyes among, 
Untill the Damzell gan to wex more 
sound and strong. 



Tho gan Sir Calidore him to advize 
Of his first quest, which he had long for- 

lore, 
Asham'd to thinke how he that enterprize, 
The which the Faery Queene had long 

afore 
Bequeath 'd to him, forslacked had so 

sore; 
That much he feared least reprochfull 

blame 
With foule dishonour him mote blot there- 
fore; 
Besides thelosse of so much loos and fame. 
As through the world thereby should 
glorifie his name. 



Therefore, resolving to returne in hast 
Unto so great atchievement, he bethought 
To leave his love, now per ill being past. 
With Claribell ; why lest he that monster 

sought 
Throughout the world, and to destruction 

brought. 
So taking leave of his faire Pastorell, 
Whom to recomfort all the meanes he 

wrought. 
With thanks to Bellamour and Claribell, 
He went forth on his quest, and did that 

him befell. 

XIV. 

But first, ere I doe his adventures tell 
In this exploite, me needeth to declare 
What did betide to the faire Pastorell 
During his absence, left in heavy care 
Through daily mourning and nightly mis- 
fare: 
Yet did that auncient matrone all she 

might, 
To cherish her with all things choice and 

rare; 
And her owne handmayd, that Melissa 
hight, 



Appointed to attend her dewly day and 
night. 

XV. 

Who in a morning, when this Maiden 

faire 
Was dighting her, having her snowy brest 
As yet not laced, nor her golden haire 
Into their comely tresses dewly drest, 
Chaunst to espy upon her yvory chest 
The rosie marke, which she remembred 

well 
That litle Infant had, which forth she 

kest. 
The daughter of her Lady Claribell, 
The which she bore the whiles in prison 

she did dwell. 



Which well avizing, streight she gan to 

cast 
In her conceiptfull mynd that this faire 

Mayd 
Was that same infant, which so long sith 

past 
She in the open fields had loosely layd 
To fortunes spoile, unable it to ayd : 
So, full of joy, streight forth she ran in 

hast 
Unto her mistresse, being halfe dismayd, 
To tell her how the heavens had her graste 
To save her chylde, which in misfortunes 

mouth was plaste. 

XVII, 

The sober mother seeing such her mood, 

Yet knowing not what meant that sodaine 
thro, 

Askt her, how mote her words be under- 
stood. 

And what the matter was that mov'd her 
so? 

* My liefe,' (sayd she) ' ye know that long 

ygo, 

Whilest ye in durance dwelt, ye to me 

gave 
A little mayde, the which ye chylded tho ; 
The same againe if now ye list to have, 
The same is yonder Lady, whom high God 

did save.' 

XVIII. 

Much was the Lady troubled at that 

speach. 
And gan to question streight, how she it 

knew ? 
' Most certaine markes ' (sayd she) ' do me 

it teach ; 
For on her brest I with these eyes did view 
The litle purple rose which thereon grew, 
Whereof her name ye then to her did 

give. 



524 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book VI. 



Besides, her countenaunce and her likely 

hew, 
Matched with equall years, do surely 

prieve 
That yond same is your daughter sure, 

which yet doth live.' 



The matroDe stayd no lenger to enquire, 
But forth in hast ran to the straunger 

Mayd ; 
AVhom catching greedily, for great desire 
Rent up her brest, and bosome open layd, 
In which that rose she plainely saw dis- 

playd : 
Then, her embracing twixt her armes 

twaine. 
She long so held, and softly weeping sayd ; 
* And livest thou, my daughter, now 

agaiue ? 
And art thou yet alive, whom dead I long 

did faine ?' 

XX. 

Tho further asking her of sundry things, 
And times comparing with their accidents. 
She found at last, by very certaine signes. 
And speaking markes of passed monu- 
ments. 
That this young Mayd, whom chance to 

her presents, 
Is her owne daughter, her owne infant 

deare. 
Tho, wondring long at those so straunge 

events, 
A thousand times she her embraced nere, 
With many a joyfull kisse and many a 
melting teare. 



Who ever is the mother of one chylde, 
Which having thought long dead she fyndes 

alive, 
Let her by proofe of that which she hath 

fylde 
In her owne breast, this mothers joy 

descrive ; 
For other none such passion can contrive 
In perfect forme, as this good Lady felt, 
When she so fairs a daughter saw survive, 
As Pastorella was, that nigh she swelt 
For passing joy, which did all into pitty 

melt. 

XXII. 

Thence running forth unto her loved 

Lord, 
She unto him recounted all that fell ; 
Who, joyning joy with her in one accord, 
Acknowledg'd for his owne faire Pastorell. 
There leave we them in joy, and let us 

tell 



Of Calidore ; who, seeking all this while 
That monstrous Beast by finall force to 

quell. 
Through every place with restlesse paine 

and toile 
Him follow'd by the tract of his outra- 

gious spoile. 



Through all estates he found that he 

had past. 
In which he many massacres had left, 
And to the Clergy now was come at last ; 
In which such spoile, such havocke, and 

such theft 
He wrought, that thence all goodnesse he 

bereft. 
That endlesse were to tell. The Elfin 

Knight, 
Who now no place besides unsought had 

left, 
At length into a Monastere did light. 
Where he him found despoyling all with 

maine and might. 



Into their cl oysters now he broken had, 
Through which the Monckes he chaced 

here and there, 
And them pursu'd into their dortours sad, 
And searched all their eels and secrets 

neare : 
In which what filth and ordure did appeare, 
Were yrkesome to report ; yet that foule 

Beast, 
Nought sparing them, the more did tosse 

and teare. 
And ransacke all their dennes from most 

to least. 
Regarding nought religion, nor their holy 

beast. 

XXV, 

From thence into the sacred Church he 

broke. 
And robd the Chancell, and the deskes 

downe threw, 
And Altars fouled, and blasphemy spoke, 
And th' Images, for all their goodly hew, 
Did cast to ground , whilest none was them 

to rew ; 
So all conf ouuded and disordered there : 
But, seeing Calidore, away he flew. 
Knowing his fatall hand by former feare ; 
But he him fast pursuing soone approched 

neare. 

XXVI. 

Him in a narrow place he overtooke, 
And fierce assailing f orst him turne againe : 
Sternely he turnd againe, when he him 
strooke 



CANTO XII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



525 



With his sharpe Steele, and ran at him 

amaine 
With open mouth, that seemed to containe 
A full good pecke within the utmost brim. 
All setVith yron teeth in raunges twaine. 
That territide his foes, and armed him, 
Appearing like the mouth of Orcus griesly 

grim: 

XXVII. 

And therein were a thousand tongs em- 

pight 
Of sundry kindes and sundry quality; 
Some were of dogs, that barked day and 

night : 
And some of cats, that wrawling still did 

cry; 
And some of Beares, that groynd continu- 
ally; 
And some of Tygres, that did seeme to 

gren 
And snar at all that ever passed by : 
But most of them were tongues of mortall 

men, 
Which spake reprochfully, not caring 

where nor when. 



And them amongst were mingled here 

and there 
The tongues of Serpents, with three 

forked stings. 
That spat out poyson, and gore-bloudy 

gere, 
At all that came within his ravenings ; 
And spake licentious words and hatefull 

things 
Of good and bad alike, of low and hie, 
Ne Kesars spared he a whit, nor Kings ; 
But either blotted them with infamie, 
Or bit them with his banefull teeth of 

injury. 

XXIX. 

But Calidore, thereof no whit afrayd, 
Rencountred him with so impetuous 

might. 
That th' outrage of his violence he stayd. 
And bet abacke, threatning in vaine to 

bite. 
And spitting forth the poyson of his 

spight 
That fomed all about his bloody jawes: 
Tho, rearing up his former feete on hight, 
He rampt upon him with his ravenous 

pawes, 
As if he would have rent him with his 

cruell clawes : 



But he, right well aware, his rage to 
ward 



Did cast his shield atweene; and, there- 

withall 
Putting his puissaunce forth, pursu'd so 

hard. 
That backeward he enforced him to 

fall; 
And, being downe, ere he newhelpe could 

call. 
His shield he on him threw, and fast 

downe held : 
Like as a bullocke, that in bloudy stall 
Of butchers balefull hand to ground is 

feld. 
Is forcibly kept downe, till he be throughly 

queld. 

XXXI. 

Full cruelly the Beast did rage and rore 
To be downe held, and maystred so with 

might, 
That he gan fret and fome out bloudy 

gore, 
Striving in vaine to rere him selfe upright : 
For stiH, the more he strove, the more the 

Knight 
Did him suppresse, and forcibly subdew, 
That made him almost mad for fell 

despight : 
He grind, bee bit, he scratcht, he venim 

threw. 
And fared like a feend right horrible in 

hew: 

xxxn. 

Or like the hell-borne Hydra, which 

they faine 
That great Alcides whilome overthrew, 
After that he had labourd long in vaine 
To crop his thousand heads, the which 

still new 
Forth budded, and in greater number 

grew. 
Such was the fury of this hellish Beast, 
Whilest Calidore him under him downe 

threw ; 
Who nathemore his heavy load releast. 
But aye, the more he rag'd, the more his 

powre increast. 



Tho, when the Beast saw he mote 

nought availe 
By force, he gan his hundred tongues 

apply, 
And sharpely at him to revile and raile 
With bitter termes of shamefull infamy ; 
Oft interlacing many a forged lie, 
W^hose like he never once did speake, nor 

heare, 
Nor ever thought thing so unworthily : 
Yet did he nought, for all that, him for- 

beare, 



526 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book VI. 



But strained him so streightly that he 
chokt him neare. 



At last, when as he found his force to 

shrincke 
And rage to quaile, he tooke a muzzel 

strong 
Of surest yron, made with many a lincke : 
Therewith he mured up his mouth along, 
And therein shut up his blasphemous toug. 
For never more defaming gentle Knight, 
Or unto lovely Lady doing wrong ; 
And thereunto a great long chaine he tight, 
With which he drew him forth, even in 

his own despight. 

XXXV. 

Like as whylome that strong Tirynthian 

swaine 
Brought forth with him the dreadf ull dog 

of hell, 
Against his will fast bound in yron chaine, 
And, roring horribly, did him compell 
To see the hatef ull sunne, that he might 

tell 
To griesly Pluto what on earth was donne, 
And to the other damned ghosts which dwell 
For aye in darkenesse, which day-light 

doth shonne : 
So led this Knight his captyve with like 

conquest wonne. 



Yet greatly did the Beast repine at 

those » 

Straunge bands, whose like till then he 

never bore, 
Ne ever any durst till then impose ; 
And chauffed inly, seeing now no more 
Him liberty was left aloud to rore : 
Yet durst he not draw backe, nor once 

withstand 
The proved powre of noble Calidore, 
But trembled underneath his mighty 

hand, 
And like a fearefull dog him followed 

through the land. 

XXXVII, 

Him through all Faery land he follow'd 

so, 
As if he learned had obedience long, 
That all the people, where so he did go, 
Out of their townes did round about him 

throng, 
To see him leade that Beast in bondage 

strong ; 
And seeing it much wondred at the sight : 
And all such persons as he earst did wrong 



Rejoyced much to see his captive plight, 
And much admyr'd the Beast, but more 
admyr'd the Knight. 



Thus was this Monster, by the may- 
string might 
Of doughty Calidore, supprestand tamed. 
That never more he mote endammadge 

wight 
With his vile tongue, which many had 

defamed. 
And many causelesse caused to be blamed. 
So did he eeke long after this remaine, 
Untill that, (whether wicked fate so 

framed 
Or fault of men ,) he broke his yron chaine. 
And got into the world at liberty againe. 



Thenceforth more raischiefe and more 

scath he wrought 
To mortall men then he had done before ; 
Ne ever could, by any, more be brought 
Into like bands, ne maystred any more : 
Albe that, long time after Calidore, 
The good Sir Pelleas him tooke in hand. 
And after him Sir Lamoracke of yore. 
And all his brethren borne in Britaine 

land ; 
Yet none of them could ever bring him 

into band. 

XL. 

So now he raungeth through the world 

againe. 
And rageth sore in each degree and state ; 
Ne any is that may him now restraine, 
He growen is so great and strong of late. 
Barking and biting all that him doe bate, 
Albe they worthy blame, or cleare of crime : 
Ne spareth he most learned wits to rate, 
Ne spareth he the gentle Poets rime ; 
But rends without regard of person or of 

time. 

XLI. 

Ne may this homely verse, of many 

meanest, 
Hope to escape his venemous despite, 
More then my former writs, all were they 

cleanest 
From blamefull blot, and free from all 

that wite 
With which some wicked tongues did it 

backebite. 
And bring into a mighty Peres displeasure. 
That never so deserved to endite. 
Therefore do you, my rimes, keep better 

measure, 
And seeke to please ; that now is counted 

wise mens threasure. 



TWO CANTOS OF 

MUTABILITIE : 

WHICH, BOTH FOR FORME AND MATTER, APPEARE TO BE PARCELL OF SOME 
FOLLOWING BOOKE OF 

THE FAERIE QUEENE, 

UNDER 

THE LEGEND OF C0N8TANCIE. 



CANTO VI. 

Proud Change (not pleasd in mortall things 

Beneath the Moone to raigne) 
Pretends as well of Gods as Men 

To be the Soveraine. 



What man that sees the ever-whirling 

wheele. 
Of Change, the which all mortall things 

doth sway, 
But that therby doth find, and plainly 

feele, 
How Mutability in them doth play 
Her cruell sports to many mens decay? 
Which that to all may better yet appeare, 
I will rehearse that whylome I heard say, 
HoAV she at first her selfe began to reare 
Gainst all the Gods, and th' empire sought 

from them to beare. 



But first, here falleth fittest to unfold 
Her antique race and linage ancient. 
As I have found it registred of old 
In Faery Land mongst records permanent. 
She was, to weet, adaughter by descent 
Of those old Titans that did whylome 

strive 
With Saturnes sonne for heavens regi- 
ment ; 
Whom though high Jove of kingdome did 

deprive, 
Yet many of their stemme long after did 
survive : 

III. 

And many of them afterwards obtain 'd 
Great power of Jove, and high authority : 
As Hecate, in whose almighty hand 
He plac't all rule and principalitie, 
To be by her disposed diversly 
To Gods and men, as she them list divide ; 
And drad Bellona, that doth sound on hie 
Warres and allarums unto Nations wide. 



That makes both heaven and earth to 
tremble at her pride. 



So likewise did this Titanesse aspire 

Rule and dominion to her selfe to gaine ; 

That as a Goddesse men might her admire. 

And heavenly honors yield, as to them 
twaine : 

And first, on earth she sought it to ob- 
taine ; 

Where shee such proofe and sad examples 
shewed 

Of her great power, to many ones great 
paine. 

That not men onely (whom she soone sub- 
dewed) 

But eke all other creatures her bad doo- 
ings re wed. 

v. 

For she the face of earthly things so 

changed, 

That all which Nature had establisht first 

In good estate, and in meet order ranged, 

She did pervert, and all their statutes 

burst: 
And all the worlds faire frame (which 

none yet durst 
Of Gods or men to alter or misguide) 
She alter'd quite ; and made them all ac- 
curst 
That God had blest, and did at first pro- 
vide 
In that still happy state forever to abide. 



Ne shee the lawes of Nature onely brake, 
But eke of Justice, and of Policie ; 



527 



528 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book VII. 



And wrong of right, and bad of good did 

make 
And death for life exchanged foolishlie : 
Since which all living wights have learn'd 

to die, 
And all this world is woxen daily worse. 
O pittious worke of Mutability, 
By which we all are subject to that curse, 
And death, instead of life, have sucked 

from our Nurse ! 



And now, when all the earth she thus 

had brought 
To her behest, and thralled to her might. 
She gan to cast in her ambitious thought 
T' attempt the empire of the heavens 

hight. 
And Jove himselfe to shoulder from his 

right. 
And first, she past the region of the ayre 
And of the fire, whose substance thin and 

slight 
Made no resistance, ne could her contraire. 
But ready passage to her pleasure did pre- 

paire. 

VIII. 

Thence to the Circle of the Moone she 

clambe, 
Where Cynthia raignes in everlasting 

glory. 
To whose bright shining palace straight 

she came. 
All fairely deckt with heavens goodly 

storie ; 
Whose silver gates (by which there sate an 

hory 
Old aged Sire, with hower-glasse in hand, 
Hight Time) she entred, were he liefe or 

sory ; 
Ne staid e till she the highest stage had 

scand, 
Where Cynthia did sit, that nerer still did 

stand. 

rx. 

Her sitting on an Ivory throne shee 

found, 
Drawne of two steeds, th' one black, the 

other white, 
Environd with tenne thousand starres 

around 
That duly her attended day and night ; 
And by her side there ran her Page, that 

hight 
Vesper, whom we the Evening-starre in- 
tend; 
That with his Torche, still twinkling like 

tM^' light, 
Her lightened all the way where she should 

wend. 



And joy to weary wandring travailers did 
lend: 

X. 

That when the hardy Titanesse beheld 
The goodly building of her Palace bright. 
Made of the heavens substance, and up- 
held 
With thousand Crystall pillors of huge 

hight, 
She gan to burne in her ambitious spright, 
And t' envie her that in such glory 

raigned. 
Eftsoones she cast by force and tortious 

might 
Her to displace, and to her selfe to have 

gained 
The kingdome of the Night, and waters 
by her wained. 



Boldly she bid the Goddesse downe 

descend. 
And let her selfe into that Ivory throne ; 
For she her selfe more worthy thereof 

wend, 
And better able it to guide alone ; 
Whether to men, whose fall she did be- 

mone. 
Or unto Gods, whose state she did maligne. 
Or to th' infernall Powers her need give 

lone 
Of her faire light and bounty most be- 

nigne. 
Her selfe of all that rule she deemed 

most condigne. 



But she, that had to her thatsoveraigne 

seat 
By highest Jove assign'd, therein to beare 
Nights burning lamp, regarded not her 

threat, 
Ne yielded ought for favour or for feare ; 
But with Sterne count'naunce and dis- 

dainfull cheare, 
Bending her horned browes, did put her 

back ; 
And, boldly blaming her for coraming 

there. 
Bade her attonce from heavens coast to 

pack, 
Or at her perill bide the wrathfull 

Thunders wrack. 



Yet nathemore the Giantesse forbare, 
But boldly preacmg-on raught forth her 

hand 
To pluck her downe perforce from off 
her chaire ; 



CANTO VI.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



529 



And, there-with lifting up her golden 
wand, 

Threatned to strike her if she did with- 
stand : 

Where-at the starres, which round about 
her blazed, 

And eke the Moones bright wagon still 
did stand, 

All beeing with so bold attempt amazed. 

And on her uncouth habit and sterne 
looke still gazed. 

XIV. 

Mean-while the lower World, which 

nothing knew 
Of all that chaunced heere, was darkned 

quite ; 
And eke the heavens, and all the heavenly 

crew 
Of happy wights, now unpurvaid of 

light. 
Were much afraid, and wondred at that 

sight ; 
Fearing least Chaos broken had his 

chaine. 
And brought againe on them eternall 

night ; 
But chiefely Mercury, that next doth 

raigne, 
Ran forth in haste unto the king of Gods 

to plaine. 

XV. 

All ran together with a great out-cry 
To Joves faire palace fixt in heavens 

bight ; 
And, beating at his gates full earnestly, 
Gan call to him aloud with all their might 
To know what meant that suddaine lacke 

of light. 
The father of the Gods, when this he 

heard, 
Was troubled much at their so strange 

affright, 
Doubting least Typhon were againe 

uprear'd. 
Or other his old foes that once him sorely 

fear'd. 

XVI. 

Eftsoones the sonne of Maia forth he 

sent 
Downe to the Circle of the Moone, to 

knowe 
The cause of this so strange astonishment. 
And why she did her wonted course for- 

slowe ; 
And if that any were on earth belowe 
That did with charmes or Magick her 

molest. 
Him to attache, and downe to hell to 

throwe ; 



But if from heaven it were, then to arrest 
The Author, and him bring before his 
presence prest. 

xvn. 

The wingd-foot God so fast his plumes 

did beat, 
That soone he came where-as the Titanesse 
Was striving with faire Cynthia for her 

seat; 
At whose strange sight and haughty har- 

dinesse 
He wondred much, and feared her no 

lesse : 
Yet laying feare aside to doe his charge. 
At last he bade her (with bold stedfast- 

nesse) 
Ceasse to molest the Moone to walke at 

large, 
Or come before high Jove her dooings to 

discharge. 

xvm. 

And there-with-all he on her shoulder 

laid 
His snaky-wreathed Mace, whose awfull 

power 
Doth make both Gods and hellish fiends 

aff raid : 
Where-at the Titanesse did sternly lower. 
And stoutly answer'd, that in evill bower 
He from his Jove such message to her 

brought, 
To bid her leave faire Cynthia's silver 

bower ; 
Sith shee his Jove and him esteemed 

nought. 
No more then Cynthia's selfe ; but all 

their kingdoms sought. 

XIX. 

The Heavens Herald staid not to reply, 
But past away, his doings to relate 
Unto his Lord; who now, in th' highest 

sky, 
Was placed in his principall Estate, 
With all the Gods about him congre- 
gate: 
To whom when Hermes had his message 

told, 
It did them all exceedingly amate. 
Save Jove; who, changing nought his 

count'nance bold. 
Did unto them at length these speeches 
wise unfold ; 



* Harken to mee awhile, yee heavenly 
Powers ! 
Ye may remember since th' Earths cursed 



530 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book VII. 



Sought to assaile the heavens eternall 

towers, 
And to us all exceeding feare did breed, 
But, how we then defeated all their deed, 
Yee all do knowe, and them destroyed 

quite ; 
Yet not so quite, but that there did succeed 
An off-spring of their bloud, which did 

alite 
Upon the fruitfull earth, which doth us 

yet despite. 

XXI. 

* Of that bad seed is this bold woman 

bred. 
That now with bold presumption doth 

aspire 
To thrust faire Phoebe from her silver 

bed. 
And eke our selves from heavens high 

Empire, 
If that her might were match to her desire. 
Wherefore it now behoves us to advise 
What way is best to drive her to retire. 
Whether by open force, or counsell wise : 
Areed,ye sonnes of God, as best as ye can 

devise.' 

XXII. 

So having said, he ceast; and with 

his brow 
(His black eye-brow, whose doomefull 

dreaded beck 
Is wont to wield the world unto his vow. 
And even the highest Powers of heaven 

to check) 
Made signe to them in their degrees to 

speake. 
Who straight gan cast their counsell grave 

and wise. 
Mean-while th' Earths daughter, thogh 

she nought did reck 
Of Hermes message, yet gan now advise 
What course were best to take in this hot 

bold emprize. 



Eftsoones she thus resolv'd; that 

whil'st the Gods 
(After returne of Hermes Embassie) 
Were troubled, and amongst themselves 

at ods. 
Before they could new counsels re-allie. 
To set upon them in that extasie. 
And take what fortune, time, and place 

would lend. 
So forth she rose, and through the purest 

sky 
To Joves high Palace straight cast to 

ascend. 
To prosecute her plot. Good on-set 

beads good end. 



Shee there arriving boldly in did pass ; 
Where all the Gods she found in counsell 

close. 
All quite unarm'd, as then their manner 

was. 
At sight of her they suddaine all arose 
In great amaze, ne wist what way to 

chose : 
But Jove, all fearlesse, forc't them to 

aby; 
And in his soveraine throne gan straight 

dispose 
Himselfe, more full of grace and Majestic, 
That mote encheare his friends, and foes 

mote terrific. 

XXV. 

That when the haughty Titanesse 
beheld. 

All were she fraught with pride and 
impudence, 

Yet with the sight thereof was almost 
queld ; 

And, inly quaking, seem'd as reft of 
sense 

And voyd of speech in that drad audience, 

Until that Jove himselfe her selfe be- 
spake : 

' Speake, thou f raile woman, speake with 
confidence ; 

Whence art thou, and what doost thou 
here now make? 

What idle errand hast thou earths man- 
sion to forsake ? ' 

XXVI. 

She, halfe confused with his great 

commaund, 
Yet gathering spirit of her natures pride. 
Him boldly answer'd thus to his demaund : 
' I am a daughter, by the mothers side. 
Of her that is Grand-mother magnifide 
Of all the Gods, great Earth, great Chaos 

child ; 
But by the fathers, (be it not en vide) 
I greater am in bloud (whereon I build) 
Then all the Gods, though wrongfully 

from heaven exil'd. 



* For Titan (as ye all acknowledge 
must) 

Was Saturn es elder brother by birth- 
right, 

Both sonnes of Uranus ; but by unjust 

And guilefull meanes, through Corybantes 
slight. 

The younger thrust the elder from his 
right : 



CANTO VI.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



531 



Since which thou, Jove, injuriously hast 

held 
The Heavens rule from Titans sonnes by 

might, 
And them to hellish dungeons downe hast 

feld. 
Witnesse, ye Heavens, the truth of all 

that I have teld ! ' 



Whil'st she thus spake, the Gods, that 

gave good eare 
To her bold words, and marked well her 

grace, 
(Beeing of stature tall as any there 
Of all the Gods, and beautifuU of face 
As any of the Goddesses in place,) 
Stood all astonied ; like a sort of steeres, 
Mongst whom some beast of strange and 

forraine race 
Unwares is chaimc't, far straying from 

his peeres: 
So did their ghastly gaze bewray their 

hidden feares. 

xxrx. 

Till, having pauz'd awhile, Jove thus 

bespake : 
'Will never mortall thoughts ceasse to 

aspire 
In this bold sort to Heaven claime to 

make, 
And touch celestiall seats with earthly 

mire ? 
I would have thought that bold Pro- 
crustes hire, 
Or Typhous fall, or proud Ixions paine. 
Or great Prometheus tasting of our 

ire. 
Would have suffiz'd the rest for to 

restraine, 
And warn'd all men by their example to 

refraine. 

XXX. 

' But now this off-scum of that cursed 

fry 
Dare to renew the like bold enterprize, 
And chalenge th' heritage of this our 

skie; 
Whom what should hinder, but that we 

likewise 
Should handle as the rest of her allies, 
And thunder-drive to hell ? ' With that, 

he shooke 
His Nectar-deawed locks, with which the 

skyes 
And all the world beneath for terror 

quooke, 
And eft his burning levin-brond in hand 

he tooke. 



But when he looked on her lovely face, 
In which faire beames of beauty did 

appeare 
That could the greatest wrath soone turne 

to grace, 
(Such sway doth beauty even in Heaven 

beare) 
He staid his hand ; and, having chang'd 

his cheare, 
He thus againe in milder wise began : 
' But ah ! if Gods should strive with flesh 

yfere, 
Then shortly should the progeny of man 
Be rooted out, if Jove should do still 

what he can. 



'But thee, faire Titans child, I rather 

weene, 
Through some vaine errour, or induce- 
ment light, 
To see that mortall eyes have never seene ; 
Or through ensample of thy sisters might, 
Bellona, whose great glory thou doost 

spight, 
Since thou hast seene her dreadfull power 

belowe, 
Mongst wretched men (dismaide with her 

affright) 
To bandie Crownes, and Kingdoms to 

bestowe : 
And sure thy worth no lesse than hers 

doth seem to showe. 



' But wote thou this, thou hardy Titan- 

esse, 
That not the worth of any living wight 
May challenge ought in Heavens interesse ; 
Much lesse the Title of old Titans Right : 
For we by conquest, of our soveraiue 

might, 
And by eternal doome of Fates decree. 
Have woune the Empire of the Heavens 

bright ; 
Which to our selves we hold, and to whom 

wee 
Shall worthy deeme partakers of our 

blisse to bee. 

XXXIV. 

' Then ceasse thy idle claime, thou foolish 

gerle ; 
And seeke by grace and goodnesse to 

obtaine 
That place, from which by folly Titan 

fell: 
There to thou maist perhaps, if so thou 

faine 



532 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book VII. 



Have Jove thy gracious Lord and Sover- 

aine.' 
So having said, she thus to him replide : 
' Ceasse, Saturnes sonne, to seeke by prof- 
fers vaine 
Of idle hopes t' allure me to thy side, 
For to betray my Right before I have it 
tride. 

XXXV. 

' But thee, O Jove ! no equall Judge I 
deeme 
Of my desert, or of my dewf ull Right ; 
That in thine owne behalfe maist partiall 



But to the highest him, that is behight 
Father of Gods and men by equall might. 
To weet, the God of Nature, I appeale.' 
There-at Jove wexed wroth, and in his 

spright 
Did inly grudge, yet did it well conceale ; 
And bade Dan Phoebus scribe her Appella- 
tion seale. 



Eftsoones the time and place appointed 

were, 
Where all, both heavenly Powers and 

earthly wights, 
Before great Natures presence should 

appeare. 
For triall of their Titles and best Rights : 
That was, to weet, upon the highest 

bights 
Of Arlo-hill (Who knowes not Arlo-hill ? ) 
That is the highest head (in all mens 

sights) 
Of my old father Mole, whom Shepheards 

quill 
Renowmed hath with hymnes fit for a 

rurall skill. 



And, were it not ill fitting for this file 
To sing of hilles and woods mongst warres 

and Knights, 
I would abate the sternenesse of my 

stile, 
Mongst these sterne stounds to mingle 

soft delights ; 
And tell how Arlo, through Dianaes 

spights, 
(Beeing of old the best and fairest Hill 
That was in all this holy Islands bights) 
Was made the most unpleasant and most 

ill: 
Meane-while, O Clio ! lend Calliope thy 

quill. 

XXXVIII. 

Whylome when Ireland florished in 
fame 



Of wealths and goodnesse, far above the 

rest 
Of all that beare the British Islands name. 
The gods then us'd (for pleasure and for 

rest) 
Oft to resort there-to, when seem'd them 

best; 
But none of all there-in more pleasure 

found 
Then Cynthia, that is soveraine Queene 

profest 
Of woods and forrests which therein 

abound. 
Sprinkled with wholsom waters more then 

most on ground : 

XXXIX. 

But mongst them all, as fittest for her 

game, 
Eyther for chace of beasts with hound or 

boawe. 
Or for to shrowde in shade from Phoebus 

flame, 
Or bathe in fountaines that do freshly 

flowe 
Or from high hilles or from the dales 

belowe, 
She chose this Arlo ; where she did resort 
With all her Nymphes enranged on a 

rowe. 
With whom the woody Gods did oft con- 
sort. 
For with the Nymphes the Satyres love 

to play and sport. 



Amongst the which there was a Nymph 

that bight 
Molanna ; daughter of old Father Mole, 
And sister unto MuUa faire and bright. 
Unto whose bed false Bregog whylome 

stole. 
That Shepheard Colin dearely did condole, 
And made her lucklesse loves well knowne 

to be : 
But this Molanna, were she not so shole, 
Were no lesse faire and beautifuU then 

shee; 
Yet, as she is, a fayrer flood may no man 



For, first, she springs out of two marble 

Rocks, 
On which a grove of Oakes high-mounted 

growes. 
That as a girlond seemes to deck the locks 
Of som faire Bride, brought forth with 

pompous showes 
Out of her bowre, that many flowers 

strowes : 



CANTO VI.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



533 



So through the flowry Dales she tumbliug 

downe 
Through many woods and shady coverts 

flowes, 
(That on each side her silver channell 

crowne) 
Till to the Plaiue she come, whose Valley es 

she doth drowne. 



In her sweet streames Diana used oft 
(After her sweaty chace and toylesome 

play) 
To bathe her selfe ; and, after, on the soft 
And downy grasse her dainty limbes to 

lay 
In covert shade, where none behold her 

may; 
For much she hated sight of living eye. 
Foolish god Fauuus, though full many a 

day 
He saw her clad, yet longed foolishly 
To see her naked mongst her Nymphes in 

privity. 

XLIII. 

No way he found to compasse his desire, 
But to corrupt Molanna, this her maid, 
Her to discover for some secret hire : 
So her with flattering words he first 

assald ; 
And after, pleasing gifts for her purvaid, 
Queen e-apples, and red Cherries from the 

tree, 
With which he her allured, and betrayd 
To tell what time he might her Lady see 
When she her selfe did bathe, that he 

might secret bee. 



There-to he promist, if shee would him 

pleasure 
With this small boone, to quit her with a 

better ; 
To weet, that where-as shee had out of 

measure 
Long lov'd the Fanchin, who by nought 

did set her. 
That he would undertake for this to get 

her 
To be his Love, and of him liked well: 
Besides all which, he vow'd to be her 

debter 
For many moe good turnes then he would 

tell. 
The least of which this little pleasure 

should excell. 

XLV. 

The simple mayd did yield to him 
auoue : 



And eft him placed where he close might 

view 
That never any saw, save onely one. 
Who, for his hire to so foole-hardy dew. 
Was of his hounds devour'd in Hunters 

hew. 
Tho, as her manner was on sunny day, 
Diaua, with her Nymphes about her, drew 
To this sweet spring ; where, doffing her 

array, 
She bath'd her lovely limbes, for Jove a 

likely pray. 

XLVI. 

There Faunus saw that pleased much 

his eye. 
And made his hart to tickle in his brest, 
That, for great joy of some-what he did 

spy, 
He could him not containe in silent rest; 
But, breaking forth in laughter, loud 

profest 
His foolish thought; A foolish Faune 

indeed, 
That couldst not hold thy selfe so hidden 

blest, 
But wouldest needs thine owne conceit 

areed ! 
Babblers unworthy been of so divine a 

meed. 

XLVII. 

The Goddesse, all abashed with that 

noise. 
In haste forth started from the guilty 

brooke ; 
And, running straight where-as she heard 

his voice, 
Enclos'd the bush about, and there him 

tooke. 
Like darred Larke, not daring up to looke 
On her whose sight before so much he 

sought. 
Thence forth they drew him by the homes, 

and shooke 
Nigh all to peeces, that they left him 

nought ; 
And then into the open light they forth 

him brought. 

XLVin. 

Like as an huswife, that with busie care 
Thinks of her Dairy to make wondrous 

gaine, 
Finding where-as some wicked beast 

unware 
That breakes into her Dayr' house, there 

doth draine 
Her creaming pannes, and frustrate all 

her paine, 
Hath, in some snare or gin set close behind, 



534 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book VII. 



Entrapped him, and caught into her 

traine ; 
Then thinkes what punishment were best 

assign 'd, 
And thousand deathes deviseth in her 

vengeful! mind. 



So did Diana and her maydens all 
Use silly Faunus, now within their baile : 
They mocke and scorne him, and him 

foule miscall; 
Some by the nose him pluckt, some by the 

taile, 
And by his goatish beard some did him 

haile : 
Yet he (poore soule ! ) with patience all 

did beare ; 
For nought against their wils might 

countervaile : 
Ne ought he said, what ever he did 

heare, 
But, hanging downe his head, did like a 

Mome appeare. 



At length, when they had flouted him 

their fill, 
They gan to cast what penaunce him to 

give. 
Some would have gelt him ; but that same 

would spill 
The Wood-gods breed, which must for 

ever live : 
Others would through the river him have 

drive 
And ducked deepe ; but that seem'd 

penaunce light : 
But most agreed, and did this sentence 

give. 
Him in Deares skin to clad ; and in that 

plight 
To hunt him with their hounds, him selfe 

save how hee might. 



But Cynthia's selfe, more angry then 

the rest, 
Thought not enough to punish him in sport, 
And of her shame to make a gamesome 

jest; 
But gan examine him in straighter sort. 
Which of her Nymphes, or other close 

consort. 
Him thither brought, and her to him 

betraid ? 
He, much affeard, to her confessed short 
That 'twas Molanna which her so bewraid. 
Then all attonce their hands upon Molanna 

laid. 



But him (according as they had 

decreed) 
With a Deeres-skin they covered, and 

then chast 
With all their hounds that after him did 

speed ; 
But he, more speedy, from them fled more 

fast 
Then any Deere, so sore him dread 

aghast. 
They after follow'd all with shrill out-cry, 
Shouting as they the heavens would have 

brast ; 
That all the woods and dales, where he 

did flie. 
Did ring againe, and loud re-eccho to the 

skie. 

Lin. 

So they him follow'd till they weary 

were; 
When, back returning to Molann' againe, 
They, by commaund'ment of Diana, there 
Her whelm'd with stones. Yet Faunus 

(for her paine) 
Of her beloved Fanchin did obtaine, 
That her he would receive unto his bed : 
So now her waves passe through a 

pleasant Plaine, 
Till with the Fanchin she her selfe do wed. 
And (both combin'd) themselves in one 

faire river spred. 

LIV. 

Nath'lesse Diana, full of indignation, 

Thence-forth abandond her delicious 
brooke. 

In whose sweet streame, before that bad 
occasion. 

So much delight to bathe her limbes she 
tooke : 

Ne onely her, but also quite forsooke 

All those faire forrests about Arlo hid ; 

And all that Mountaine, which doth over- 
looke 

The richest champain that may else be 
rid; 

And the faire Shure, in which are thou- 
sand Salmons bred. 

LV. 

Them all, and all that she so deare did 

way, 
Thence-forth she left ; and, parting from 

the place, 
There-on an heavy haplesse curse did lay ; 
To weet, that Wolves, where she was 

wont to space. 
Should harbour'd be and all those Woods 

deface. 



CANTO VI.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



535 



Aud Thieves should rob and spoile that 

Coast around : 
Since which, those Woods, and all that 

goodly Chase 



Doth to this day with Wolves and Thieves 

abound : 
Which too-too true that lands in-dwellers 

since have found. 



CANTO VII. 

Pealing from Jove to Nature's bar. 

Bold Alteration pleades 
Large Evidence : but Natures soone 

Her righteous Doome areads. 



I. 



thou 



Ah! whither doost thou now 

greater Muse, 
Me from these woods and pleasing forrests 

bring. 
And my fraile spirit, (that dooth oft 

refuse 
This too high flight, unfit for her weake 

wing) 
Lift up aloft, to tell of heavens King 
(Thy soveraine Sire) his fortunate 

successe ; 
And victory in bigger notes to sing 
Which he obtain 'd against that Titanesse, 
That him of heavens Empire sought to 

dispossesse ? 



Yet, sith I needs must follow thy be- 
hest, 
Do thou my weaker wit with skill inspire, 
Fit for this turne ; and in my feeble brest 
Kindle fresh sparks of that immortall fire 
Which learned minds inflameth with 

desire 
Of heavenly things: for who, but thou 

alone 
That art yborne of heaven and heavenly 

Sire, 
Can tell things doen in heaven so long 

ygone. 
So farre past memory of man that may be 
knowne ? 

m. 

Now, at the time that was before 

agreed. 
The gods assembled all on Arlo Hill ; 
As well those that are sprung of heavenly 

seed, 
As those that all the other world do fill, 
And rule both sea and land unto their 

will: 
Onely th' infernall Powers might not 

appeare ; 
As well for horror of their count'naunce 

ill. 
As for th' unruly fiends which they did 

f eare ; 



Yet Pluto and Proserpina were present 
there. 

IV. 

And thither also came all other 

creatures, 
What-ever life or motion do retaine. 
According to their sundry kinds of 

features, 
That Arlo scarsly could them all containe, 
So full they filled every hill and Plaine ; 
And had not Natures Sergeant (that is 

Order) 
Them well disposed by his busie paine, 
And raunged farre abroad in every 

border. 
They would have caused much confusion 

and disorder. 



Then ' forth issewed (great goddesse) 

great dame Nature 
With goodly port and gracious Majesty, 
Being far greater and more tall of stature 
Then any of the gods or Powers on hie : 
Yet certes by her face and physnomy. 
Whether she man or woman inly were, 
That could not any creature well descry ; 
For with a veile, that wimpled every 

where. 
Her head and face was hid that mote to 

none appeare. 

VI. 

That, some do say, was so by skill 

devized. 
To hide the terror of her uncouth hew 
From mortall eyes that should be sore 

agrized ; 
For that her face did like a Lion shew. 
That eye of wight could not indure to 

view: 
But others tell that it so beautious was. 
And round about such beames of splendor 

threw. 
That it the Sunne a thousand times did 

pass, 
Ne could be scene but like an image in a 

glass. 



536 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book VII. 



That well may seemen true ; for well I 

weene, 
That this same day when she on Arlo sat, 
Her garment was so bright and wondrous 

sheene, 
That my fraile wit cannot devize to what 
It to compare, nor finde like stuff e to that : 
As those three sacred Saints, though else 

most wise, 
Yet on Mount Thabor quite their wits 

forgat. 
When they their glorious Lord in strange 

disguise 
Transfigur'd sawe; his garments so did 

daze their eyes. 

VIII. 

In a fayre Plaine upon an equall Hill 
She placed was in a pavilion ; 
Not such as Craftes-men by their idle 

skill 
Are wont for Princes states to fashion ; 
But th' Earth herself e , of her owne motion, 
Out of her f ruitf uU bosome made to growe 
Most dainty trees, that, shooting up anon, 
Did seeme to bow their bloosming heads 

full lowe 
For homage unto her, and like a throne 

did showe. 

IX. 

So hard it is for any living wight 
All her array and vestiments to tell. 
That old Dan Geffrey (in whose gentle 

spright. 
The pure well head of Poesie did dwell) 
In his Foules parley durst not with it 

mel. 
But it transferd to Alane, who he thought 
Had in his Plaint of kinde describ'd it 

well: 
Which who will read set forth so as it 

ought, 
Go seek he out that Alane where he may 

be sought. 

X. 

And all the earth far underneath her 

feete 
Was dight with flowers that voluntary 

grew 
Out of the ground, and sent forth odours 

sweet ; 
Tenne thousand mores of sundry sent and 

hew, 
That might delight the smell, or please 

the view, 
The which the Nymphes from all the 

brooks thereby 
Had gathered, they at her foot-stoole 

threw ; 



That richer seem'd then any tapestry. 
That Princes bowres adorne with painted 
imagery. 

XI. 

And Mole himself e, to honour her the 

more, 
Did deck himselfe in freshest f aire attire ; 
And his high head, that seemeth alwayes 

bore 
With hardned frosts of former winters 

ire, 
He with an Oaken girlond now did tire, 
As if the love of some new Nymph, late 

scene, 
Had in him kindled youthf ull fresh desire, 
And made him change his gray attire to 

greene : 
Ah, gentle Mole! such joyance hath thee 

well beseene. 



Was never so great joyance since the 

day 
That all the gods whylome assembled 

were 
On Hsemus hill in their divine array. 
To celebrate the solemne bridall cheare 
Twixt Peleus and Dame Thetis pointed 

there ; 
Where Phoebus selfe, that god of Poets 

bight, 
They say, did sing the spousall hymne 

full cleere, 
That all the gods were ravisht with 

delight 
Of his celestiall song, and Musicks won- 
drous might. 



This great Grandmother of all creatures 

bred. 
Great Nature, ever young, yet full of eld ; 
Still mooving, yet unmoved from her sted ; 
Unseene of any, yet of all beheld ; 
Thus sitting in her throne, as I have teld. 
Before her came dame Mutability ; 
And, being lowe before her presence feld 
With meek obaysance and humilitie, 
Thus gan her plantif Plea with words to 

amplifie : 

XIV. 

'To thee, greatest Goddesse, onely 
great ! 
And humble suppliant loe ! I lowely fly, 
Seeking for Right, which I of thee entreat, 
Who Right to all dost deale indifferently, 
Damning all Wrong and tortious Injurie, 
Which any of thy creatures do to other 
(Oppressing them with power unequally,) 
Sith of them all thou art the equall mother, 



CANTO VII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



537 



And knittest each to each, as brother unto 
brother. 

XV. 

* To thee therefore of this same Jove I 

plaine, 
And of his fellow gods that faine to be, 
That challenge to themselves the whole 

worlds raign, 
Of which the greatest part is due to me, 
And heaven it self e by heritage in Fee : 
For heaven and earth I both alike do 

deeme, 
Sith heaven and earth are both alike to 

thee, 
And gods no more then men thou doest 

esteeme ; 
For even the gods to thee, as men to gods, 

do seeme. 

XVI. 

. * Then weigh, O soveraigne goddesse ! by 

what right 
These gods do claime the worlds whole 

soverainty. 
And that is onely dew unto thy might 
Arrogate to themselves ambitiously : 
As for the gods owne principality, 
Which Jove usurpes unjustly, that to be 
My heritage Jove's selfe cannot denie, 
From my great Grandsire Titan unto 

mee 
Deriv'd by dew descent ; as is well knowen 

to thee. 

XVII. 

* Yet mauger Jove, and all his gods 

beside, 
I do possesse the worlds most regiment ; 
As if ye please it into parts divide. 
And every parts inholders to convent. 
Shall to your eyes appeare incontinent. 
And, first, the Earth (great mother of us 

all) 
That only seemes unmov'd and perma- 
nent, 
And unto Mutabilitie not thrall, 
Yet is she chang'd in part, and eeke in 
generall : 

xvm. 

' For all that from her springs, and is 

ybredde, 
How-ever faire it flourish for a time. 
Yet see we soone decay ; and, being dead, 
To turne againe unto their earthly slime : 
Yet, out of their decay and mortall crime. 
We daily see new creatures to arize, 
And of their Winter spring another Prime, 
Unlike informe, and chang'd by strange 

disguise : 
So turne they still about, and change in 

restlesse wise. 



' As for her tenants, that is, man and 
beasts. 
The beasts we daily see massacred dy 
As thralls and vassals unto mens beheasts ; 
And men themselves do change continu- 
ally, 
From youth to eld, from wealth to poverty, 
From good to bad, from bad to worst of 

all: 
Ne doe their bodies only flit and fly. 
But eeke their minds (which they immor- 

tall call) 
Still change and vary thoughts, as new 
occasions fall. 

XX. 

' Ne is the water in more constant case, 
Whether those same on high, or these 

belowe ; 
For th' Ocean moveth still from place to 

place, 
And every River still doth ebbe and flowe ; 
Ne any Lake, that seems most still and 

slowe, 
Ne Poole so small, that can his smooth- 

nesse holde 
When any winde doth under heaven blowe ; 
With which the clouds are also tost and 

roll'd. 
Now like great Hills, and streight like 

sluces them unfold. 



* So likewise are all watry living wights 
Still tost and turned with continuall 

change, 
Never abiding in their stedfast plights : 
The fish, still floting, doe at random 

range. 
And never rest, but evermore exchange 
Their dwelling places, as the streames 

them carrie : 
Ne have the watry foules a certaine grange 
Wherein to rest, ne in one stead do tarry ; 
But flitting still doe flie, and still their 

places vary. 



'Next is the Ayre; which who feeles 

not by sense* 
(For of all sense it is the middle meaue) 
To flit still, and with subtill influence 
Of his thin spirit all creatures to main- 

taine 
In state of life ? O weake life ! that does 

leane 
On thing so tickle as th' unsteady ayre, 
Which every howre is chang'd and altred 

cleane 



538 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book vii. 



With every blast that bloweth, fowle or 

faire : 
The faire doth it prolong ; the fowle doth 

it impaire. 

XXIII. 

' Therein the changes infinite heholde, 

Which to her creatures every minute 
chaunce ; 

Now boyling hot, streight i'riezing deadly 
cold ; 

Now faire sun-shine, that makes all skip 
and daunce ; 

Streight bitter stormes, and balef ull coun- 
tenance 

That makes them all to shiver and to 
shake : 

Rayne, haile, and snowe do pay them sad 
penance, 

And dreadfull thunder-claps (that make 
them quake) 

With flames and flashing lights that thou- 
sand changes make. 



' Last is the fire ; which, though it live 

for ever, 
Ne can be quenched quite, yet every day 
We see his parts, so soone as they do 

sever, 
To lose their heat and shortly to decay ; 
So makes himself his owne consuming 

pray : 
Ne any living creatures doth he breed, 
But all that are of others bredd doth 

slay ; 
And with their death his cruell life dooth 

feed; 
Nought leaving but their barren ashes 

without seede. 

XXV. 

* Thus all these fower (the which the 
groundwork bee 

Of all the world and of all living wights) 

To thousand sorts of Change we subject 
see: 

Yet are they chang'd (by other wondrous 
slights) 

Into themselves, and lose their native 
mights ; 

The Fire to Ayre, and th' Ayre to Water 
sheere, 

And Water into Earth ; yet Water fights 

With Fire, and Ayre with Earth, ap- 
proaching neere : 

Yet all are in one body, and as one appeare. 

XXVI. 

' So in them all raignes Mutabilitie ; 
How-ever these, that Gods themselves do 
call, 



Of them do claime the rule and sover- 

ainty ; 
As Vesta, of the fire pethereall; 
Vulcan, of this with us so usuall ; 
Ops, of the earth ; and Juno, of the ayre ; 
Neptune, of seas ; and Nymphes, of Rivers 

all: 
For all those Rivers to me subject are. 
And all the rest, which they usurp, be all 

my share. 

XXVII. 

' Which to appro ven true, as I have told. 
Vouchsafe, O Goddesse! to thy presence 

call 
The rest which doe the world in being hold ; 
As times and seasons of the yeare that 

fall: 
Of all the which demand in generall, 
Or judge thyself e, by verdit of thine eye, 
Whether to me they are not subject all.' 
Nature did yeeld thereto ; and by-and-by 
Bade Order call them all before her 

Majesty. 

XXVIII. 

So forth issew'd the Seasons of the 

yeare. 
First, lusty Spring, all dight in leaves of 

flowres 
That freshly budded and new bloosmes 

did beare, 
(In which a thousand birds had built their 

bowres 
That sweetly sung to call forth Paramours) 
And in his hand a javelin he did beare, 
And on his head (as fit for warlike stoures) 
A guilt engraven morion he did weare ; 
That as some did him love, so others did 

him feare. 

XXIX. 

Then came the jolly Sommer, being dight 
In a thin silken cassock coloured green e. 
That was unlyned all, to be more light; 
And on his head a girlond well beseene 
He wore, from which, as he had chauffed 

been. 
The sweat did drop ; and in his hand he 

bore 
A boawe and shaftes, as he in forrest 

greene 
Had hunted late the Libbard or the Bore, 
And now would bathe his limbes with 

labor heated sore. 



Then came the Autumne all in yellow 

clad. 
As thoug-h he joyed in his plentious store. 
Laden with fruits that made him laugh, 

full glad 



CANTO VII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



539 



That he had bauisht hunger, which to-fore 
Had by the belly oft him pinched sore : 
Upon his head a wreath, that was eurold 
With ears of corne of every sort, he bore ; 
And in his hand a sickle he did holde. 
To reape the ripened fruits the which the 
earth 'had yold. 



Lastly, came Winter cloathed all in 

frize. 
Chattering his teeth for cold that did him 

chill ; 
Whil'st on his hoary beard his breath did 

freese, 
And the dull drops, that from his purpled 

bill 
As from a limbeck did adown distill. 
In his right hand a tipped staff e he held, 
With which his feeble steps he stayed still ; 
For he was faint with cold, and weak 

with eld, 
That scarse his loosed limbes he hable 

was to weld. 



These, marching softly, thus in order 
went ; 
And after them the Monthes all riding- 
came. 
First, sturdy March, w^th brows full 

sternly bent 
And armed strongly, rode upon a Ram, 
The same which over Hellespontus swam ; 
Yet in his hand a spade he also hent, 
And in a bag all sorts of seeds ysame, 
Which on the earth he strowed as he 

went. 
And fild her wombe with fruitfull hope 
of nourishment. 



Next came fresh Aprill, full of lustyhed. 
And wanton as a Kid whose borne new 

buds : 
Upon a Bull he rode, the same which led 
Europa floting through th' Argolick finds : 
His homes were gilden all with golden 

studs, 
And garnished with garlonds goodly 

dight 
Of all the fairest flowres and freshest buds 
W^hich th' earth brings forth ; and wet he 

seem'd in sight 
With waves, through which he waded for 

his loves delight. 



Then came faire May, the fayrest mayd 
on ground, 



Deckt all with dainties of her seasons 

pryde. 
And throwing flowres out of her lap 

around : 
Upon two brethrens shoulders she did 

ride, 
The twinnes of Leda; which on eyther 

side 
Supported her like to their soveraigne 

Queene : 
Lord ! how all creatures laught w^hen her 

they spide 
And leapt and daunc't as they had rav- 

isht beene! 
And Cupid selfe about her fluttred all in 

greene. 

XXXV. 

And after her came jolly June, arraj^d 
All in greene leaves, as he a Player were ; 
Yet in his time he wrought as well as 

playd, 
That by his plough-yrons mote right well 

appeare. 
Upon a Crab he rode, that him did beare 
With crooked crawling steps an uncouth 

pase. 
And backward yode, as Bargemen wont 

to fare 
Bending their force contrary to their 

face; 
Like that ungracious crew which faines 

demurest grace. 



Then came hot July boy ling like to fire. 
That all his garments he had cast away. 
Upon a Lyon raging yet with ire 
He boldly rode, and made him to obay : 
It was the beast that whj'-lome did forray 
The NemjBan forrest, till th' Amphy- 

trionide 
Him slew, and with his hide did him array. 
Behinde his back a sithe, and by his side 
Under his belt he bore a sickle circling 

wide. 

XXXVII. 

The sixt was August, being rich arrayd 
In garment all of gold dowue to the 

ground ; 
Yet rode he not, but led a lovely Mayd 
Forth by the lilly hand, the which was 

cround 
With eaves of corne, and full her hand 

was found ; 
That was the righteous Virgin, which of 

old 
Liv'd here on earth, and plenty made 

abound ; 
But after Wrong was lov'd, and Justice 

solde, 



540 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book vii. 



She left th' unrighteous world, and was 
to heaven extold. 

XXXVIII. 

Next him September marched, eeke on 

foote, 
Yet was he heavy laden with the spoyle 
Of harvests riches, which he made his 

boot, 
And him enricht with bounty of the 

soyle : 
In his one hand, as fit for harvests toyle, 
He held a knife-hook; and in th' other 

hand 
A paire of waights, with which he did 



Both more and lesse, where it in doubt 

did stand. 
And equall gave to each as Justice duly 

scann'd. 

xxxrx. 

Then came October full of merry glee ; 
For yet his noule was totty of the must. 
Which he was treading in the wine-fats 

see, 
And of the joyous oyle, whose gentle 

gust 
Made him so f rollick and so full of lust : 
Upon a dreadfull Scorpion he did ride. 
The same which by Dianaes doom un- 
just 
Slew great Orion ; and eeke by his side 
He had his ploughing-share and coulter 
ready tyde. 

XL. 

Next was November; he full grosse 

and fat 
As fed with lard, and that right well 

might seeme; 
For he had been a fatting hogs of late. 
That yet his browes with sweat did reek 

and steem. 
And yet the season was full sharp and 

breem : 
In planting eeke he took no small delight. 
Whereon he rode not easie was to deeme ; 
For it a dreadfull Centaure was in sight. 
The seed of Saturne and faire Nais, 

Chiron bight. 

XLI. 

And after him came next the chill 
December : 

Yet he, through merry feasting which he 
made 

And great bonfires, did not the cold re- 
member ; 

His Saviour's birth his mind so much did 
glad. 

Upon a shaggy-bearded Goat he rode, 



The same wherewith Dan Jove in tender 

yeares, 
They say, was nourisht by th' Idaean 

mayd ; 
And in his hand a broad deepe boawle he 

beares, 
Of which he freely drinks an health to all 

his peeres. 

Xlill. 

Then came old January, wrapped well 
In many weeds to keep the cold away ; 
Yet did he quake and quiver, like to 

quell, 
And bio we his nayles to warme them if he 

may; 
For they were numbd with holding all the 

day 
An hatchet keene, with which he felled 

wood 
And from the trees did lop the needlesse 

spray : 
Upon an huge great Earth-pot steane he 

stood. 
From whose wide mouth there flowed 

forth the Romane Flood. 



And lastly came cold February, sitting 
In an old wagon, for he could not ride, 
Drawne of two fishes, for the season 

fitting. 
Which through the flood before did softly 

slyde 
And swim away : yet had he by his side 
His plough and harnesse fit to till the 

ground. 
And tooles to prune the trees, before the 

pride 
Of hasting Prime did make them burgein 

round. 
So past the twelve Months forth, and 

their dew places found. 

XLIV. 

And after these, there came the Day 

and Night, 
Riding together both with equall pase, 
Th' one on a Palfrey blacke, the other 

white ; 
But Night had covered her uncomely face 
With a blacke veile, and held in hand a 

mace, 
On top whereof the moon and stars were 

pight ; 
And sleep and darknesse round about 

did trace : 
But Day did beare upon his scepters 

bight 
The goodly Sun encompast all with 

beames bright. 



CANTO VII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



541 



Then came the Howres, faire daughters 

of high Jove 
And timely Night; the which were all 

endewed 
With wondrous beauty fit to kindle love ; 
But they were virgins all, and love 

eschewed 
That might forslack the charge to them 

foreshewed 
By mighty Jove; who did them porters 

make 
Of heavens gate (whence all the gods 

issued) 
Which they did daily watch, and nightly 

wake 
By even turnes, ne ever did their charge 

forsake. 

XLVI. 

' And after all came Life, and lastly 

Death ; 
Death with most grim and griesly visage 



Yet is he nought but parting of the breath ; 
Ne ought to see, but like a shade to 

weene. 
Unbodied, unsoul'd, unheard, unseene: 
But Life was like a faire young lusty 

boy, 
Such as they faine Dan Cupid to have 

beene, 
Full of delightfull health and lively joy, 
Deckt all with flowres, and wings of gold 

fit to employ. 

XLVII. 

When these were past, thus gan the 

Titanesse : 
'Lo! mighty mother, now be judge, and 

say 
Whether in all thy creatures more or lesse 
Change doth not raign and bear the 

greatest sway; 
For who sees not that Time on all doth 

pray? 
But Times do change and move contin- 
ually : 
So nothing heere long standeth in one 

stay: 
Wherefore this lower world who can 

deny 
But to be subject still to Mutability ? ' 

xLvm. 

Then thus gan Jove : ' Right true it is, 

that these 
And all things else that under heaven 

dwell 
Are chaung'd of Time, who doth them all 

disseise 



Of being : But who is it (to me tell) 

That Time himselfe doth move, and still 
compell 

To keepe his course ? Is not that namely 
wee 

Which poure that vertue from our heav- 
enly cell 

That moves them all, and makes them 
changed be? 

So them we gods do rule, and in them 
also thee.' 

XLIX. 

To whom thus Mutability : ' The things, 
Which we see not how they are mov'd 

and swayd 
Ye may attribute to your selves as Kings, 
And say, they by your secret powre are 

made: 
But what we see not, who shall us per- 

swade ? 
But were they so, as ye them faine to be, 
Mov'd by your might and ordered by 

your ayde. 
Yet what if I can prove, that even yee 
Your selves are likewise chang'd, and 

subject unto mee? 



* And first, concerning her that is the 

first, 
Even you, faire Cynthia ; whom so much 

ye make 
Joves dearest darling, she was bred and 

nurst 
On Cynthus hill, whence she her name 

did take; 
Then is she mortall borne, how-so ye 

crake : 
Besides, her face and countenance every 

day 
We changed see and sundry formes 

partake, 
Now hornd, now round, now bright, now 

browne and gray ; 
So that " as changefuU as the Moone " men 

use to say. 

LI. 

* Next Mercury ; who though he lesse 

appeare 
To change his hew, and alwayes seeme as 

one. 
Yet he his course doth alter every yeare. 
And is of late far out of order gone. 
So Venus eeke, that goodly Paragone, 
Though faire all night, yet is she darke all 

day: 
And Phoebus selfe, who lightsome is alone. 
Yet is he oft eclipsed by the way. 
And fills the darkned world with terror 

and dismay. 



542 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



[book VII. 



* Now Mars, that valiant man, is changed 

most; 
For he sometimes so far runnes out of 

square, 
That he his way doth seem quite to have 

lost, 
And cleane without his usuall spheere to 

fare; 
That even these Star-gazers stonisht are 
At sight thereof, and damne their lying 

bookes : 
So likewise grim Sir Saturne oft doth spare 
His Sterne aspect, and calme his crabbed 

lookes. 
So many turning cranks these have, so 

many crookes. 



* But you, Dan Jove, that only constant 

are. 
And King of all the rest, as ye doe clame, 
Are you not subject eeke to this misfare? 
Then, let me aske you this withouten 

blame; 
Where were ye borne ? Some say in Crete 

by name, 
Others in Thebes, and others other-where ; 
But, wheresoever they comment the same. 
They all consent that ye begotten were 
And borne here in this world; ne other 

can appeare. 

LIV. 

' Then are ye mortall borne, and thrall 

to me 
Unlesse the kingdom e of the sky yee make 
Immortal] and unchangeable to be : 
Besides, that power and vertue which ye 

spake. 
That ye here worke, doth many changes 

take. 
And your owne natures change ; for each 

of you, 
That vertue have or this or that to make, 
Is checkt and changed from his nature 

trew. 
By others opposition or obliquid view. 

LV. 

* Besides, the sundry motions of your 

Spheares, 
So sundry wayes and fashions as clerkes 

faine, 
Some in short space, and some in longer 

yeares, 
What is the same but alteration plaine ? 
Onely the starry skie doth still remaine : 
Yet do the St'arres and Signes therein 

still move, 



And even itselfe is mov'd, as wizards 

saine : 
But all that moveth doth mutation love ; 
Therefore both you and them to me I 

subject prove. 

LVI. 

* Then, since within this wide great 

Universe 

Nothing doth firme and permanent ap- 
peare. 

But all things tost and turned by trans- 
verse, 

What then should let, but I aloft should 
rears 

My Trophee, and from all the triumph 
beare ? 

Now judge then, (O thou greatest god- 
desse trew) 

According as thy selfe doest see and heare, 

And unto me addoom that is my dew ; 

That is, the rule of all, all being rul'd by 
you.' 

LVII. 

So having ended, silence long ensewed ; 
Ne Nature to or fro spake for a space, 
But with firme eyes affixt the ground still 

viewed. 
Meane-while all creatures, looking in her 

face. 
Expecting th' end of this so doubtfull case. 
Did hang in long suspence what would 

ensew. 
To whether side should fall the soveraine 

place : 
At length she, looking up with chearefull 

view. 
The silence brake, and gave her doome in 

speeches few. 

LVIII. 

* I well consider all that ye have said, 
And find that all things stedfastnesse do 

hate 
And changed be ; yet, being rightly wayd. 
They are not changed from their first 

estate ; 
But by their change their being do dilate, 
And turning to themselves at length 

againe, 
Do worke their owne perfection so by 

fate: 
Then over them Change doth not rule and 

raigne, 
But they raigne over Change, and do their 

states maintaine. 



' Cease therefore, daughter, further to 
aspire, 



CANTO VII.] 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



543 



And thee content thus to be rul'd by mee, 
For thy decay thou seekst by thy desire ; 
But time shall come that all shall changed 

bee, 
And from thenceforth none no more change 

shal see.' 



So was the Titanesse put downe and whist, 
And Jove confirm'd in his imperiall see. 
Then was that whole assembly quite dis- 

mist, 
And Natur's selfe did vanish, whither no 

man wist. 



THE Vm. CANTO, Unperfite. 



When I bethinke me on that speech 

whyleare 
Of Mutabilitie, and well it way! 
Me seemes, that though she all unworthy 

were 
Of the Heav'ns Rule ; yet, very sooth to 

say, 
In all things else she beares the greatest 

sway : 
Which makes me loath this state of life 

so tickle, 
And love of things so vaine to cast away ; 
Whose Ho wring pride, so fading and so 

fickle. 
Short Time shall soon cut down with his 

consuming sickle. 



Then gin I thinke on that which Nature 

sayd, 
Of that same time when no more Change 

shall be, 
But stedfast rest of all things, firmely 

stayd 
Upon the pillours of Eternity, 
That is contrayr to Mutabilitie; 
For all that moveth doth in Change 

delight: 
But thence-forth all shall rest eter- 
nally 
With Him that is the God of Sabaoth 

hight : 
O ! that great Sabaoth God, grant me that 

Sabaoths sight ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



THE 

SHEPHEARDES CALENDER: 

CONTEYNING TWELVE ^GLOGUES, 

PROPORTIONABLE 

TO THE TWELVE MONETHES. 

ENTITLED 

To the noble and vertnous Gentleman, most worthy of 
all titles both of learning and chevalrie, 

MAISTER PHILIP SIDNEY. 



TO HIS BOOKE. 

Goe, little booke ! thy selfe present^ 
As child whose parent is unkent, 
To him that is the president 
Of Noblesse and of chevalree : 
And if that Envie barke at thee, 
As sure it will, for succoure flee 
Under the shadow of his wing ; 
And asked who thee forth did bring, 
A shepheards swaine, saye, did thee 
All as his straying flocke hefedde : 
And, when his honor has thee redde. 
Crave pardon for my hardy hedde. 
But, if that any aske thy name, 
Say, thou wert base-begot with blame ; 
For-thy thereof thou takest shame. 
And, when thou art past jeopardee, 
Com,e tell me what was sayd of m,ee. 
And I will send more after thee. 

Immerito. 



TO THE MOST EXCELLENT AND LEARNED, 
BOTH ORATOR AND POETE, 

MAYSTER GABRIELL HARVEY, 



VEBIB SPECIAL AN'P SIXGrLAR GOOI> FREND E. K. COMMENDETII THE GOOD LTKINQ OF THIS 
HIS LABOCB, AND THE PATRONAGE OF THE NEW POETE. 



U^vcouTffE, ^mkiste, sayde the old famous 
Poete Chaucer: lohom for his excellencie 
and wonderfuU skilin making, his scholler 
Lidgate, a worthy scholler of so excellent a 
maister, calleth the Load'estarre of our 
Language : and lohom our Colin Clout in 
his ./Eglogue calleth Tityrus the God of 
shepheards, compari7ig hym to the wor- 
thines of the Roman 2'ityrus, Virgile. 
Which proverbe, myne owne good friend 
Ma. Harvey, as in that good old Poete it 
served icell Pandares purpose for the bol- 
stering of his baudy brocage, so very well 
taketh place in this our new Poete, who 
for that he is uncouthe {as said Chaucer) 
is unkist, and unknown to most men, is 
regarded but of few. But I dout not, so 
soone as his name shall come into the 
knoicledge of men, and his worthines be 
sounded in the trompoffame, but that he 
shall be not onely kiste, but also beloved of 
all, embraced of the most, and loondred at 
of the best. No lesse, I thinke, deserveth 
his loittinesse in devising, his pithinesse 
in uttering, his complaints of love so lovely, 
his discourses of pleasure so pleasantly, 
his pastoral rudenesse, his morall wise- 
nesse, his dewe observing of Decorum 
everye where, in personages, in seasons, in 
matter, in speach; and generally, in al 
seemely simplycitie of handeling his mat- 
ter, and framing his loords: the ivhich 
ofmajiy thinges which inhim be straunge, 
iknoio willseeme the straungest, the words 
them selves being so auncient, the knitting 
of them so short and intricate, and the 
lohole Periode a7id compasse of sp cache so 
delightsome for the roundnesse, and so 
grave for the straungenesse. And firste 
of the xoordes to speake, I graunt they be 
something hard, and of most men unused, 
yet both English, and also used of most ex- 
cellent Authors, and most famous Poetes. 
In whom, whenas this our Poet hath bene 
much traveiled and throughly redd, how 



could it be, (as that loorthy Oratour sayde) 
but that walking in the sonne, although 
for other cause he walked, yet needes he 
mought be sunburnt; and, having the 
sound of those auncient Poetes still ring- 
ing in his eares, he mought needes, in 
singing, hit out some of theyr tunes. But 
whether he useth them by such casualtye 
aiul custome, or of set purpose and choyse, 
as thinking them attest for such rusticall 
7'vdenesse of shepheards, eyther for that 
theyr rough sounde wouldmake his rymes 
more ragged and rustical, or els because 
such olde and obsolete loordes are most 
used of country folke, sure I think, and 
think I think not amisse, that they bring 
great grace, a)id, as one icould say, auc- 
toritie to the verse. For albe, amotigst 
many other faultes, it specially be objected 
of Valla against Livie, andof other against 
Saluste, that with over much studie they 
afect antiquitie, as coveting thereby 
credence and honor of elder yeeres, yet I 
am of opinion, and eke the best learned 
are of the lyke, that those auncient solemne 
wordes are a great ornament, both in the 
one, and in the other; the one labouring 
to set forth in hys worke an eternall image 
of antiquitie, and the other carefully dis- 
coursing matters of gravitie and impor- 
taunce. For, if my memory faile not, 
Tullie, in that booke tcherein he endev- 
oureth to set forth the paterne of a per- 
fect Oratour,' sayth that ofttimes an 
auncient worde maketh the style seeme 
grave, and as it were reverend, no other- 
wise then we honour aiid reverence gray 
heares, for a certein religious regard, 
which we have of old age. Yet nether 
every where must old words be stuffed in, 
nor the common Dialecte and jnaner of 
speaking so corrupted therby, that, as in 
old buildings, it seme disorderly and 7'uin- 
ous. But all as in niost exquisite pic- 
tures they use to blaze and protraict not 



549 



550 



THE EPISTLE. 



only the daintie lineaments of beautye, 
but also rounde about it to shadowe the 
rude thickets and craggy clifts, that, by 
the basenesse of such parts, more excel- 
lency may accreio to the principall; for 
oftimes we fynde our selves, I knoive not 
hoio, singularly delighted ivith the shewe 
of such naturall rudenesse, and take great 
pleasure in that disorderly order. Even 
so doe those rough and harsh termes en- 
lumine, and make more clearly to appeare, 
the brightnesse of brave and glorious 
words. So oftentimes a dischorde in 
Musick maketh a comely concordaunce : 
so great delight tooke the worthy Poete 
Alceus to behold a blemish in the joynt 
of a vjel shaped body. But, if any will 
rashly blame such his purpose in choyse 
of old and unwonted words, him may I 
more justly blame and condemne, or of 
witlesse headinesse in judging, or ofheede- 
lesse hardinesse in condemning ; for, not 
marking the compasse of hys bent, he wil 
judge of the length of his cast: for in my 
opinion it is one special prayse of many, 
whych are dew to this Poete, that he hath 
laboured to restore, as to theyr rightfull 
heritage, such good and naturall English 
words, as have ben long time out of use, 
and almost cleane disherited. Which is 
the onely cause, that our Mother tonge, 
which truely of it self is both ful enough 
for prose, and stately enough for verse, 
hath long time ben counted m,ost bare 
and barrein of both. Which defaidt 
whenas some endevoured to salve and 
recure, they patched up the holes with 
peces and rags of other languages, bor- 
roiving here of the French, there of the 
Italian, every ivhere of the Latine; not 
loeighing hoio il those tongues accorde 
with themselves, but much worse with 
ours: So now they have made our English 
tongue a gcdlimaufray, or hodgepodge of 
al other speches. Other some, not so wel 
seene in the English tonge as perhaps in 
other languages, if they happen to here 
an olde word, albeit very naturall and 
significant, crye out streightway, that we 
speak no English, but gibbrish, or rather 
such as in old time Evanders mother 
spake: whose first shame is, that they are 
not ashamed, in their own mother tonge, 
to be counted straungers and alienes. 
The second shame no lesse then the first, 
that lohat so they understand not, they 
str eight way deeme to be senselesse, and 
not at al to be understode. Much like to 
the Mole in ^sopesfable, that, being blynd 
her selfe, would in no wise be perswaded 
that any beast could see. The last, more 



shameful then both, that of their oione 
country and natural speach, which to- 
gether wilh their Nources milk they 
sucked, they have so base regard and bas- 
tard judgement, that they ivill not onely 
themselves not labor to garnish and beau- 
tifie it, but also repine, that of other it 
shold be embellished. . Like to the dogge 
in the maunger, that him selfe can eate 
no hay, and yet barketh at the hungry 
bullock, that sofaine would f cede : whose 
currish kind, though it cannot be kept 
from barking, yet conne I them thanke 
that they refrain from byting. 

Noio, for the knitting of sentences, 
whych they call the joynts and members 
therof, and for al the compasse of the 
speach, it is round witliout roughnesse, 
and learned without hardnes, such iyideede 
as may be perceived of the leaste, under- 
stoode of the moste, but judged onely of 
the learned. For lohat in most English 
wryters useth to be loose, and as it were 
ungyrt, in this Authour is well grounded, 
finely framed, and strongly trussed up 
together. In regard wherof, I scorne 
and spue out the rakehellye route of our 
ragged rymers (for so themselves use to 
hunt the letter) lohich without learning 
bosie, without judgement jangle, without 
reason rage and fame, as if some instinct 
of Poeticall spirite had newly ravished 
them above the meanenesse of common 
capacitie. And being, in the middest of 
all theyr bravery, sodenly, eyther for 
want of matter, or of ryme, or having 
forgotten theyr former conceipt, they 
seeme to be so pained and travelled in 
theyr remembrance, as it were a woman 
in childebirth, or as that same Pythia, 
when the traunce came upo7i her : ' Os 
rabidum fera corda domans, &c.' 

Nethelesse, let them a Gods name feede 
on theyr owne folly, so they seeke not to 
darken the beames of others glory. As 
for Colin, under whose person the Authour 
selfe is shadowed, how furre he is from 
such vaunted titles and glorious shoives, 
both him selfe sheweth, where he sayth, 

' Of Muses Hobbin, I conne no skill. 

And 

' Enough is me to paint out my unrest, &c.' 

And also appeareth by the basenesse of 
the name, loherein it semeth he chose 
rather to unfold great matter of argu- 
ment covertly then, professing it, not 
suffice thereto accordingly. Which moved 
him rather in jEglogues then other wise 
to write, doubting perhaps his habilitie, 



THE EPISTLE. 



551 



which he little needed, or my tiding to 
furnish our tongue with this kinde, 
wherein it faulteth ; or following the 
example of the best and most auncient 
Foetes, lohich devised this kind of wryt- 
ing, being both so base for the matter, 
arid homely for the manner, at the ^first 
to trye theyr habllities' and as young 
birdes, that be newly crept out of the 
nest, by little first to prove theyr tender 
v^yngs, before they make a greater fly ght. 
So flew Theocritus, as you may perceive he 
was all ready full fledged. So flew Virgile, 
as not yet well feeling his winges. So flew 
Mayituane, as not being full somd. So 
Fetrarque. So Boccace. So Marot, San- 
azarus, and also divers other excellent 
both Italian and French Foetes, whosQ 
fating this Author every where followeth ; 
yet so as few, but they be wel sented, can 
trace him out. So finally fly eth this our new 
Foete as a birde lohose principals be scarce 
groioen out, but yet as one that in time 
shall be hable to keepe wing with the best. 
Now, as touching the generall dryft 
and purpose of his JSglogues, I mind not 
to say much, him selfe labouring to con- 
ceale it. Onely this appeareth, that his 
unstayed yougth had long wandred in 
the common Labyrinth of Love, in which 
time to mitigate arid allay theheate of his 
passion, or els to warne {as he sayth) the 
young shepheards, s. his equalls and com- 
panions, of his unfortunate folly , he com- 
piled these xij ^glogues, which, for that 
they be proportioned to the state of the xij 
monethes, he termeth the Shepheards Cal- 
endar, applying an olde name to a nevj 
worke. Hereunto have I added a certain 
Glosse, or scholion,for thexposition of old 
wordes, and harder phrases ; which maner 
of glosing and commenting, well I wote, 
wil seeme straunge and rare in our 
tongue : yet, for so much as I knew many 
excellent and proper devises, both in 
wordes and matter, would passe in the 
speedy course of reading, either as un- 
knowen, or as not marked, and that in 
this kind, as in other, we might be eqxial 
to the learned of other nations, I thought 
good to take the paines upon me, the 
rather for that by meanes of sorne famil- 
iar acquaintaunce I was made privie to 
his couyisell and secret meaning in them, 
as also in sundry other vjorks of his, ichich 
albeit I know he nothing so much hateth 
as to promulgate, yet thus much have I 
adventured upon his frendship, him selfe 
being for long time furre estraunged, 
hoping that this will the rather occasion 
him to put forth divers other excellent 



works of his, ichich slepe in silence; as 
his Drearaes, his Legendes, his Court of 
Cupide, and .sondry others, whose com- 
mendations to set out were verye vaine, 
the thinges though worthy of many, yet 
being knowen to fevj. These my present 
paynes, if to any they be pleasurable or 
profitable, be you judge, mine own good 
maister Hai'vey, to whom I have, both in 
respect of your worthinesse generally, and 
otherwyse upon some particular and 
special considerations, voued this my 
labour, and the maydenhead of this our 
common frends Foetrie; himselfe having 
already in the beginning dedicated it to 
the Noble and loorthy Gentleman, the 
right worshipfull Ma. Fhi. Sidney, a 
special favourer and maintainer of all 
kind of learning. Whose cause, I pray 
you. Sir, yf Envie shall slur up any 
wrongful accusasion, defend with your 
mighty Rhetorick and other your rare 
gifts of learning, as you can, and shield 
with your good wil, as you ought, 
against the malice and outrage of so 
many enemies, as I know wil be set on 
fire v:ith the sparks of his kindled glory. 
And thus recommending the Author unto 
you, as unto his lyiost special good f rend, 
and my selfe unto you both, as one mak- 
ing singuler account of two so very good 
and so choise frends, I bid you both most 
hartely farwel, and commit you and your 
commendable studies to the iuicion of the 
Greatest. 

Your owne assuredly to be commaunded, 
E.K. 
Fost scr. 

NOW I trust, M. Harvey, that upon 
sight of your speciall frends and fellow 
Foets doings, or els for envie of so many 
unworthy Quidams, ichich catch at the 
garlond which to you alone is deioe, you 
will be perswaded to pluck out of the hate- 
ful darknesse those so many excellent 
Englishpoemes of yours ichich lye hid, and 
bring them forth to eternall light. Trust 
me, you doe both them great wrong, in 
depriving them of the desired sonne ; and 
also your selfe, in smoothering your de- 
served prayses ; and all men generally, in 
withholding from them so divine pleasures, 
which they might conceive of your gal- 
lant English verses, as they have already 
doen of your Latine Foemes, which, in 
my opinion, both for inventioii and Elocu- 
tio7i are very delicate and superexcellent. 
And thus againe I take my leave of my 
good Mayster Harvey : from my lodging 
at London thys 10. of Aprill, 1579. 



THE GENERALL ARGUMENT OF 
THE WHOLE BOOKE. 



Little, I hope, needeth me at large to 
discourse the first Originall of ^glogues, 
having alreadie touched the same. But, 
for the word ^glogues, I kuow, is un- 
knowen to most, and also mistaken of 
some of the best learned (as they think,) 
I wyll say somewhat thereof, being not at 
all impertinent to my present purpose. 

They were first of the Greekes, the in- 
ventours of them, called ^Eglogai, as it 
were aiyiov or ai.yov6ixi>iv A6701, that is, Gote- 
heards tales. For although in Virgile and 
others the speakers be more Shepheards 
then Goatheards, yet Theocritus, in whom 
is more ground of authoritie then in 
Virgile, this specially from that deriving, 
as from the first head and welspring, the 
whole Invencion of these ^glogues, 
maketh Goteheards the persons aind 
authors of his tales. This being, who 
seeth not the grossenesse of such as by 
colour of learning would make us beleeve 
that they are more rightly termed Eclogai, 
as they would say, extraordinary dis- 
courses of unnecessarie matter : which 
definition albe in substaunce and meaning- 
it agree with the nature of the thing, yet 
no whit answereth with the av6.\v<7i<; and 
interpretation of the word. For they be 
not termed Eclogues but yEglogues ; which 
sentence this authour very well observing, 
upon good judgement, though indeede 
few Goteheards have to doe herein, nethe- 
lesse doubteth not to cal them by the 
used and best knowenname. Other curi- 
ous discourses hereof I reserve to greater 
occasion. 

These xij ^glogues, every where an- 
swering to the seasons of the twelve 
monthes, may be well devided into three 
formes or ranckes. For eyther they be 
Plaintive, as the first, the sixt, the 
eleventh, and the twelfth ; or Recreative, 
such as al those be, which containe matter 
of love, or commendation of special per- 
sonages; or Moral, which for the most 
part be mixed with some Satyrical bitter- 
nesse ; namely, the second, of reverence 
dewe to old age; the fift, of coloured 



deceipt; the seventh and ninth, of dis- 
solute shepheards and pastours ; the tenth, 
of contempt of Poetrie and pleasaunt wits. 
And to this division may every thing 
herein be reasonably apply ed : a few onely 
except, whose speciall purpose and mean- 
ing I am not privie to. And thus much 
generally of these xij JSgiogues. Now 
will we speake particularly of all, and first 
of the first, which he calJeth by the first 
monethes name, Januarie : wherein to 
some he may seeme fowly to have faulted, 
in that he erroniously begin neth with 
that moneth, which beginueth not the 
yeare. For it is wel known, and stoutely 
mainteyned with stronge reasons of the 
learned, that the yeare beginneth in 
March; for then the sonne reneweth his 
finished course, and the seasonable spring 
refresheth the earth, and the plesaunce 
thereof, being buried in the sadnesse of 
the dead winter now worne away, re- 
live th. 

This opinion maynteine the olde Astrol- 
ogers and Philosophers, namely, the rev- 
erend Andalo, and Macrobius in his 
holydayes of Saturne; which accoumpt 
also was generally observed both of 
Grecians and Romans. But, saving the 
leave of such learned heads, we mayntaine 
a custome of coumpting the seasons from 
the moneth January, upon a more speciall 
cause then the heathen Philosophers ever 
coulde conceive, that is, for the incarna- 
tion of our mighty Saviour, and eternall 
redeemer the L. Christ, who, as then re- 
newing the state of the decayed world, 
and returning the compasse of expired 
yeres to theyr former date and first com- 
mencement, left to us his heires a me- 
moriall of his birth in the ende of the last 
yeere and beginning of the next. Which 
reckoning, beside that eternall monument 
of our salvation, leaneth also uppon good 
proofe of special judgement. 

For albeit that in elder t^mes, when as 
yet the coumpt of the yere was not per- 
fected, as afterwarde it was by Julius 
Caesar, they began to tel the monethes 



652 



THE GENERALL ARGUMENT. 



553 



from Marches beginning, and according 
to the same God (as is sayd in Scripture) 
comaimded the people of the Jewes, to 
count the moneth Abib, that wliich we call 
March, for the first moneth, in remem- 
braunce that in that moneth he brought 
them out of the land of ^gipt: yet, ac- 
cording to tradition of latter times, it 
hath bene otherwise observed, both in 
government of the Church and rule of 
Mightiest Realnies. For from Julius 
Caesar who first observed the leape yeere, 
which he called Bissextileia An/iwn, and 
brought into a more certain course the 
odde wandring dayes which of the Greekes 
were called vnep^aivovTe^, of the Romanes 
intercalares, (for in such matter of learn- 
ing I am forced to use the termes of the 
learned,) the monethes have bene nombred 
xij, which in the first ordinaunce of Rom- 
ulus were but tenne, counting but ccciiij 
dayes in every yeare, and beginning with 
March. But Numa Pompilius, who was 
the father of al the Romaiu ceremonies 
and religion, seeing that reckoning to 
agree neither with the course of the sonne 
nor of the moone, thereunto added two 
monethes, January and February ; wherin 
it seemeth, that wise king minded, 
upon good reason, to begin the yeare at 



Januarie, of him therefore so called tan- 
quam Janua unni, the gate and entrauuce 
of the yere; or of the name of the god 
Janus, to which god for that the olde Pay- 
nims attributed the byrth and beginning of 
all creatures new comiuing into the worlde, 
it seemeth that he therfore to him as- 
signed the beginning and first entraunce 
of the yeare. Which account for the 
most part hath hetherto continued: Not- 
withstandhig that the J]:giptians beginne 
theyr yeare at September; for that, ac- 
cording to the opinion of the best Rabbins 
and very purpose of the Scripture itselfe, 
God made the worlde in that Moneth, that 
is called of them Tisri. And therefore 
he commaunded them to keepe the feast 
of Pavilions in the end of the yeare, in 
the XV. day of the seventh moneth, which 
before that time was the first. 

But our Authour respecting nether the 
subtiltie of thone part, nor the antiquitie 
of thother, thinketh it fittest, according 
to the simplicitie of common understand- 
ing, to begin with Januarie; weniug it 
perhaps no decorum that Shepheards 
should be scene in matter of so deepe 
insight, or canvase a case of so doubtful 
judgment. So therefore beginneth he, 
and so continueth he throughout. 



THE SHEPHEARDS CALENDER. 



JANUAKIE. 



^GLOGA PEIMA. AEGUMENT. 

In thisfyrst ^glogue Colin Cloute, a shepTieardes l)oy, aomplaineth Mm of his unfortunate love, 
being but newly {as semeth) enamoured of a cowntrie kisse called Rosalinde .*, %vith which 
strong affection being eery nore traveled, he compareth his carefull case to the sadde s.eason 
of the yeare, to thefrostie ground, to thefrosen trees, and to his oione winter-beaten, flocke. 
And, lastly e,fynding himself e robbed of all former pleasaunce and delights, hee breaketh 
his Pipe in peeces, and easteth him selfe to the ground. 

Colin Cloute. 



A SHEPEHEARDS boye, (no better doe him 

call,) 
When Winters wastful spight was almost 

spent, 
All in a sunneshine day, as did befall, 
Led forth his flock, that had bene long 

ypent : 
So faynt they woxe, and feeble in the 

folde, 5 

That now unnethes their feete could 

them uphold. 

All as the Sheepe, such was the shepe- 

heards looke, 
For pale and wanne he was, (alas the 

while! ) 
May seeme he lovd, or els some care he 

tooke ; 
Well couth he tune his pipe and frame his 

stile : 10 

Tho to a hill his faynting flocke he ledde, 
And thus himplaynd, the while his shepe 

there fedde. 

* Ye Gods of love, that pitie lovers payne, 
(If any gods the paine of lovers pitie) 
Looke ^rom above,' where you in joyes 

remaine, 15 

And bowe your eares unto my dolefuU 
dittie : 
And, Pan, thou shepheards God that 
•^ once didst love, 

Pitie the paines that thou thy selfe 
didst prove. 

* Thou barrein ground, whome winters 

wrath hath wasted. 
Art made a myrrhour to behold my 
plight : 20 



Whilome thy fresh spring flowrd, and 

after hasted 
Thy sommer prowde, with Daffadillies 
dight ; 
And now is come thy wynters stormy 

state, 
Thy mantle mard, wherein thou mask- 
edst latte. 

' Such rage as winters reigneth in my 

heart, 25 

My life-bloud friesing with unkindly 

cold ; 
Such stormy stoures do breede my balefull 

smart, 
As if ray yeare were wast and woxen old ; 
And yet, alas ! but now my spring be- 

gonne, 
And yet, alas ! yt is already donne. 30 

' You naked trees, whose shady leaves are 

lost. 
Wherein the byrds were wont to build 

their bowre. 
And now are clothd with mosse and hoary 

frost, 
Instede of bloosmes, wherewith your buds 

did flowre ; 
I see your teares that from your boughes 

doe raine, 35 

Whose drops in drery ysicles remaine. 

' All so my lustfull leafe is drye and sere, 
My timely buds with wayling all are 

wasted ; 
The blossome which my braunch of youth 

did beare 
With breathed sighes is blowne away and 

blasted : 40 



554 



L. 41-78'] 



JANUARIE. 



555 



And from mine eyes the drizling teares 

descend, 
As on your boughes the y sides depend. 

' Thou feeble flocke, whose fleece is rough 

and rent, 
Whose knees are weake through fast and 

evil] fare, 
Mayst witnesse well, by thy ill governe- 

ment, 45 

riiy maysters mind is overcome with care : 

Thou weake, I wanne ; thou leane, I 

quite forlorue : 
With mourning pynel; you with pyn- 

iug mourne. 

' A thousand sithes I curse that earefuU 

hower 
Wherein I lougd the neighbour towne to 

see, 50 

And eke tenne thousand sithes I blesse 

the stoure 
Wherein I sawe so fayre a sight as shee : 
Yet all for naught : such sight hath 

bred my bane. 
Ah, God ! that love should breede both 

joy and payne ! 

' It is not Hobbinol wherefore I plaine, 55 
Albee my love he seeke with dayly suit ; 
His clownish gifts aud curtsies 1 disdaine, 
His kiddes, his cracknelles, and his early 
fruit. 
Ah, foolish Hobbinol! thy gyfts bene 

vayne ; 
Colin them gives to Rosalind againe. 60 



'I love thilke lasse, (alas! why doe I 

love ?) 
And am forlorue, (alas! why am I 

lorne ?) 
Shee deign es not my good will, but doth 

reprove. 
And of my rurall musicke holdeth seorne. 
Shepheards devise she hateth as the 

snake, 65 

And laughes the songs that Colin Clout 

doth make. 

' Wherefore, my pype, albee rude Pan 

thou please, 
Yet for thou pleasest not where most I 

would : 
Aud thou, unlucky Muse, that wontst to 

ease 
My musing mynd, yet canst not when 

thou should ; 70 

Both pype and Muse shall sore the 

while abye.' 
So broke his oaten pype, and downe 

dyd lye. 

By that, the welked Phcebus gan availe 
His weary waine ; and uowe the frosty 

Night 
Her mantle black through heaven gan 

overhaile : " 75 

Which scene, the pensife boy, halfe in 

despight, 
Arose, and homeward drove his sonned 

sheepe, 
Whose hanging heads did seeme his 

carefull case to weepe. 



COLINS EMBLEiME. 



Anchora speme. 



GLOSSE. 



Colin Clortte, is a name not preatlv used, and 
yet have I sene a Poesie of M. Skcitons under 
that title. But indeode the word Colin is Frenche, 
and used of the French Poete Marot (if he bo 
worthy of the name of a Poete) in a certein 
^plojjue. ITnder which name this Poete secretly 
shadoweth himself, as sometimes did Virgil under 
the name of Tityrus, thinking it much fitter then 
such Latine names, for the great uulikelyhoode 
of the language. 

U)i netken, scarcely. 

CoutJte, commeth of the verbe Conne, that is, 
to know, or to have skill. As well interpreteth the 
same, the worthy Sir Tho. Smith, in his booke of 
government: wherof I have a perfect copie in 
wryting, lent me by his kinseman, and my verye 
singular good freeud, M. Gabriel Harvey: as 
also of some other his most grave and excellent 
wrytings. 



Si/tJie, time. 

Neighbour towne, the next tovi^ne : expressing 
the Latine Vicina. 
Stoure, a fitt. 
Sere, withered. 
Ilis clownish gyfts, imitateth Virgils verse. 

' Rusticus es Corydon, nee raunera curat Alexis.' 

Ilohhinol, is a fained country name, whereby, 
it being so commune and usuall, seemeth to be 
hiddeu the person of some his very S])eciall and 
most familiar freend, whom he entirelj^ and 
extraordinarily beloved, as peradventure shall be 
more largely declared hereafter. In thys place 
seemeth to be S(nne savour of disorderly love, 
which the learned call pmderastice ; but it Is 
gathered beside his meaning. For who that hath 
red Plato his dialogue called Alcybiades, Xen- 
ophon, and Maximus Tyrius, of Socrates opin- 



556 



THE SHEPHEARDS CALENDER. 



[L. 1-30. 



ions, may easily perceive, that such love is 
muche to be alowed and liked of, specially so 
meant, as Socrates used it: who sa)'th, that 
indeede he loved Alcybiades extremely, yet not 
Alcybiades person, but hys soule, which is 
Alcybiades owne selfe. And so is poe,derasUce 
much to be praeferred before gynerasUce, that 
is, the love whiche enflameth men with lust 
toward womankind. But yet let no man thinke, 
that herein I stand with Lucian, or his devehsh 
disciple Unico Aretino, in defence of execrable 
and horrible sinnes of forbidden and unlawful 
tieshlinesse. Whose abominable errour is fully 
confuted of Perionius, and others. 

/ love, a prety Epanorthosis in these two 
verses ; and withall a Paronomasia or playing- 
with the word, where he sayth / love thilke 
lasse alas, &c. 



Hosalinde, is also a feigned name, which, 
being wel ordered, wil bewray the very name of 
hys love and mistresse, whom by that name he 
coloureth. 80 as Ovide shadoweth hys love 
under the name of Corynna, which of some is 
supposed to be Julia, themperor Augustus his 
daughter, and wyfe to Agryppa. So doth Arun- 
tius Stella every where call his Lady Asteris and 
lanthis, albe it is wel knowen that her right 
name was Violantilla: as witnesseth Statins in 
his Epithalamium. And so the famous Para- 
gone of Italy, Madonna Coelia, in her letters 
envelopeth her selfe under the name of Zima: 
and Petrona under the name of Bellochia. xYnd 
this generally hath bene a common custome of 
counterfeicting the names of secret Personages. 

Avail, bring downe. 

Overhaile, draws over. 



ITis emhleme or Foesye is here under added 
in Italian, Anchora speme : the meaning wherof 
is, that notwthstandeing his extreme passion and 



lucklesse love, yet, leaning on hope, he is some 
what recomforted. 



FEBEUARIE. 



^GLOGA SECUNDA. AEGUMENT. 

Tffis ^glogue is rather morall and generally then heni to any secrete or particular purpose. 
It specially conteyyieth a discourse of old age, inthepersoneofThenot, an oldeShepheard, who 
for his crookednesse and tmlustinesse is scor7ied of Citddie, an unhappy Heardmans hoye. 
The matter very well accordeth with the season of the moneth, the yeare noio drouping, and 
as it were drawing to his last age. For as in this time of yeare, so then in our bodies, 
there is a dry and toithering cold, which congealeih the cr\idled blood, and frieseth the 
wetherb eaten flesh with stormes of Fortune, a?id hoare frosts of Care. To which purpose 
the olde man telleth a tale of the Oake and the Bryer, so lively, and so feelingly, as, if the 
thing were set forth in some Picture before our eyes, more plainly could not appeare. 



CUDDIE. 

Guddie. 
Ah for pittie! wil rancke Winters 

rage 
These bitter blasts never ginne tasswage ? 
The kene cold blowes through my beaten 

hyde, 
All as I were through the body gryde : 
My ragged rontes all shiver and shake, 5 
As doen high Towers in an earthquake : 
They wont in the wind wagge their wrigle 

tayles, 
Perke as a Peacock ; but now it a vales. 

Thenot. 

Lewdly coraplainest thou, laesie ladde, 

Of Winters wracke for making thee 

sadde. ' 10 

Must not the world wend in his commun 

course, 
From good to badd, and from badde to 

worse, 
From worse unto that is worst of all, 



Thenot. 

And then returne to his former fall? 
Who will not suffer the stormy time, 15 
Where will he live tyll the lusty prime ? 
Selfe have I worne out thrise threttie 

yeares, 
Some in much joy, many in many teares, 
Yet never complained of cold nor heate, 
Of Sommers flame, nor of Winters threat, 
Ne ever was to Fortune foeman, 21 

But gently tooke that ungently came ; 
And ever my flocke was my chief e care, 
Winter or Sommer they mought well 

fare. 24 

Cuddle, 

No marveile, Thenot, if thou can beare 

Cherefully the Winters wrathful cheare ; 

For Age and Winter accord full nie. 

This chill, that cold; this crooked, that 

wrye ; 
And as the lowring Wether lookes downe. 
So semest thou like Good Fryday to 

f rowne : 30 



L. 31-108.] 



FEBRUARIE. 



557 



But my flowring youth is foe to frost, 
My shippe unwont in stormes to be tost. 

Thenot. 
The soveraigne of seas he blames in 

vaine, 
That, once sea-beate, will to sea againe : 
So loytringlive you little heardgroomes, 
Keeping your beastes iu the budded 

broomes : 36 

And, when the shining sunne laugheth 

once, 
You deemen the Spring is come attonce ; 
Tho gynne you, fond tiyes ! the cold to 

scorne, 
And, crowing in pypes made of greene 

corne, " 40 

You thinkeu to be I^ords of the yeare ; 
But eft, when ye count you freed from 

feare, 
Comes the breme Winter with chamfred 

browes, 
Full of wrinckles and frostie furrowes, 
Drerily shooting his stormy darte, 45 

Which cruddles the blood and pricks the 

harte : 
Then is your carelesse corage accoied, 
Your carefull beards with cold bene 

annoied : 
Then paye you the price of your sur- 

quedrie, 50 

With weeping, and way ling, and misery. 

CiLcldie. 

Ah, foolish old man! I scorne thy skill. 
That wouldest me my springing youngth 

to spil : 
I deeme thy braine emperished bee 
Through rusty elde, that hath rotted 

thee: 
Or sicker thy head veray tottie is, 55 

So on thy corbe shoulder it leanes amisse. 
Now thy selfe hast lost both lopp and 

topp, 
Als my budding braunch thou wouldest 

cropp ; 
But were thy yeares greene, as now bene 

myne, 
To other delights they would encline : 60 
Tho wouldest thou learne to caroll of 

Love, 
And hery with hymnes thy lasses glove ; 
Tho wouldest thou pype of Phyllis prayse ; 
But Phyllis is myne for many dayes. 
I wonne her with a gyrdle of gelt, 65 

Embost with buegle about the belt : 
Such an one shepeheards would make full 

faine ; 
Such an one would make thee younge 

againe. 



Thenot. 
Thou art a fon of thy love to boste ; 
All that is lent to love wyll be lost. 70 

Cuddle. 
Seest howe brag yond Bullocke beares, 
So smirke, so smoothe, his pricked eares? 
His hoi-nes bene as broade as Rainebowe 

bent. 
His dewelap as lythe as lasse of Kent : 
See howe he veutetli into the wynd ; 75 
Weenest of love is not his mynd? 
Seemeth thy flocke thy counsell can, 
So lustlesse bene they, so weake, so wan ; 
Clothed with cold, and hoary wyth frost, 
Thy flocks father his corage hath lost. 80 
Thy Ewes, that wont to have blowen bags. 
Like wailefull widdowes hangen their 

crags ; 
The rather Lambes bene starved with cold, 
All for their Maister is lustlesse and old, 

Thenot. 
Cuddie, I wote thou kenst little good, 85 
So vainely tadvaunce thy headlesse 

hood; 
For youngth is a bubble blown up with 

breath. 
Whose witt is weakenesse, whose wage is 

death, 
Whose way is wilderuesse, whose ynne 

Penaunce, 
And stoope-gallaunt Age, the hoste of 

Greevaunce. 90 

But shall I tel thee a tale of truth, 
Which I cond of Tityrus in my youth, 
Keeping his sheepe on the hils of Kent ? 

C^iddie. 

To nought more, Thenot, my mind is 
bent 
Then to heare no veils of his devise ; 95 
They bene so well-thewed, and so wise, 
What ever that good old man bespake. 

Thenot. 

Many meete tales of youth did he make. 
And some of love, and some of chevalrie ; 
But none fitter then this to applie. 100 
Now listen a while and hearken the end. 

There grewe an aged Tree on the greene, 
A goodly Oake sometime had it bene, 
With armes full strong and largely dis- 
play d, 
But of their leaves they were disarayde : 
The bodie bigge, and mightely pight, 106 
Throughly rooted, and of wonderous 

hight ; 
Whilome had bene the King of the field, 



558 



THE SHEPHEARDS CALENDER. 



[l. 109-208. 



And mochell mast to the husband did 

yielde, 
And with his nuts larded many swine : 110 
But now the gray mosse marred his rine ; 
His bared boughes were beateu with 

stormes, 
His toppe was bald, and wasted with 

wormes, 
His honor decayed, his braunches sere. 
Hard by his side grewe a bragging 

Brere, 115 

Which proudly thrust into Thelement, 
And seemed to threat the Firmament : 
It was embellisht with blossomes fayre, 
And thereto aye wonned to repayre 
The shepheards daughters to gather 

flowres, 120 

To peinct their girlonds with his colowres ; 
And in his small bushes used to shrowde 
The sweete Nightingale singing so lowde ; 
Which made this foolish Brere wexe so 

bold, 
That on a time he cast him to scold 125 
And snebbe the good Oake, for he was old. 
' Why standst there (quoth he) thou 

brutish blocke ? 
Nor for fruict nor for shadowe serves thy 

stocke ; 
Seest how fresh my flowers bene spredde, 
Dyed in Lilly white and Cremsin redde, 130 
With Leaves engrained in lusty greene ; 
Colours meete to clothe a raayden Queene ? 
Thy wastbignes but combers the grownd. 
And dirks the beauty of my blossomes 

rowud : 
The mouldie mosse, which thee accloieth. 
My Sinamon smell too much annoieth : 136 
Wherefore soone I rede thee hence remove, 
Least thou the price of my displeasure 

prove.' 
So spake this bold brere with great dis- 

daine : 
Little him aunswered the Oake againe,140 
But yeelded, with shame and greefe 

adawed. 
That of a weede he was overcrawed. 

Yt chaunced after upon a day, 
The Hus-bandman selfe to come that way, 
Of custome for to survewe his grownd, 145 
And his trees of state in compasse rownd ; 
Him when the spitefuU brere had espyed, 
Causelesse complained, and lowdly cryed 
Unto his lord, stirring up sterne strife. 

' O, my liege Lord ! the God of my life ! 
Pleaseth you ponder your Suppliants 

plaint, 151 

Caused of wrong and cruell constraint, 
Which I your poore Vassall dayly endure ; 
And, but your goodnes the same recure. 
Am like for desperate doole to dye, 155 
Through felonous force of mine enemie.' 



Greatly aghast with this piteous plea, 
Him rested the goodman on the lea, 
And badde the Brere in his plaint proceede. 
With painted words tho gan this proude 

weede 160 

(As most usen Ambitious folke :) 
His colowred crime with craft to cloke. 
* Ah, ray soveraigne ! Lord of creatures 

all, 
Thou placer of plants both humble and 

tall. 
Was not I planted of thine owne hand, 165 
To be the primrose of all thy land ; 
With fiowring blossomes to furnish the 

prime. 
And scarlot berries in Sommer time? 
How falls it then that this faded Oake, 
Whose bodie is sere, whose braunches 

broke, 170 

Whose naked Armes stretch unto the fyre, 
Unto such tyrannic doth aspire ; 
Hindering with his shade my lovely light, 
And robbing me of the swete sonnes sight ? 
So beate his old boughes my tender 

side, 175 

That oft the bloud springeth from woundes 

wyde; 
Untimely my flowres forced to fall, 
That bene the honor of your Coronall : 
And oft he lets his cancker-wormes light 
Upon my braunches, to worke me more 

spight ; 180 

And oft his hoarie locks downe doth cast, 
Where-with my fresh flowretts bene de- 
fast: 
For this, and many more such outrage, 
Craving your goodlihead to aswage 
The ranckorous rigour of his might, 185 
Nought aske I, but onely to hold my right ; 
Submitting me to your good sufferance, 
And praying to be garded from greevance.' 

To this the Oake cast him to replie 
Well as he couth ; but his enemie 190 

Had kindled such coles of displeasure. 
That the good man noulde stay his leasure, 
But home him hasted with furious heate, 
Encreasing his wrath with many a threate : 
His harmefull Hatchet he hent in hand, 195 
(Alas ! that it so ready should stand !) 
And to the field alone he speedeth, 
(Ay little helpe to harme there needeth !) 
Anger nould let him speake to the tree, 
Enaunter his rage mought cooled bee ; 200 
But to the roote bent his sturdy stroake. 
And made many wounds in the wast Oake. 
The Axes edge did oft turue againe. 
As halfe unwilling to cutte thegraine ; 
Semed, the sencelesse yron dyd feare, 205 
Or to wrong holy eld did f orbeare ; 
For it had bene an aimcient tree, 
Sacred with many a mysteree, 



L. 209-246.] 



FEBRUARIE. 



559 



And often crost with the priestes crewe, 
And often halowed with holy-water dewe : 
But sike fancies weren foolerie, 211 

And broughten this Oake to this miserye ; 
For nought mought they quitten him from 

decay, 
For fiercely the good man at him did laye. 
Theblocke oft groued under the blow, 215 
And sighed to see his neare overthrow. 
In fine^ the Steele had pierced his pitth, 
Tho downe to the earth he fell forth- 
with. 
His wonderous weight made the ground 

to quake, 
Thearth shrcnike under him, and seemed 
to shake : — 220 

There lyeth the Oake, pitied of none! 

Now stands the Brere like a lord alone. 
Puffed up with pryde and vaine pleas- 

aunee ; 
But all this glee had no coutinuaunce : 
For eftsones Winter gan to approche; 225 
The blustering Boreas did encroche. 
And beate upon the solitarie Brere ; 



For nowe no succoure was scene him nere. 
Now gan he repent his pryde to late ; 
For, naked left and disconsolate, 230 

The bytiug frost nipt his stalke dead. 
The watrie wette weighed downe his head, 
And heaped snowe burdned him so sore, 
That nowe upright he can stand no more ; 
And, being downe, is trodde in the 
durt 235 

Of cattell, and brouzed, and sorely hurt. 
Such was thend of this Ambitious brere, 
For scorning Eld — 

Cuddie. 
Now I pray thee, shepheard, tel it not 

forth : 
Here is a long tale, and little worth. 240 
So longe have I listened to thy speche. 
That graffed to the ground is my breche : 
My hart-blood iswel nigh frorne, I feele, 
And my galage growne last to my heele : 
But little ease of thy lewd tale I tasted : 
Hye thee home, shepheard, the day is 

nigh wasted. 246 



THENOT8 EMBLEME. 

Iddio, perche e vecchio, 
Fa suoi al suo essempio. 

CXTDDIES EMBLKMK. 

Niuno vecchio 
Spaventa Iddio. 



GLOSSE. 



Kene, sharpe. 

Gride, perced : an olde word much used of 
Lidgate, but not found (that I know of) in Chaucer. 

EonU, young bullockes. 

Wracke, mine or Violence, whence commeth 
shipwracke: aud not xcreake, that is vengeaunce 
or wrath. 

Foe man, a foe. 

Thenot, the name of a shepheard in Marot his 
^glogues. 

The soveraigne of Seas, is Neptune the God 
of the seas. The saying is borowed of Mimus 
Publianus, which use'd this proverb in a verse. 

' Iinprobe Neptununi accusat, qui iterum 
naufragiiim fiicit.' 

Ileardgromeii, Chancers verse ahnost whole. 

Fond Flyes, He conipareth carolesse slug- 
gardes, or ill husbandmen, to flyes that, so soone 
as the sunne shineth, or yt wexeth anything 
warme, begin to flye abroade, when sodeinly they 
be overtaken with cold. 

But eft ipfien, a verye excellent and lively 
description of Winter, soas may bee indifferently 
taken, eyther for old Age, or for Winter season. 

Breine, chill, bitter. 

Char, if red, ohapt, or wrinckled. 

Aecoied, plucked downe and daunted. 



Sttrguedrie, pryde. 

Fide, olde age. 

Sicker, sure. 

Tottie, wavering. 

Corhe, crooked. 

Herie, worship. 

PJiyUis, the name of some mayde unknowen, 
whom Cuddie, whose person is secrete, loved. 
The name is usuall in Theocritus, Virgile, and 
Mantuane. 

Belte, a girdle or wast-band. 

A fan, a foole. 

Lythe, soft and gentle. 

Veuteth, snutfelh in the wind. 

T/n/ ^tfocks father , the Kamme. 

Craffs, neckes. 

Rather lambes, that be ewed early in the begin- 
ning of the yeare. 

Youth i.s, a verye moral and pitthy AUegorie 
of youth, and the lustes thereof, compared to a 
wearie wayfaring man. 

Tityrus, I suppose he meanes Chaucer, whose 
prayse for pleasaunt tales cannot dye, so long as 
tiie niemorie of hys name shal live, and the name 
of Poetrie shal endure. 

WeJl-theiced, that is. Bene moratcB, full of 
morall wisenesso. 



56o 



THE SHEPHEARDS CALENDER. 



[L. 



There grew: This tale of the Oake and the 
Brere, he telleth as learned of Chaucer, but it is 
cleane in another kind, and rather hke to ^sopes 
fables. It is very excellente for pleasaunt descinp- 
tions, being altogether a certaine Icon, or Hypo- 
typosis of disdainful! younkers. 
' Emhellif(ht, beautified and adorned. 

To wonne, to haunt or frequent. 

Sneb, checke. 

Why fitandst, The speach is scorneful and very 
presumptuous. 

Engrained, dyed in grain. 

Accloieth, encoinbreth. 

Adaioed, daunted and confounded. 

Trees of state, taller trees, fitte for timber wood. 

Sterne strife, said Chaucer, s. fell and sturdy. 

O my liege, a manor of supplication, wherein 
is kindly coloured the affection and speache of 
Ambitious men. 

Coronall, Garlande. 

Flourets, yong blossomes. 

The Primrose, the chiefe and worthiest. 

Naked armes, metaphorically ment of the bare 
boughes, spoyled of leaves. This colourably be 
speaketh, as adjudging hym to the fyre. 

The hloodt spoken of a blocke, as it were of a 



living creature, figuratively, and (as they say) 
Kar' et/caa/w.o;'. 

Ifoarie lockes, metaphorically for withered 
leaves. 

Hent, caught. 

Nould, for would not. 

Ay, evermore. 

Wounds, gashes. 

Enaunter, least that. 

The 2^riests crewe, holy water pott, wherewith 
the popishe priest used to sprinckle and hallowe 
the trees from mischaunce. Such bUndnessewas 
in those times, which the Poete supposeth to 
have bene the finall decay of this auncient Oake. 

The blocke oft groned, a livelye figure, which 
giveth sence and feeling to unsensible creatures, 
as Virgile also sayeth : ' Saxa gemunt gravido,' 
&c. 

Boreas, The Northerne wynd, that bringeth 
the moste stormie weather. 

Glee, chere and jollitie. 

For scornitig Eld, And minding (as shoulde 
seme) to have made ryme to the former verse, he 
is conningly cutte of by Cuddle, as disdayning to 
here any more. 

Galage, A startuppe or clownish shoe. 



This embleme is spoken of Thenot, as a moral 
of his former tale : namelye, that God, which is 
himselfe most aged, being before al ages, and 
without beginninge, maketh those, whom he 
loveth, like to himselfe, in heaping yeares unto 
theyre dayes, and blessing them wyth longe lyfe. 
For the blessing of age is not given to all, but 
unto those whome God will so blesse. And albeit 
that many evil men reache unto such fiilnesse of 
yeares, and some also wexe old in myserie and 
thraldome, yet therefore is not age ever the lesse 
blessing. For even to such evill men such num- 
ber of yeares is added, that they may in their 
last dayes repent, and come to their first home : 
So the old man checketh the rash-headed boy for 
despysing his gray and frostye heares. 

Whom Cuddye doth counterbuff with abyting 
and bitter proverbe, spoken indeede at the first 
in contempt of old age generally; for it was an 
old opinion, and yet is continued in some mens 
conceipt, that men of yeares have no feare of God 
at al, or not so much as younger folke ; for that 
being rypened with long experience, and having 
passed many bitter brunts and blastes of ven- 



geaunce, they dread no stormes of Fortune, nor 
wrathe of God, nor daunger of menne, as being 
eyther by longe and ripe wisedome armed against 
ail mischaunces and adversitie, or with much 
trouble hardened against all troublesome tydes : 
lyke unto the Ape, of which issayd invEsops fables, 
that, oftentimes meeting the Lyon, he was at first 
sore aghast and dismayed at the grimnes and 
austeritie of hys countenance, but at last, being 
acquainted with his lookes, he was so furre from 
fearing him, that he would familiarly gybe and 
jest with him: Suche longe experience breedeth 
in some men securitie. Although it please 
Erasmus, a great clerke, and good old father, 
more fatherly and favourablj^e to construe it, in 
his Adages, for his own b'ehoofe. That by the 
proverbe, ' Nemo senex metuit Jovem,' is not 
meant, that old men have no feare of God at al, 
but that they be furre from superstition and 
Idolatrous regard of false Gods, as is Jupiter. 
But his greate learning notwithstanding, it is to 
plaine to be gainsayd, that olde men are muche 
more enclined to such fond foolei-ies, then younger 
heades. 



MAECH. 

^GLOGA TERTIA. ARGUMENT. 

In this JEglogioe two shepheards hoyes, taking occasion of the season, begiwne to make purpose of 
love, and other plesaunce which to spring time is most agreeable. The speciall meaning 
hereof is, to give certaine markes and tokens to know Cupid e, the Poets Ood of Love. But 
inore particularly e, Ithinke, in the person of Thomalin is meant some secrete freend, who 
scorned Love and his knights so long, till at length him. selfe was entangled, and wawares 
wounded with the dart of some beauUfull regard, which is Cupides arrow. 



WlLLYE. 

Wil. Thomalin, why sytten we soe, 
As weren overwent with woe, 
Upon so f ayre a morow ? 



Thomalin. 

The joyous time now nighes fast, ■ 

That shall aleg:ge this bitter blast, 

And slake th^ winters sorowe. 



L. 7-1 1 7-] 



MARCH. 



561 



Tho. Sicker, Willye, thou waruest well; 
For Winters wrath beginues to quell, 

And pleasant spring appeareth : 
The grasse uowe giunes to be refresht, 10 
The Swallow peepes out of her nest. 

And clowdie Welkin cleareth. 
Wil. Seest not thilke same Hawthorne 

studde, 
How bragly it begiunes to budde, 

And utter his tender head ? 15 

Flora now calleth forth eche flower, 
And bids make readie Maias bowre, 

That uewe is upryst from bedde: 
Tho shall we sporten in delight. 
And learn e M'ith Lettice to wexe light, 20 

That scornefully lookes askaunce ; 
Tho will we little Love awake, 
That nowe sleepeth in Lethe lake, 

And pray him leaden our daunce. 
-Tho. Willye, I wene thou bee assot; 25 
For lustie Love still sleepeth not, 

But is abroad at his game. 
Wil. How kenst thou that he is awoke ? 
Or hast thy selfe his slomber broke, 

Or made previe to the same ? 30 

Tho. No : but happely I hym spj'de, 
Wliere in a bush he did him hide. 

With winges of purple and blewe; 
And, were not that my sheepe would 

straj"-. 
The previe marks I would bewray, 35 

W^hereby by chauuce I him knewe. 
Wil. Thomalin, have no care for-thy ; 
My selfe will have a double eye, 

Ylike to my flocke and thine ; 
For als at home I have a syre, 40 

A stepdame eke, as whott as fyre, 

That dewly adayes counts mine. 
Tho. Nay, "but thy seeing will not serve, 
My sheepe for that may chauuce to 
swerve. 

And fall into some mischiefe : 45 

For sithens is but the third morowe 
That I chaunst to fall asleepe with sorowe 

And waked againe with griefe ; 
The while thilke same unhappye Ewe, 
Whose clouted legge her hurt doth shewe, 

Fell headlong into a dell, 51 

And there unjoynted both her bones : 
Mought her necke bene joynted attones, 

She shoulde have neede no more spell ; 
Thelf was so wanton and so wood, 55 

(But now I trowe can better good,) 

She mought ne gang on the greene. 
Wil. Let be, as may be, that is past: 
That is to come, let be forecast : 

Now tell us what thou hast scene. 60 
Tho. It was upon a holiday, 



When shepheardes groomes ban leave to 
playe, 

I cast to goe a shooting. 
Long wandring up and downe the land. 
With bowe and bolts in either hand, 65 

For birds in bushes tooting, 
At length within an Yvie todde, 
(There shrouded was the little God) 

I heard a busie bustling. 
I bent my bolt against the bush, 70 

Listening if any thing did rushe. 

But then heard no more rustling : 
Tho, peeping close into the thicke, 
Might see the moving of some quicke, 

Whose shape appeared not ; 75 

But were it faerie, feend, or snake, 
My courage earnd it to awake. 

And manfully thereat shotte. 
With that sproug forth a naked swayne 
With spotted winges, like Peacocks 
trayue, 80 

And laughing lope to a tree ; 
His gylden quiver at his backe, 
And silver bowe, which was but slacke. 

Which lightly he bent at me : 
That seeing, I levelde againe 85 

And shott at him with might and maine. 

As thicke as it had hay led. 
So long I shott, that al was spent ; 
Tho pumie stones I hastly bent 

And threwe ; but nought availed : 90 
He was so wimble and so wight, 
From bough to bough he lepped light. 

And oft the pumies latched. 
Therewith affrayd, I ranne away; 
But he, that earst scemd but to playe, 95 

A shaft in earnest snatched. 
And hit me running in the heele: 
For then I little smart did feele, 

But soone it sore encreased ; 
And now it ranckleth more and more, 100 
And inwardly it festreth sore, 

Ne wote I how to cease it. 
Wil. Thomalin, I pittie thy plight, 
Perdie with Love thou diddest fight; 

I know him by a token ; 105 

For once I heard my father say, 
How he him caught upon a day, 

(Whereof he wil be wroken) 
Entangled in a fowling net, 
Which he for carrion Crowes had set 110 

That in our Peere-tree haunted : 
Tlio sayd, he was a Avinged lad. 
But bowe and shafts as then none had, 

Els had he sore be daunted. 
But see, the Welkin thicks apace, 115 

And stouphig Phebus steepes his face : 

Yts time to hast us homeward. 



WILLYES EMBLEMK. 



THOMALINS EMBLEME. 



To he loise, and eke to love, 

Is graunted scarce to Gods above. 



Of Hony and of Gaule in love there is store ; 
the Honye is much, but the Gaule is more. • 



562 



THE SHEPHEARDS CALENDER. 



GLOSSE. 



This jEglogiae seemeth somewhat to resemble 
that same of Theocritus, wherein the boy like- 
wise telling the old man, that he had shot at a 
winged boy in a tree, was by hym warned to be- 
ware of mischiefe to come. 

Ovencent, overgone. 

Alegge, to lessen or asswage. 

To quell, to abate. 
Welkin, the skie. 

The swallow, which bird useth to be counted 
the messenger, and as it were, the forerunner, of 
springe. 

Flora, the Goddesse of flowres, but indede (as 
saith Tacitus) a famous harlot, which, with the 
abuse of her body having gotten great riches, 
made the people of Home her hej're : who, in 
remembraunce of so great benejBcence, appointed 
a yearely feste for the memoriaU of her, calUng 
her, not as she was, nor as some doe think, An- 
dronica, but Flora ; making her the Goddesse 
of floures, and doing yerely to her solemne 
sacrifice. 

Jfaias dower, that is, the pleasaunt field, or 
rather the Maye bushes. Maia is a Goddesse, 
and the mother of Mercuric, in honour of whome 
the moneth of Maye is of her name so called, as 
sayth Macrobius. 

Zeitiee, the name of some country lasse. 

Asca^ince, askewe, or asquint. 

For-thy, therefore. 

Lethe, is a lake in hell, which the Poetes call 
the lake of forgetfulnes. For Lethe signifleth 
forgetfulnes. Wherein the soules being dipped 
did forget the cares of their former lyfe. So that 
by love sleeping in Lethe lake, he'meaneth he 
was almost forgotten, and out of knowledge, by 
reason of winters hardnesse, when all pleasures, 
as it were, sleepe and weare oute of minde. 

Assotte, to dote. 

HiH domher. To breake Loves slomber is to 
exercise the delightes of Love, and wanton pleas- 
ures. 

Winges of pxcrple, so is he feyned of the 
Poetes. 

For als, he imitateth Virgils verse. 

' Est mihi nam que domi pater, est injusta 
noverca, &c.' 

A dell, a hole in the ground. 

Spell, is a kinde of verse or charme, that in 
elder tymes they used often to say over every 
thing that they would have preserved, as the 
Nightspel for theeves, and the woodspell. And 
herehence, I thinke, is named the gospel, as it 



were Gods spell, or worde. And so sayth 
Chaucer, Listeneth Lordings to my spell. 

Gang, goe. 

An Yvde todde, a thicke bush. 

Stcaine, a boye : For so is he described of 
the Poetes to be a boye, s. alwayes freshe and 
lustie : blindfolded, because he maketh no differ- 
ence of personages : wyth divers coloured winges 
s. ful of flying fancies: with bowe and arrow, 
that is, with glaunce of beautj'e, which prycketh 
as a forked arrowe. He is sayd also to have 
shafts, some leaden, some golden: that is, both 
pleasure for the gracious and loved, and sorow 
for the lover that is disdayned or forsaken. But 
who liste more at large to behold Cupids colours 
and furniture, let him reade ether Propertius, or 
Moschus his Idyllion of winged love, being now 
most excellently translated into Latiue, by tbe 
singuler learned man Angelus Politianus: whych 
Avorke I have scene, amongst other of thys Poets 
doings, very wel translated also into Englishe 
Eymes. 

WinibU and wighte, Quicke and deliver. 

Ln the heele, is very poetically spoken, and 
not without speciall judgement. For I remember 
that in Homer it is sayd of Thetis, that shee 
tooke her young babe Achilles, being newely 
borne, and, holding him by the heele, dipped 
him in the Eiver of Stj'x. The vertue whereof 
is, to defend and keepe the bodyes washed 
therein from any mortall wound. So Achilles 
being washed al over, save onely his hele, by 
which his mother held, was in the rest invul- 
nerable: therfore by Paris was feyned to bee 
shotte with a poysoned arrowe in the heele, 
whiles he was busie about the marying of Polyxena 
in the Temple of Apollo : which mysticall fable 
Eustathius unfolding sayth : that by wounding in 
the hele is meant lustfull love. For from the 
heele (as say the best Phisitions) to the pre vie 
partes there passe certaine veines and slender 
synewes, as also the like come from the head, and 
are carryed lyke little pypes behynd the eares : 
so that "(as sayth Hipocrates) yf those veynes 
there be cut asonder, the partie straighte becom- 
meth cold and unfruiteful. Which reason our 
Poete wel weighing, maketh this shepheards boye 
of purpose to be wounded by Love in the heele. 

Latched, caught. 

Wroken, revenged. 

For once: In this tale is sette out the simplic- 
itye of shepheards opinion of Love. 

Stoupjing Pho&hus, is a Periphrasis of the 
sunne setting. 



Hereby is meant, that all the delights of Love, 
wherein wanton youth Avalloweth, be but foUye 
mixt with bitternesse, and sorow sawced with re- 
pentaunce. For besides that the very affection of 
Love it selfe tormenteth the mynde, and vexeth 
the body many w^ayes, with unrestfulnesse all 
night, and wearines all day, seeking for that we 
cannot have, and fynding that we would not 



have : even the selfe things which best before us 
lyked, in course of time, and chaung of ryper 
yeares, whiche also therewithall chaungeth our 
wonted lyking and former fantasies, will then 
seeme lothsome, and breede us annoyaunce, 
when yougthes flowre is withered, and we fynde 
our bodyes and wits aunswere not to suche 
vayne jollitie and lustfull pleasaunce. 



L. 1-47.] 



APRIL. 



563 



APKIL. 



^GLOGA QUAKTA. ARGUMENT. 

This ^glogue is p't(/r-posely intended to the honor and prayne of oiir most gracious sover eigne, 
Queene Elisabsifi. The speatei'S herein he Hohhinoll and Thenott, two shepheardes : the 
which Hohhinoll, heing before mentioned greatly to have loved Colin, is here set forth more 
largely, complayninghiniofthat boy es great misadventure in Love; ijchereby his mynd 
was alienate and withdraicen not onelyfrom him, who moste loved Mm, but also from all 
former delightes ami studies, as )veU in. pleasaunt pyping, as conning ryming and sing- 
ing, and other his kindable exercises. Whereby he taketh occasion . for proof e of his more 
excellencie and skill in pjoetrie, to recorde a songe, ichich the sayd Colin sometime made 
in honor of her Maje^tie, whom abruptely he termeth Elysa. 



Thenot. 

The. Tell me, good Hobbinoll, what 
garres thee greete '? 
What? hath some Wolfe thy tender 
Lambes y torne ? 
Or is thy Bagpype broke, that soundes so 
sweete ? 
Or art thou of thy loved lasse forlorne? 

Or bene thine eyes att empred to the 
yeare, 5 

Quenching the gasping furrowes thirst 
with rayne ? 
Like April shoure so stremes the trickling 
teares 
Adowne thy cheeke, to quenche thy 
thristye payne. 

Hob. Nor thys, nor that, so muche doeth 
make me mourne, 
But for the ladde, whome long I lovd so 
deare, ' .10 

No we loves a lasse that all his, love doth, 
scorne. 
He, plongd in payne, his tressed locks 
dooth teare. 

Shepheards delights he dooth them all 
f orsweare ; 
Hys pleasaunt Pipe, whych made us 
merii^ent, 
He wylfully hath broke, and doth for- 
bears 15 
His wonted songs, wherein he all outwent. 

The. What is he for a Ladde you so 
Lament? 
Ys love such pinching payne to them 
that prove ? 
And hath he skill to make so excellent, 
Yet hath so little skill to brydle love ? 20 

Hob. Colin thou kenst, the Southerne 
shepheardes boye; 
Him Love hath wounded with a deadly 
darte : 



Hobbinoll. 

Whilome on him was all my care and joye. 
Forcing with gyf ts to winue his wanton 
heart. 

But now from me hys madding mynd is 
starte, 25 

And woes the Widdowes daughter of 
the glenne ; 
So nowe fayre Rosalind hath bredde hys 
smart, 
So now his frend is chaunged for a 
frenne. 

The. But if hys ditties bene so trimly 
dight, 
I pray thee, Hobbinoll, recorde some 
one, 30 

The whiles our fiockes do graze about in 
sight, 
And we close shrowded in thys shade 
alone. 

Hob. Contented I: then, will I singe his 
laye 
, Of fayre Elisa, Queene of shepheardes 
all, 
Wbich once he made as by a spring he 
laye, 35 

And tuned it unto the Waters fall. 

' Ye' daynt^e A"^jmphs, that in this blessed 
brooke 
Doe bathe your \)rest, , 
Forsake your watry bowiies, and hether 
looke, 
At my request : 40 

And eke you Virgins, that on ParnaSiSa 

dwell, 
Whence floweth Helicon, the learned well, 
Helpe me to blaze 
Her worthy praise, 
Which in her sexe doth all excell. 45 

* Of fayre Elisa be your silver song, 
That blessed wight. 



564 



THE SHEPHEARDS CALENDER. 



[L. 48-139. 



The flowre of Virgins: may shee florish 
long 
In princely plight ! 
For shee is Syrinx daughter without 
spotte, 50 

Which Pan, the shepheards God, of her 
begot : 
So sprong her grace 
Of heavenly race, 
No mortall blemishe may her blotte. 

* See, where she sits upon the grassie 

greene, 55 

(0 seemely sight !) 
Yclad in Scarlot, like a mayden Queene, 

And ermines white : 
Upon her head a Cremosin coronet, 
AVith Damaske roses and Daffadillies 
set : 60 

P.ay leaves betweene, 

And primroses greene, 
Embellish the sweete Violet. 

* Tell me, have ye scene her angelick face. 

Like PhcBbe fayre? 65 

Her heavenly haveour, her princely grace. 

Can you well compare ? 
The Kedde rose medled with the White 

yfere. 
In either cheeke depeincten lively chere : 

Her modest eye, 70 

Her Majestic, 
Where have you scene the like but there ? 

' I sawe Phoebus thrust out his golden 
hedde. 

Upon her to gaze : 
But, when he sawe how broade her beames 
did spredde, 75. 

It did him amaze. ' 

He blusht to see another Sunne belowe, 
Ne durst againe his fyrye face out showe : 

Let him, if he dare. 

His brightnesse compare 80 

With hers, to have the overthrowe. 

' Shewe thy self e, Cynthia., with thy silver 
rayes, 
And be not ab-iSjil/ r 
When shee thB beames of her beauty dis- 
played, - 
O., \iow art thou dasht ! 85 

Y>at I will not match her with Latonaes 

seede. 
Such f ollie great sorow to Niobe did breede : 
Now she is a stone. 
And makes dayly mone, 
Warning all other to take heede. 90 

* Pan may be proud that ever he begot 

Such a Bellibone ; 



And Syrinx rejoyse that ever was her lot 

To beare such an one. 
Soone as my younglings cryen for the 
dam 95 

To her will I offer a milkwhite Lamb : 

Shee is my goddesse plaine, 

And I ]ier shepherds swayne, 
Albee foi-swonck and^lbrswatt I am. 

' I see Calliope speed e her to the place, 100 

Where my Goddesse shines ; 
And after her the other Muses trace, 

With their Violines. 
Bene they not Bay braunches which they 

do beare. 
All for Elisa in her hand to weare ? 105 

So sweetely they play, 

And sing all the way, 
That it a heave'n is to heare. 

* Lo ! how finely the Graces can it foote 

To the Instrument: 110 

They dauncen deffly, and singen soote, 

In their meriment. 
Wants not a fourth Grace, to make the 

daunce ev'en ? 
Let that rowme to my Lady be yeven : 

She shal be a Grace, 115 

To fyll the fourth place, 
And reigne with the rest in heaven. 

' And whit'her rennes this bevie of Ladies 
bright, 

Rauriged in a rowe ? 
They bene all Ladyes of the lake behight, 

TYiat unto her goe. 121 

G'hloris, that is the chief est Nymph of 

all. 
Of Olive braunches beares a Coronall: 

Olives bene for peace. 

When wars doe surcease : 125 

Such for a Princesse bene principall. 

* Ye shepheards daughters, that dwell on 

the greene, 
Hye you there apace : ^ 
Let none come there but that Virgins bene, 
To adorne her grace : 130 

And, when you come whereas shee is in 

place. 
See that your rudenesse doe not you dis- 
grace : 
Binde your fillets faste, 
And gird in your waste, 
For more finenesse, with a tawdrie lace. 

' Bring hether the Pincke and purple Cul- 
lambine, 136 

With Gelliflowres ; 
Bring Coronations, and Sops in wine, 

Worne of Paramoures : 



L. I4O-161.] 



APRIL. 



565 



Strowe me the ground with Daffadown- 
dillies, 140 
And Cowslips, and Kingcups, and loved 
Lillies : 
The pretie Pawnee, 
And the Chevisaunce, 
Shall match with the layre flowre Delice. 

' Now ryse up, Elisa, decked as thou art 

In royall aray ; 146 

And now ye daintie Damsells may depart 

Eche one her way. 
I feare I have troubled your troupes to 

longe : 
Let dame Elisa thanke you for her 
song : 150 

And if you come hether 



When Damsines I gether, 
I will part them all you among.' 

The. And was thilk same song of Colins 
owne making ? 
Ah, foolish Boy! that is with love 
ybleut : 155 

Great pittie is, he be in such taking, 
For naught caren that bene so lewdly 
bent. 

Hoh. Sicker I hold him for a greater fon. 

That loves the thing he cannot purchase. 

But let us homeward, for night draweth 

on, 160 

And twincling starres the daylight hence 

chase. 



THENOT8 KMBLEME. 

quam te memorem Virgo ! 

HOBBINOLS EMBLEME. 

dea certe I 



GLOSSE. 



Gars fhee greete, causeth thee weepe and 
complain. 

Forlorne, left and forsaken. 

AtUmpred to the yeare, agreeable to the 
season of the yeare, that is April, which moneth 
is most bent to shoures and seasonable raj^ne : 
to quench, that is, to delaye the drought, caused 
through drynesse of Mai'ch wyndes. 

Tlie Ladde, Colin Clout. 

T?ie Lasse, Rosalinda. 

Tressed locks, wrethed and curled. 

Is he for a ladde f a straunge manner of 
speaking, s. what maner of Ladde is he ? 

To make, to rime and versifye. For in this 
word, making, our olde Englishe Poetes were 
wont to comprehend all the skil of _Poetrye, ac- 
cording to the Greeke woorde noielv, to make, 
whence commeth the name of Poetes. 

Colin thou kenst, knowest. Seemeth hereby 
that Colin perteyneth to some Southern noble 
man, and perhaps in Surrye or Kent, the rather 
bicanse he so often nameth the Kentish downes, 
and before. As lyihe as lasse of Kent. 

The Widowes, He calleth Rosalind the Wid- 
owes daughter of the glenne, that is, of a country 
Hamlet or borough, which I thinke is rather 
sayde to coloure and concele the person, then 
simply spoken. For it is well knowen, even in 
spighte of Colin and Hobbinoll, that shee is a 
Gentlewoman of no meane house, nor endewed 
with anye vulgare and common gifts, both of 
nature and manners: but suche indeede, asneede 
nether Colin be ashamed to have her made 
knowne by his verses, nor Hobbinol be greved, 
that so she should be commended to immortalitie 
for her rare and singular vertues : Specially de- 
serving it no lesse, then eyther Myrto the most 



excellent Poete Theocritus his dearhng, or 
Lauretta the divine Petrarches Goddesse, or 
Himera the worthye Poete Stersichorus hys 
idol ; upon whom he is sayd so much to have 
doted, that, in regard of her excellencie, he 
scorned and wi-ote against the beauty of Helena. 
For which his praesumptuous and unheedie 
hardinesse, he is sayde by vengeaunce of the 
Gods, thereat being offended, to have lost both 
his eyes. 

Frenne, a straunger. The word, I thinke, 
was first poetically put, and afterwarde used in 
common custom e "of speach for forene. 

Dight, adorned. 

Laye, a songe, as Roundelayes and Yirelayes. 

In all this songe is not to be respected, what 
the worthinesse of her Majestic deserveth, nor 
what to the highnes of a Prince is agreeable, but 
what is moste comely for the meanesse of a 
shepheard witte, or to conceive, or to utter. 
And therefore he calleth her Elysa, as through 
rudenesse tripping in her name ; and a shep- 
heards daughter, it being very unfit, that a 
shepheard s boy, brought up in the shepefold, 
should know, or ever seme to have heard of, a 
Queenes roialtv. 

Ye dahitie, is, as it were, an Exordium 
ad preparandos animos. 

Virgins, the nine Muses, daughters of Apollo 
and Memorie. whose abode the Poets faine to 
be on Parnassus, a hill in Grece, for that in that 
countrye specially florished the honor of all ex- 
cellent studies. 

Helicon is both the name of a fountaine at the 
foote of Parnassus, and also of a mounteine in 
Ba^otia, out of which floweth the famous spring 
Castahus, dedicate also to the Muses : of which 



566 



THE SHEPHEARDS CALENDER. 



spring it is sayd, that, when Pegasus the winged 
horse of Perseus (whereby is meant fame and 
flying renowme) strooke the grownde with his 
hoofe, sodenly thereout sprauge a wel of moste 
cleare and pleasaunte water, which fro thence- 
forth was consecrate to the Muses and Ladies of 
learning. 

Yoitr silver song, seemeth to imitate the Hke 
in Hesiodus apyvpiov /ixeAos. 

Syrinx is the name of a Nymphe of Arcadie, 
whom when Pan being in love pursued, she, Hy- 
ing from him, of the Gods was turned into a 
reede. So that Pai catching at the Reedes, in 
stede of the Damosell, and puffing hard, (for he 
was almost out of wind,) with hys breath made 
the Reedes to pype ; which he seeing, tooke of 
them, and, in remembraunce of his lost love, 
made him a pype thereof. But here by Pan and 
Syrinx is not to bee though te, that the shephearde 
simplye meante those Poeticall Gods : but rather 
supposing (as seemeth) her graces progenie to be 
divine and immortall (so as the Pajmims were 
wont to judge of all Kinges and Princes, accord- 
ing to Homeres saying, 

' Tijoir) S' 6/c Aio? ecTTt, (|)tA6i 6e' e jaT/Tt'era Zeuf,') 
could devise no parents in his judgement so 
worthy for her, as Pan the shepeheards God, and 
his best beloved Syrinx. So that by Pan is here 
meant the most famous and victorious king, her 
highnesse Father, late of worthy memorye, K. 
Henry the eyght. And by that name, oftymes 
(as hereafter appeareth) be noted kings and 
mighty Potentates: And in some place Christ 
himseife, who is the verye Pan and god of 
Shepheardes. 

Oremosin eoroiret, he devisethhercrowneto be 
of the finest and most deUcate flowers, instede of 
perles and precious stones, wherewith Princes 
Diademes use to bee adorned and embost. 

Embellish, beautifye and set out. 

Phebe, the Moone, whom the Poets faine to be 
sister unto Phcebus, that is, the Sunne. 

Medlecl, mingled. 

Yfeve, together. By the mingling of the Redde 
rose and the White is meant the uniting of the 
two principall houses of Lancaster and Yorke : 
by whose longe discord and deadly debate this 
realm many yeares was sore travelled, and almost 
cleane decayed. Til the famous Henry the 
seventh, of the line of Lancaster, taking to wife 
the most vertuous Princesse Elisabeth, daughter 
to the fourth Edward of the house of Yorke, 
begat the most royal Henry the eyght aforesayde, 
in whom was the first union of the Whyte rose 
and the Redde. 

Calliope, one of the nine Muses : to whome 
they assigne the honor of all Poeticall Invention, 
and the firste glorye of the Heroical verse. 
Other say, that shee is the Goddesse of Retho- 
rick ; but by Virgile it is manifeste, that they 
my stake the thyng. For there, in hys Epigrams, 
that arte semeth to be attributed to Polymnia, 
saying, 

' Signat cuncta manu, loquiturque Polymnia 

gestu.' 

Which seemeth specially to be meant of Action, 

and elocution, both special partes of Rethorick : 

besyde that her name, which (as some construe 



it) importeth great i-emembraunce, conteineth 
another part : but I holde rather with them, 
which call her Polymnia, or Polyhymnia, of her 
good singing. 

Bay branches be the signe of honor and 
victory, and therfore of mighty Conquerors worn 
in theyr triumphes, and eke of famous Poets, as 
saith Petrarch in hys Sonets, 

' Arbor vittoriosa triomphale, 

' Honor d' Imperadori et di Poeti,' &c. 

The Graces be three sisters, the daughters of 
Jupiter, (whose names are Aglaia, Thalia, Euphro- 
syne ; and Homer onely added a fourth, s. 
Pasithea) otherwise called Charites, that is, 
thankes : whom the Poetes feyned to be the God- 
desses of all bountie and comelines, which there- 
fore (as sayth Theodontius) they make three, to 
wete, that men first ought to be gracious and 
bountifull to other freely ; then to receive bene- 
fits at other mens hands curteously ; and thirdly, 
to requite them thankfully ; which are three 
sundry Actions in liberalitye. And Boccace saith, 
that they be painted naked (as they were indeede 
on the tombe of C. Julius CiBsar) the one having 
her backe toward us, and her face fromwarde, as 
proceeding from us ; the other two toward us, 
noting double thanke to be due to us for the bene- 
fit we have done. 

Deffly, finelye and nimbly. 

Soote, sweete. 

Meriment, mirth. 

Bevie, a beavie of ladyes, is spoken figuratively 
for a company, or troupe : the terme is taken of 
Larkes. For they say a Bevie of Larkes, even as 
a Covey of Partridge, or an eye of Pheasaunts. 

Ladyes of the lake be Nymphes. For it was 
an olde opinion amongste the Auncient Heathen, 
that of every spi-ing and fountaine was a goddesse 
the Soveraigne. Whiche opinion stucke in the 
myndes of men not manye yeares sithence, by 
meanes of certain fine fablers, and lowd lyers, 
such as were the Authors of King Arthure the 
great, and such like, who tell many an unlawful! 
leasing of the Ladyes of the Lake, that is, the 
Nymphes. For the word Nymphe in Greeke, 
signifieth Well water, or otherwise, a Spouse or 
Bryde. 

Behight, called or named. 

Cloris, the name of a Nymph, and signifieth 
greenesse ; of whome is sayd, that Zephyras, the 
Westerne wind, being in love with her, and covet- 
ing her to wyfe, gave her for a dowrie the chiefe- 
dome and soveraigntye of al flowres, and greene 
herbes, growing on earth. 

Olives bene, The Olive was wont to be the 
ensigne of Peace and quietnesse, eyther for that 
it cannot be planted and pruned, and so carefully 
looked to as it ought, but in time of peace ; or 
els for that the Olive tree, they say, will not growe 
neare the Firre tree, which is dedicate to Mars 
the God of battaile, and used most for speares, 
and other instruments of warre. Whereuppon is 
finely feigned, that when Neptune and Minerva 
strove for the naming of the citie of Athens, 
Neptune striking the ground with his mace caused 
a horse to come forth, that importeth warre, but 
at Minervaes stroke sprong out an Olive, to note 
that it should be a nurse of learning, and such 
peaceable studies. 



L. I-3I.] 



APRIL. 



567 



Binde your, spoken rudely, and according to 
shepheardes simplicitye. 

Bring, all these be names of flowers. Sops 
in wine, a flowre in colour much like to a Corona- 
tion, but differing in smel and quantitye. Flowre 
delice, that which they use to misterme flowre 
deluce, being in Latine called Flos delitiarum. 

A Bellibone, or a bonibell, homely spoken for 
a fayre mayde, or Bonilasse. 

Forswonck, and forswaU, overlaboured and 
sunneburnt. 

I saiv Phoibus, the sunne. A sensible narra- 
tion, and present view of the thing mentioned, 
which they call napovtria. 

Cynthia, the Moone, so called of Cynthus a 
hyll, where she was honoured. 

Latonaes seede. Was Appollo and Diana. 
Whom, when as Niobe the Wife of Amphion 



scorned, in respect of the noble fruict of her 
wombe, namely her seven sonnes, and so many 
daughters, Latona, being there\\ith displeased, 
commaunded her sonne Phoebus to slea al the 
sonnes, and Diana all the daughters : whereat 
the unfortunate Niobe being sore dismayed, and 
lamenting out of measure, was feigned of the 
Poetes to be turned into a stone, upon the sepul- 
chre of her children : for which cause the shep- 
heard sayth, he will not compare her to them, for 
feare of like misfortune. 

Now rise, is the conclusion. For, having so 
decked her with prayses and comparisons, he 
returneth all the thanck of hys laboure to the 
excellencie of her Majestie. 

When Damsins, A base reward of a clownish 
giver. 

Yblent, Y is a poeticall addition ; blent, blinded. 



This Poesye is taken out of Yirgile, and there 
of "him used in the person of ^Eneas to his mother 
Venus, appearing to him in likeuesse of one of 
Diaiiaes damosells : being there most divinely set 
forth. To which similitude of diAinitie Hobbinoll, 
comparing the excelency of Elisa, and being, 
through the worthynes of Colins song, as it were, 
overcome with the hugenesse of his imagination, 



brusteth out in great admiration, (0 quam ie 
raemorem tnrgo ! ) being otherwise unhable, 
then by soddein silence, to expresse the worthi- 
nesse of his conceipt. Whom Thenot answereth 
with another part of the like verse, as confirming 
by his graunt and approvaunce, that Elisa is no 
whit inferiour to the Majestie of her, of whome 
that Poete so boldly pronounced dea certe. 



MA YE. 



MGrluOQk QUINTA. AKGUMENT. 

Is this fifte ^glogue, tinder the persons of two shepheards, Piers and Palinodie, be represented 
two fo7^mes of pastoti/res or Ministers, or the Protestant and the Catholique : whose chief e 
talke standeth in reasoning, whether the life of the one must be like the other: with whom 
having shewed, that it is daungerous to mainteine anij felowship, or give too much credit 
to their colourable and feyned good tcill, he telleth him a taleofthefo^e, that, by suc7i a 
camiterpoynt of craftines, deceived and devoured the credtdous kidde. 



Palinode. 

Palinode. Is notthilke the mery moneth 
of May, 
When- love-lads masken in fresh aray ? 
How falles it, then, we no merrier hene, 
Ylike as others, girt in gawdy greene? 
Our bloncket liveryes bene all to sadde 5 
For thilke same season, when all is ycladd 
With pleasaunce : the grownd with. grasse, 

the Woods 
With greene leaves, the hushes with 

hloosming buds. 
Yougthes folke now flocken in every 

where. 
To gather May bus-kets and smelling 
brere : 10 

And home they hasten thepostes todight, 
And all the Kirke pillours eare day light, 
With Hawthorne buds, and swete Eglan- 
tine, 
And girlonds of roses, and Sopps in wine. 
Such merimake holy Saints doth queme, 15 



Piers. 

But we here sitten as drownd in a dreme. 
Piers. For Younkers, Palinode, such 

follies fitte. 
But we tway bene men of elder witt. 
Pal. Sicker this morrowe, no lenger 

agoe, 
I sawe a shole of shepeheardes outgoe 20 
With singing, and shouting, and jolly 

chere : 
Before them yode a lusty Tabrere, 
That to the many a Horne-pype playd, 
Whereto they dauncen, eche one with his 

mayd. 24 

To see those folkes make such jovysaunce, 
Made my heart after the pype to dauuce : 
Tho to the greene Wood they speedeu hem 

all, 
To fetchen home May with their musicall: 
And home they bringen in a royall throne, 
Crowned as king : and his Queene attone 
Was Lady Flora, on whom did attend 31 



568 



THE SHEPHEARDS CALENDER. 



[L. 32-112. 



A fayre flocke of Faeries, aud a fresh bend 
Of lovely Nymphs. (O that I were there, 
To helpen the Ladyes their Maybnsh 

beare ! ) 
Ah! Piers, bene not thy teeth on edge, 

to thinke 35 

How great sport they gaynen with little 

swiuck ? 
Piers. Perdie, so farre am T from envie, 
That their fonduesse inly I pi tie : 
Those faytours little regarden their 

charge, 
While they, letting their sheepe runne at 

large, 40 

Passen their time, that should be sparely 

spent. 
In lustihede and wanton raeryment. 
Thilke same bene shepeheardes for the 

Devils stedde, 
That playen while their fiockes be 

unf edde : 
Well is it seene theyr sheepe bene not 

their owne, 45 

That letten them runne at randon alone : 
But they bene hyred for little pay 
Of other, that caren as little as they 
What fallen the flocke, so they han the 

fleece. 
And get all the gayne, paying but a 

peece. 50 

I muse, what account both these will 

make; 
The one for the hire which he doth take, 
And thother for leaving his Lords taske, 
When great Pan account of shepeherdes 

shall aske. 
Pal. Sicker, now I see thou speakest 

of spight, 55 

All for thou lackest somedele their 

delight, 
I (as I am) had rather be envied, 
All were it of my foe, then fonly pitied : 
And yet, if neede were, pitied would be, 
Rather then other should scome at 

me : 00 

For pittied is mishappe that nas remedie. 
But scorned bene dedes of fond foolerie. 
What shoulden shepheards other things 

tend, 
Then, sith their God his good does them 

send, 
Reapen the fruite thereof, that is pleas- 
ure, 65 
The while they here liven at ease and 

leasure ? 
For, when they bene dead, their good is 

ygoe, 
They sleepen in rest, well as other moe : 
Tho with them wends what they spent 

in cost, 
But what they left behind them is lost. 70 



Good is no good, but if it be spend ; 
God giveth good for none other end. 
Piers. Ah! Palinodie, thou art a 

wo rides childe : 
Who touches Pitch, mought needes be 

delilde ; 
But shepheards (as Algriud used to say) 75 
Moiight not live ylike as men of the laye. 
With them it sits to care for their heire, 
Euaunter their heritage doe impaire. 
They must provide for meanes of main- 

tenaunce. 
And to continue their wont counte- 

naunce : 80 

But shepheard must walke another way, 
Sike worldly sovenance he must forsay. 
The Sonne of his loines why should he 

regard 
To leave enriched with that he hath 

spard ? 
Should not thilke God, that gave him 

that good, 85 

Eke cherish his child, if in his wayes he 

stood ? 
For if he mislive in leudnes and lust, 
Little bootes all the welth and the trust. 
That his father left by inheritaunce ; 
All will be sooue wasted with misgov- 

ernaunce ; 90 

But through this, and other their mis- 

creaunce 
They maken many a wrong chevisaunce. 
Heaping up waves of welth and woe, 
The fioddes whereof shall them overflowe 
Sike mens follie I cannot compare 95 

Better then to the Apes folish care. 
That is so enamoured of her young one, 
(And yet, God wote, such cause hath she 

none) 
That with her hard hold, and straight 

embracing. 
She stoppeth the breath of her young- 
ling. 100 
So often times, when as good is meant. 
Evil ensueth of wrong entent. 
The time was once, and may agaiue 

retorne, 
(For offght may happen, that hath bene 

beforne) 
When shepeheards had none inheri- 
taunce, 105 
Ne of land, nor fee in sufferaunce. 
But what might arise of the bare sheepe, 
(Were it more or lesse) which they did 

keepe. 
Well ywis was it with shepheards thoe : 
Nought having, nought feared they to 

forgoe ; 110 

For Pan himselfe was their inheritaunce. 
And little them served for their mayn- 

tenaunce. 



L. 1 13-192.] 



MAYE. 



569 



>^ 



The shepheards God so wel them guided, 
That of uought they were unprovided ; 114 
Buttei- enough, honye, milke, and whay, 
And their flockes fleeces them to araye : 
But tract of time, and long prosperitie, 
That nource of vice, this of insolencie, 
Lulled the shepheards in such securitie. 
That, not content with loyall obey- 

saunce, 120 

Some gan to gape for greedie gover- 

naunce, 
And match them selfe with mighty 

potentates. 
Lovers of Lordship, and troublers of 

states. 
Tho gan shepheards swaines to looke 

aloft. 
And leave to live hard, and learne to 

ligge soft: 125 

Tho, under colour of shepeheards, some- 
while 
There crept in Wolves, ful of fraude, and 

guile. 
That often devoured their owne sheepe. 
And often the shepheards that did hem 

keepe : 
This was the first sourse of shepheards 

sorowe, 130 

That now nill be quitt with baile nor 

borrowe. 
J Pal. Three thinges to beare bene very 

burdenous, 
But the fourth to forbeare is outragious : 
Wemen, that of Loves longing once lust. 
Hardly forbearen, but have it they must: 
So when choler is inflamed with rage, 136 
Wanting revenge, is hard to asswage : 
And who can counsell a thristie soule, 
With patience to forbeare the offred 

bowle ? 
But of all burdens, that a man can 

beare, 140 

Most is, a fooles talke to beare and to 

heare. 
I wene the Geaunt has not such a weight. 
That beares on his shoulders the heavens 

height. 
Thou findest faulte where nys to be 

found. 
And buildest strong warke upon a weake 

ground : 145 

Thou raylest on, right withouten reason, 
And b lam est hem much for small en- 

cheason. 
How shoulden shepheardes live, if not 

so? 
What! should they pynen in payne and 

woe? 
Nay, say I thereto, by my deare bor- 
rowe, 150 
If I may rest, I nill live in sorrows. 



Sorrowe ne neede be hastened on. 
For he will come, without calling, anone. 
While times enduren of tranquillitie, 
Useu we freely our felicitie ; 1.55 

For, when approcheu the stormie stowres, 
We mouglit with our shoulders beare of 

the sharpe showres ; 
And, sooth to sayne, nought seemeth sike 

strife. 
That shepherdes so Aviten ech others life. 
And layen her faults the world beforne, 
The while their foes done eache of hem 

scorne. 161 

Let none mislike of that may not be 

mended : 
So conteck soone by concord mought be 

ended. 
Piers. Shepheard, I list none accord- 

aunce make 
With shepheard that does the right way 

forsake : 165 

And of the twaine, if choice were to me. 
Had lever my foe then my freend he be ; 
For what concord han light and darke 

sam? 
Or what peace has the Lion with the 

Lambe ? 
Such faitors, when their false harts bene 

hidde, 170 

Will doe as did the Foxe by the Kidde. 
Pal. Now, Piers, of felowship, tell us 

that saying: 
For the Ladde can keepe both our flockes 

from straying. 
Piers. Thilke same Kidde (as I can 

well devise) 
Was too very foolish and unwise ; 175 
For on a tj^me, in Sommer season. 
The Gate her dame, that had good reason, 
Yode forth abroade unto the green e 

wood. 
To bronze, or play, or what shee thought 

good: 
But, for she had a motherly care 180 

Of her young sonne, and wit to beware, 
Shee set her youngling before her knee, 
That was both fresh and lovely to see. 
And full of favour as kidde mought be. 
His Vellet head began to shoote out, 185 
And his wreathed homes gan newly 

sprout : 
The blossomes of lust to bud did beginne, 
And spring forth ranckly under his 

chinne. 
' My Sonne,' (quoth she and with that 

gan weepe. 
For careful! thoughts in her heart did 

creepe) 190 

* God blesse thee, poors Orphane ! as he 

mought me. 
And send thee joy of thy jollitee. 



S70 



THE SHEPHEARDS CALENDER. 



[l. 193-282. 



Thy father,* (that word she spake with 

payne, 
For a sigh had nigh rent her heart in 

twaine) 
' Thy father, liad he lived this day, 195 
To see the braunche of his body displaie, 
How would he have joyed at this sweete 

sight ! 
But ah! false Fortune such joy did him 

spight, 
And cutte of hys dayes with untimely 

woe. 
Betraying him into the traines of hys 

foe. 200 

Now I, a waylfull widdowe behight. 
Of my old age have this one delight, 
To see thee succeede in thy fathers steade, 
And florish in flowres of lusty-head : 204 
For even so thy father his head upheld, 
And so his hauty homes did he weld.' 

Tho marking him with melting eyes, 
A thrilling throbbe from her hart did 

aryse, 
And interrupted all her other speache 
With some old sorowe that made a newe 

breache : ' 210 

Seemed shee sawe in the younglings face 
The old lineaments of his fathers grace. 
At last her solein silence she broke, 
And gan his newe-budded beard to stroke. 
' Kiddie, (quoth shee) thou kenst the 

great care 215 

I have of thy health and thy welfare. 
Which many wyld beastes liggen in waite 
For to entrap in thy tender state : 
But most the Foxe, maister of collusion: 
For he has voued thy last confusion. 220 
For-thy, my Kiddie, be ruld by mee, 
And never give trust to his trecheree : 
And, if he chaunce come when I am 

abroade, 
Sperre the yate fast for feare of fraude : 
Ne for all his worst, nor for his best, 225 
Open the dore at his request.' 

So schooled the Gate her wanton sonne, 
That answerd his mother, all should be 

done. 
Tho went the pensife Damme out of dore, 
And chaunst to stomble at the threshold 

flore : 230 

Her stombling steppe some what her 

amazed, 
(For such, as signes of ill luck, bene dis- 
praised ;) 
Yet forth shee yode, thereat halfe aghast : 
And Kiddie the dore sperred after her 

fast. 
It was not long, after shee was gone, 235 
But the false Foxe came to the dore 

anone : 
Not as a Foxe, for then he had be kend, 



But all as a poore pedler he did wend, 
Bearing a trusse of tryfles at hys backe, 
As bells, and babes, and glasses, in hys 

packs : 240 

A Biggen he had got about his brayne. 
For in bis headpeace he felt a sore payne : 
His hinder heele was wrapt in a clout, 
For with great cold hie had gotte the 

gout. 
There at the dore he cast me downe hys 

pack, 245 

And layd him downe, and groned, * Alack ! 

Alack! 
Ah, deare Lord! and sweete Saint 

Charitee ! 
That some good body woulde once pitie 

mee! ' 
Well heard Kiddie al this sore con- 
straint, 
And lengd to know the cause of his com- 
plaint : 250 
Tho, creeping close behind the Wickets 

clink, 
Prevelie he peeped out through a chinck. 
Yet not so previlie but the Foxe him 

si:)yed ; 
For deceitfull meaning is double eyed. 
' Ah, good young maister ! ' (then gan he 

crye) 255 

' Jesus blesse that sweete face I espye, 
And keepe your corpse from the carefull 

stounds 
That in my carrion carcas abounds.' 
The Kidd, pittying hys heavinesse. 
Asked the cause of his great distresse, 260 
And also who, and whence that he were? 

Tho he, that had well ycoud his lere, 
Thus medled his talke with many a teare : 
* Sicke, sicke, alas! and little lack of dead. 
But I be relieved by your beastlyhead. 265 
Iamapooresheepe,albemycolouredonne, 
For with long traveile I am brent in the 

Sonne : 
And, if that my Grandsire me sayd be true, 
Sicker, I am very sybbe to you : 
So be your goodlihead doe not disdayne 270 
The base kinred of so simple swaine. 
Of mercye and favour, then, I you pray 
With your ayd to fore-stall my neere 

decay.' 

Tho out of his packe a glasse he tooke. 

Wherein while Kiddie unwares did looke, 

He was so enamored with the newell, 276 

That nought he deemed deare for the 

Jewell : 
Tho opened he the dore, and in came 
The false Foxe, as he were starke lame : 
His tayle he clapt betwixt liis legs twayne, 
Lest he should be descried by his trayne. 
Being within, the Kidde made him good 

glee, 282 



L. 283-317.] 



MAYE. 



571 



All for the love of the glasse he did see. 
After his chere the Pedler can chat, 284 
And tell manylesiiiges of this aud that, 
And how he could shewe many a fine 

kuack : 
Tho shewed his ware aud opened his packe, 
All save a hell, which he left hehiud 
In the hasket for the Kidde to fynd : 
Which when the Kidde stooped downe to 

catch, 290 

He popt him in, and his basket did latch : 
Ne stayed he once the dore to make 

fast, 
But ranne awaye with him in all hast. 
Home when the doubtfuU Damme had 

her hyde, 
She mought see the dore stand open 

wycie. 295 

All agast, lowdly she gan to call 
Her Kidde ; but he nould answere at all : 
Tho on the flore she saw the merchaundise 
Of which her sonue had sette to deere a 

prise 
What helpe ? her Kidde shee knewe well 

was gone : 300 



Shee weeped, aud wayled, and made great 

mone. 
Such end had the Kidde, for he nould 

warned be 
Of craft, coloured with simplicitie : 
And such end, perdie, does all hem re- 

mayne, ■ 304 

That of such falsers freendship bene fayne. 

Pal. Truly, Piers, thou art beside thy 

wit, 
Furthest fro the marke, weening it to hit. 
Now, I pray thee, lette me thy tale bor- 

rowe 
For our Sir John, to say to morrowe 
At the Kerke, when it is hoUiday ; 310 
For well he meanes, but little can say. 
But, and if foxes bene so crafty as so, 
Much needeth all shepheards hem to 

knowe. 
Piers. Of their falshode more could I 

recount, 
But now the bright Sunne gynneth to dis- 
mount ; 315 
And, for the deawie night now doth uye, 
I hold it best for us home to bye. 



PALINODES EMBLEME. 

Has (xev airnTTOS aTrKTrei. 

PIERS HIS EMBLEME. 

Tt's 5' apa TTttTTis atTi(7T(o ; 



GLOSSE. 



^hilke, this same moneth. It is applyed to the 
season of the moneth, when all meune dehght 
them selves Avith pleasaunce of fieldes, and gar- 
dens, and garments. 

Bloncket liveries, gray coates. 

Yclad, arrayed, Y redoundeth, as before. 

In every where, a straunge, yet proper kind of 
speaking. 

Buckets, a diminutive, s. Uttle bushes of hau- 
thorne. 

Kirke, church. 

Queme. please. 

A sliole, a multitude, taken of fishe, whereof 
some, going in great companies, ai-e sayde to 
swiuune in a shole. 

Yode, went. 

Jovyssaunce, Joye. 

Swinck, labour. 

Inly, entirely. 

FuytoKTS, vagabonds. 

Great P(in,is Christ, the very God of all shep- 
heards, which calleth hiraselfe the greate, and 
good shepherd. The name is most rightly (me- 
thinkes)ai)plyed tohim ; lor Pan signifieth'all, or 
omnipotent, which is onely the Lord Jesus. And 
by that name (as I remembor) be is called of Euse- 
bius, in his tifte booke JJe Frepurat. Erang., 
who thereof telleth a proper storye to that pur- 
pose. Which story is first recorded of Plutarch, 



in his booke of the ceasing of Oracles: and of 
Lavetere translated, in his booke of Avalking 
sprightes; who sayth, that about the same time 
that our Lord suffered his most bitter passion, for 
theredemtion of man, certein passengei-s sayling 
from Italy to Cyprus, and i)assiug by certaine 
lies called Paxae, heard a voyce calling alowde 
Thainus, Thamiis! (now Thamus was the name of 
an i^gyptian, which was Pilote of the ship) who, 
giving eare to the cry, was bidden, when he came 
to Palodes, to tel that the great Pan was dead : 
which he doubting to doe, yet for that when he 
came to Palodes, there sodeinly was such a calme 
of winde, that the shippe stoode still in the sea un- 
moved, he was forced to cry alowd, that Pan was 
dead : wherewithall there was heard suche piteous 
outcryes, and dreadfull shrikiug, as hath not bene 
the Kke. By whych Pan, though of some be un- 
derstoode the great Satanas, whose kingdome at 
that time was by Christ conquered, the gates 
of hell broken up, and death by death delivered 
to eternall death, (for at that time, as he sayth, 
all Oracles surceased, and enchaunted spirits, that 
were wont to delude the ])eople, thenceforth held 
theyr peace:) and also at the demaund of the 
Emperoure Tiberius, who that Pan should be, 
answere was made him by tlie wisest and best 
learned, that it was the sonne of Mercuric and 
Penelope : yet I thinke it more properly meant 



572 



THE SHEPHEARDS CALENDER. 



of the death of Christ, the onely and very Pan, 
then suffering for his flock. 

/ as I 0771, seemeth to imitate the commen 
proverb, Malim invidere mihi omnes, qudm 
misefescere. 

Nas is a syncope, for ne has, or has not : as 
nould for would not. 

Tho with them doth imitate the Epitaphe of the 
ryotous king Sardanapalns, which he caused to 
be written on his tombe in Greeke : which verses 
be thus translated by Tullie. 

' Haec habui quae edi, quseque exaturata libido 
' Hausit, at Ula manent multa ac prseclara re- 
Ucta.' 

Which may thus be turned into English. 

' All that I eate did I joye, and all that I greedily 

gorged : 
' As for those many goodly matters left I for 
others.' 
Much like the Epitaph of a good olde Erie of 
Devonshire, which though much more wisedome 
bewraieth then Sardanapalns, yet hath a smacke 
of his sensuall delights and beastliuesse : the 
rymes be these : 

' Ho, ho ! who lies here ? 
' I the good Earle of Devonshere, 

* And Maulde my wife that was ful deare : 

* We lived together Iv. yeare. 

' That we spent, we had : 
' That we gave, we have : 
' That we lefte, we lost.' 

Algrind, the name of a shepheard. 

3Ien of the lay, Laymen. 

Enaunter, least that. 

Sovenaunce, remembraunce. 

MisGreav,7ice, despeire, "or misbeliefe. 

Chevisaunce, sometime of Chaucer used for 
gaine : sometime of other for spoyle, or bootie, 
or enterprise, and sometime for chiefdome. 

Pa7i hbnselfe, God : according as is sayd in 
Denteronomie, That, in division of the lande 
of Canaan, to the tribe of Levie no portion of 
heritage should bee allotted, for God himselfe 
was their inheritaunce. 

Some ga7i, meant of the Pope, and his Anti- 
christian prelates, which usurpe a tyrannical 
dominion in the Churche, and with Peters coun- 
terfet keyes open a wide gate to al wickednesse 
and insolent government. Nought here spoken, 
as of purpose to deny fatherly rule and gover- 
naunce (as some maliciously of late have done, 
to the great unreste and hinderaunce of the 
Churche) but to displaye the pride and disorder 
of such, as, in steede of feeding their sheepe, in- 
deede feede of theyr sheepe. 

Sottrse, welspring and originall. 

Borroioe, pledge or suertie. 

The Geawnte is the greate Atlas, whom the 
poetes feign to be a huge geaunt, that beareth 
Heaven on his shoulders : being indeede a mer- 
yeilous highe mountaine in Mauritania, that now 
is Barbaric, which, to mans seeming, perceth the 
cloudes, and seemeth to touch the heavens. 
Other thinke, and they not amisse, that this fable 
was meant of one Atlas king of the same coun- 
trye, (of whome may bee, that that hil had his 
denomination) brother to Prometheus, who (as 



the Greekes say) did first fynd out the hidden 
courses of the starres, by an excellent imagina- 
tion : wherefore the poetes feigned, that he sus- 
teyned the firmament on hys shoulders: Many 
other conjectures needelesse be told hereof. 

Warke, worke. 

Encheason, cause, occasion. 

Deare borow, that is our Saviour, the common 
pledge of all mens debts to death. 

Wyten, blame. 

bought seemeth, is unseemely. 

Conteck, strife, contention. 

Her, theyr, as useth Chaucer. 

Han, for have. 

Sam, together. 

This tale is much hke to that in ^sops fables, 
but the Catastrophe and end is farre different. 
By the Kidde may be understoode the sim])le 
sorte of the faythfull and true Christians. By hys 
dame Christe, that hath alreadie with carefull 
watchewords (as heere doth the gote) warned her 
little ones, to beware of such doubhng deceit. 
By the Foxe, the false and faithlesse Papistes, to 
whom is no credit to be given, nor felowshippe 
to be used. 

The Gate, the Gote : Northernely spoken, to 
turne O into A. 

Yode, went: afforesayd. 

She set, a figure called Fictlo, which useth to 
attribute reasonable actions and speaches to un- 
reasonable creatures. 

The Moosmes of lust, be the yong and mossie 
heares, which then beginne to sproute and shoote 
foorth, when lustfull heate beginnethto kindle. 

And with, a very poetical Tra^o?. 

Orphane, a youngling or pupill, that needeth 
a Tutour and governour. 

That word, a patheticall parenthesis, to en- 
crease a carefull hyperbaton. 

The hraunch, of the fathers body, is the child. 

For even so. Alluded to the saying of Andro- 
mache to Ascanius in Virgile. 

' Sic oculos, sic ille manus, sic ora ferebat,' 

A thrilling throb, a percing sighe. 

Liggen, lye. 

Ifaister of colhmo7i, s. coloured guile, because 
the Foxe, of al beasts, is most wily and crafty. 

Sperre the yate, shut the dore. 

For such, the gotes stombling is here noted as 
an evill signe. The like to be marked in all his- 
tories : and that not the leaste of the Lorde 
Hastingues in King Eycharde the third his 
dayes. For, beside his daungerous dreame 
(whiche was a shrewde prophecie of his mishap 
that folowed) it is sayd, that in the morning, 
ryding toward thetower of London, there to sitte 
uppon matters of counsell, his horse stombled 
twise or thrise by the way: which, of some, that 
ryding with him in his company were priA'ie to 
his neere destenie, was secretly marked, and 
afterwai-d noted for memorie of his great mishap 
that ensewed. For being then as merye as man 
might be, and least doubting any mortall daiin- 
ger, he was, vdthin two howres after, of the 
Tyranne nut to a shamefull doathe. 

As belles, by such trifles are noted, the reliques 
and ragges of popish superstition, which put no 
smal rehgion in Belles, and Babies, s. Idoles, and 
glasses, s. Paxes, and such lyke trumperies. 



L. I 



-24.] 



JUNE. 



573 



Great coUl^ for they boast much of their out- 
ward patience, and voluntarye sufferannce^ as a 
worke of merite and holy huinblenesse. 

Siceete S. Charitie, The Catholiques common 
othe, and onely speache, to have charitye alwayes 
in their mouth, and sometime in their outward 
Actions, but never inwardly in fayth and godly 
zeale. 

Clincke, a keyhole. "Whose diminutive is 
clicket, used of Chaucer for a Key. 

iSfounds, fittes : aforesayde. 

I/is lere, his lesson. 

Medled, mingled. 

Beiitlihead, agreeing to the person of a beast. 

Sibbe, of kinne. 

Newell, a newe thing. 

To forestall, to prjevent. 



Glee, chere : afforesayde. 

Deare a price, his lyfe which he lost for those 
toyes. 

Such elide, is an Epiphonema, or rather the 
moral of the whole tale, whose puri)ose is to 
warne the protestaunt beware, how he giveth 
credit to tlie unftiythfull Catholique ; wherof wo 
have dayly proot'es sufficient, but one nioste 
famous of all practised of late yeares in Fraiince, 
by Charles the nynth. 

Fayne, gladde or desyrous. 

0\a' sir lohn, a Popishe priest. A saying fit 
for the grosenessc of a shepheard, but spoken to 
taunte unlearned Priestes. 

Dismount, descende or set. 

iVye, draweth nere. 



Both these Emblemes make one whole Hexa- 
metre. The first spoken of Palinodie, as in re- 
proche of them that be distrustful!, is a peece of 
Theognis verse, intending, that who doth most 
mistrust is most false. For such experience in 
falshod breedeth mistrust in the mynd, thinking 
no lesfie guile to lurke in others than in hymselfe. 



But Piers thereto strongly replyeth with an 
other peece of the same verse, saying, as in his 
former fable, what fayth then is there in the fay th- 
lesse? For if fayth be the ground of religion, 
which fayth they dayly false, what hold is then 
there of theyr religion"? And thys is all that they 
saye. 



JUXE. 



^GLOGA SEXTA. ARGUMENT. 



Tbis ^glogne is tcholly voiced to the complayning of Colins ill sticcesse in his love. For being 
(as is aforesaid) enamoured of a country lasse, Rosalind, and having {a-s seemeth) found e 
place in her heart, he lamenteth to his deare f rend Jlohbinoll, that he is noue forsaken un- 
faithfully, and in his steede Menalcas, another shepheard, received disloyally. And this 
is the xjchole Argument of this uEglogue. 



HOBBINOL. 

Hob. Lo! Collin, here the place whose 

plesaiint syte 
From other shades hath weand my wan- 

drhig myude : 
Tell me, what wants me here to worke 

delyte? 
The simple ayre, the gentle warbling 

wyude, 
So calme, so coole, as no where else I 

fyude : 5 

The grassye ground with daintye Daysies 

' dight, 
The Bramble bush, where Byrds of every 

kynde 
To the waters fall their tunes attemper 

right. 

Col. O happy Hobbinoll ! I blesse thy 

state. 
That Paradise hast founde whych Adam 

lost : 10 

Here wander may thy flocke, early or 

late, 
Withouten dreade of Wolves to bene ytost : 



Colin Clout. 

Thy lovely layes here mayst thou freely 

boste. 
But I, unhappy man ! whom cruell fate 
And angry Gods pursue from coste to 

coste, 15 

Can nowhere fynd to shroude my luck- 

lesse pate. 

Hoh. Then, if by me thou list advised 

be, 
Forsake the soyle that so doth thee be- 
witch : 
Leave me those hilles where harbrough 

nis to see, 
Nor holy-bush, nor brere, nor winding 

witche: 20 

And to the dales resort, where shepheard s 

riti-h, 
And fruictfull tiocks, bene every where to 

see: 
Here no night-ravenes lodge, more black 

then pitt'he, 
Nor elvish ghosts, nor gastly owles doe 

flee. 



574 



THE SHEPHEARDS CALENDER. 



[L. 25-90. 



But freudly Faeries, met with many- 
Graces, 25 

And lightfoote Nymphes, can chace the 
liugring Night 

With Heydeguyes, and trimly trodden 
traces. 

Whilst systers nyne, which dwell on Par- 
nasse hight, 

Doe make them musick for their more 
delight : 

And Pan himselfe, to kisse their christall 
faces, 30 

Will pype and daunce when Phoebe shineth 
bright : 

Such pierlesse pleasures have we in these 
places. 

Col. And I, whylst youth and course 

of carelesse yeeres. 
Did let me walke withouten lincks of love, 
In such delights did joy amongst my 

peeres : 35 

But ryper age such pleasures doth reprove : 
My faucye eke from former follies move 
To stayed steps; for time in passing 

weares, 
(As garments doen, which wexen old 

above,) 
And draweth newe delightes with hoary 

heares. 40 

Tho couth I sing of love, and tune my 

pype 

Unto ray plaintive pleas m verses made : 
Tho would I seeke for Queene-apples un- 

rype. 
To give my Rosalind; and in Sommer 

shade 
Dight gaudy Girlonds was my common 

trade, 45 

To crowne her golden locks : but yeeres 

more rype. 
And losse of her, whose love as lyfe I 

wayd, 
Those weary wanton toyes away dyd 

wype. 

Hob. Colin, to heare thy rymes and 

roundelayes. 
Which thou wert wont on wastfull hylls 

to singe, 50 

I more delight then larke in Sommer 

dayes: 
Whose Echo made the neyghbour groves 

to ring. 
And taught the byrds, which in the lower 

spring 
Did shroude in shady leaves from sonny 

rayes. 
Frame to thy songe their chereful cherip- 

ing, 55 



Or hold theyr peace, for shame of thy 

• swete layes. 
I sawe Calliope wyth Muses moe, 
Soone as thy oaten pype began to sound, 
Theyr yvory Luyts and Tamburius forgoe. 
And from the fountaine, where they sat 

around, 60 

Renne after hastely thy silver sound ; 
But, when they came where thou thy skill 

didst showe, 
They drewe abacke, as halfe with shame 

confound 
Shepheard to see them in theyr art outgoe. 

Col. Of Muses, Hobbinol, I conne no 

skill. Go 

For they bene daughters of the hyghest 

Jove, 
And holden scorne of homely shepheards 

quill : 
For sith I heard that Pan with Phoebus 

strove. 
Which him to much rebuke and Daunger 

drove, 
I never lyst presume to Parnasse hyll, 70 
But, pyping lowe in shade of lowly grove, 
I play to please myselfe, all be it ill. 

Nought weigh I who my song doth prayse 

or blame, 
Ne strive to winne renowne, or passe the 

rest : 
With shepheard sittes not foUowe flying 

fame, 75 

But feede his flocke in fields where falls 

hem best. 
I wote my rymes bene rough, and rudely 

drest ; 
The fytter they my caref ull case to frame : 
Enough is me to paint out my unrest. 
And poore my piteous plaints out in the 

same. 80 

The God of shepheards, Tityrus, is dead. 
Who taught me homely, as I can, to 

make; 
He, whilst he lived, was the soveraigne 

head 
Of shepheards all that bene with love 

ytake : 
Well couth he wayle his Woes, and lightly 

slake 85 

The flames which love within his heart 

had bredd. 
And tell us mery tales to keepe us wake. 
The while our sheepe about us safely 

fedde. 

Nowe dead he is, and lyeth wrapt in lead, 
(O ! why should Death on hym such out- 
rage showe ?) 90 



L. 91-120.] 



JUNE. 



575 



And all hys passing skil with him is 

fledde, 
The fame whereof doth dayly greater 

growe. 
But, if on me some little drops would 

flowe 
Of that the spring was in his learned 

hedde, 
I soone would learne these woods to wayle 

my woe, 95 

And teache the trees their trickling teares 

to shedde. 

Then should my plaints, causd of dis- 

curtesee, 
As messengers of this my painfull plight, 
Flye to my love, where ever that she bee, 
And pierce her heart with poynt of worthy 

wight, 100 

As. shee deserves that wrought so deadly 

spight. 
And thou, Menalcas, that by trecheree 
Didst underfong my lasse to wexe so light, 
Shouldest well be knowne for such thy 

villanee. 

But since I am not as I wish I were, 105 
Ye gentle Shepheards, which your flocks 
do feede, 



Whether on hylls, or dales, or other 

where, 
Beare witnesse all of thys so wicked 

deede : 
And tell the lasse, whose flowre is woxe a 

weede, 
And faultlesse fayth is turned to faith- 

lesse fere, 110 

That she the truest shepheards hart made 

bleede. 
That lyves on earth, and loved her most 

dere. 

Hob. O, carefull Colin! I lament thy 

case; 
Thy teares would make the hardest flint 

to flowe ! 
Ah, faithlesse Rosalind and voide of 

grace, 115 

That art the roote of all this ruthfull 

woe! 
But now is time, I gesse, homeward to 

goe: 
Then ryse, ye blessed Flocks, and home 

apace. 
Least night with stealing steppes doe you 

forsloe, 
And wett your tender Lambes that by 

you trace. 120 



COLINS EMBLEMB. 

Gia speme spenta. 



GLOSSE. 



Si/ie, situation and place. 

Paradise, A Paradise in Greeke, signifieth a 
Garden of pleasure, or place of delights. So he 
conipareth the soile, wherin HobbinoU made his 
abode, to that earthly Paradise, in scripture 
called Eden, wherein Adam in his first creation 
was placed: which of the most learned is 
thought to be in Mesopotamia, the most fertile 
pleasaunte country in the world (as may appeare 
by Diodorus Syculus description of it, in the 
historie of Alexandei'S conquest thereof,) lying 
betweene the two famous Ryvers, (which are sayd 
in scripture to flowe out of Paradise) Tygris 
and Euphrates, whereof it is so denominate. 

Forsake the soyle. This is no Poetical fiction, 
but unfeynedly spoken of the Poete selfe, who 
for speciall occasion of private affayres, (as I have 
bene partly of himselfe informed) and for his more 
preferment, removing out of the Northparts, 
came into the South, as HobbinoU indeede ad- 
vised him privately. 

Those hylles, that is in the North countrye, 
where he dVelt. 

Kis, is not. 

The Dales. The Southpartes, where he nowe 
abydeth, which thoughe they be full of hylles and 
woodes (for Kent is very hyllye and woodye ; and 
therefore so called, for Kantsh in the Saxons 



tongue signifieth woodie,) yet in respecte of the 
Northpartes they be called dales. For indede 
the North is counted the higher countrye. 

Night Ravens, &c. By such hatefull byrdes, 
hee meaneth all misfortunes (whereof they be 
tokens) flying every where. 

Frendly faeries. The opinion of Faeries and 
elfes is very old, and yet sticketh very religiously 
in the myndes of some. But to roote that rancke 
opinion of Elfes oute of mens hearts, the truth 
is, that there be no such thinges, nor yet the 
shadowes of the things, but onely by a sort of 
bald Friers and knavish shavehngs so feigned ; 
which as in all other things, so in that, soughte 
to nousell the common people in ignoraunce, least, 
being once acquainted with the truth of things, 
they woulde in tyme smell out the untruth of 
theyr packed pelfe, and Massepenie religion. 
But the sooth is, that when all Italy was dis- 
traicte into the Factions of the Guelfes and the 
Gibelins, being two famous houses in Florence, 
the name began through their great mischiefes 
and many outrages, to be so odious, or rather 
dreadful!, in the peoples eares, that, if theyr 
children at any time were frowarde and wanton, 
they would say to them that the Guelfe or the 
Gibeline came. Which words nowe from them 
(as many things els) be come into our usage, and, 



57^ 



THE SHEPHEARDS CALENDER. 



[L. 



for Guelfes and Gibelines, we say Elfes and Gob- 
lins. No otherwise then the Frenchmen used 
to say of that valiaunt captain, the very scourge 
of Fraunce, the Lorde Thalbot afterward Erie of 
Shrewsbury, whose noblesse bred such a terrour 
in the hearts of the French, that oft times even 
great armies were detaicted and put to flyght at 
the onely hearing of hys name. In somuch that 
the French wemen, to afliay theyr chyldren, 
would tell them that the Talbot commeth. 

3Liny Graces, though there be indeede but 
three Graces or Charites (as afore is sayd) or at 
the utmost but foure, yet, in respect of many 
gyftes of bounty there may be sayde more. And 
so Musseus sayth, that in Heroes eyther eye 
there sat a hundred Graces. And, by that 
anthoritye, thys same Poete, in his Pageaunts, 
saith 'An hundred Graces on her eyeUdde 
sate,' &c. 

Heydeguies, A country daunce or rownd. 
The conceipt is, that the Graces and Nymphes 
doe daunce unto the Muses and Pan his musicke 
all night by AToonelight. To signifie the pleas- 
auntnesse of the sojde. 

Peeres. Equalles, and felow shepheards. 

Quene-apples unripe, imitating Virgils verse. 

' Ipse ego cana legam tenera lanuguine mala.' 

Neighbour groves, a sti-aunge phrase in Eng- 
lish, bat word for word expressing the Latine 
viaina nemora. 



Spring, not of water, but of young trees 
springing. 

Calliope, aflforesayde. Thys staffe is full of 
verie poetical invention. 

Tamhurines, an old kind of instrument, 
which of some is supposed to be the Clarion. 

Pan with Phoibus, the tale is well knowne, 
howe that Pan and Apollo, striving for o.xcel- 
lencye in musicke, chose Midas for their .indgc 
Who, being corrupted wyth partiall affection, 
gave the victorye to Pan undeserved : for which 
Phcebus sette a payre of Asses eares upon hys 
head, &c. 

Tityrus, That by Tityrus is meant Chaucer, 
hath bene already' sufficiently sayde ; and by 
thys more playne appeareth, that he sayth, he 
toide merye tales. Such as be hys Canterburie 
tales, whom he calleth the God of Poetes for 
hys excellencie ; so as Tullie calleth Lentulus, 
Deum TitcB suae, s. the God of hys life. 

To make, to versifie. 

why, A pretye Epanorthosis, or correction. 
J)iscurtesie : hie meaneth the falsenesse of his 
lover Kosalinde, who forsaking hym hadde 
chosen another. 

Poynie of worthy tvite, the pricke of deserved 
blame. 

Menalcas, the name of a shephearde in 
Virgile ; but here is meant a person unknowne and 
secrete, against whome he often bitterly invayeth. 

IJnderfonge, undermyne, and deceive by false 
suggestion. 



EMBLEME. 



You remember that in the fyrst ^Eglogue 
Colins Poesie was Anchora speme : for that as 
then there was hope of favour to be found in 
tyme. But nowe being cleane forlorae and 



rejected of her, as whose hope, that was, is cleane 
extinguished and turned into despeyre, he re- 
nounceth all comfort, and hope of goodnesse to 
come : which is all the meaning of thys Embleme. 



JUL YE. 



^GLOGA SEPTIMA. AEGUMENT. 



This JEglogne is made in the honotor and commendation of good shepeheardes, and to the shame 
and diupjrayse ofproude and ambitious Pastours : Such as Morrell is here imagined to he. 



Thomalin. 



Tho. 



Is not tbilke same a goteheard 
prowde, 
That sittes on yonder bancke, 
Whose straying heard them selfe doth 
shrowde 
Eraong the bushes rancke? 
Mor. What, ho ! thou jollye shepheards 
swayne, 5 

Come up the hyll to me ; 
Better is then the lowly playne, 

Als for tliy tiocke and thee. 
Thorn. Ah! God shield, man, that I 
should clime, 
And learne to looke alofte; 10 

This reede is ryfe, that oftentime 
Great clymbers fall unsoft. 



Morrell. 

In humble dales is footing fast, 

The trode is not so tickle : 
And though one fall through heedlesse 
hast, 15 

Yet is his misse not mickle. 
And now the Sonne hath reared up 

His fyerie-footed teme, 
Making his way betweene the Cuppe 

And golden Diademe: 20 

The rampant Lyon liuiits he fast. 

With dogges of noysome breath, 
Whose baleful! barking bringes in hast 

Pyne, plagues, and dreery death. 
Agaynst his cruell scortching heate, 25 

Where hast thou coverture ? 
The wastefull by Us unto his threatc 



L. 28-146.] 



JULYE. 



577 



Is a playne overture. 
But, if thee lust to holden chat 

With seely shepherds swayue, 30 

Come dowue, and learne the little what, 

That Thomaliu can sayne. 
Mor. Syker, thous but a laesie loord, 

And rekes much of thy swinck, 
That with fond termes, and witlesse 
words, 35 

To blere mine eyes doest thinke. 
In evill houre thou hentest in hond 

Thus holy hylles to blame, 
For sacred unto saints they stond, 

And of them ban theyr name. 40 

St. Michels Mount who does not know, 

That wardes the Westerne coste ? 
And of St. Brigets bowre, I trow, 

All Kent can rightly boaste : 
And they that con of Muses skill 45 

Sayne most-what, that they dwell 
(As goteheards wont) upon a hill. 

Beside a learned well. 
And wonned not the great God Pan 

Upon mount Olivet, 50 

Feeding the blessed fiocke of Dan, 

Which dyd himselfe beget? 
Thorn. O blessed sheepe! O shepheard 
great ! 

That bought his fiocke so dears. 
And them did save with bloudy sweat 55 

From Wolves that would them teare. 
Mor. Besyde, as holy fathers sayne, 

There is a hyllye place, 
Where Titan ryseth from the mayne 

To renne hys dayly race, 60 

Upon whose toppe the starres bene stayed, 

And all the skie doth leane ; 
There is the cave where Phoebe layed 

The shepheard long to dreame. 
Whilome there used shepheards all 65 

To feede theyr flocks at will. 
Till by his foly one did fall, 

That all the rest did spill. 
And, sithens shepheardes bene forsayd 

From places of delight, 70 

For-thy I weene thou be affrayd 

To clime this hilles height. 
Of Synah can I tell thee more, 

And of our Ladyes bowre ; 
But little needes to strow my store, 75 

Suffice this hill of our. 
Here han the holy Faunes recourse, 

And Sy] vanes haunten rathe ; 
Here has the salt Med way his sourse, 

Wherein the Nymphes doe bathe ; 80 
The salt Med way, that trickling stremis 

Adowne the dales of Kent, 
Till with his elder brother Themis 

His brackish waves be meynt. 
Here growes Melampode every where, 85 

And Teribinth, good for Gotes : 



The one my madding kiddes to smere, 

The next to heale theyr throtes. 
Hereto, the hills bene nigher heven, 

And thence the passage ethe ; 90 

As well can prove the piercing levin, 

That seeldome falles bynethe. 
Thorn. Syker, thou speakes lyke a lewde 
lorrell, 

Of Heaven to demen so ; 
How be I am but rude and borrell, 95 

Yet nearer wayes I knowe. 
To Kerke the uarre, from God more farre, 

Has bene an old-sayd sawe. 
And he, that strives to touch a starre, 

Oft stombles at a strawe. 100 

Alsoone may shepheard clymbe to skye 

That leades in lowly dales, 
As Goteherd prowd, that, sitting hye, 

Upon the Mountaine sayles. 
My seely sheepe like well belowe, 105 

They neede not Melampode : 
For they bene hale enough, I trowe, 

And liken theyr abode ; 
But, if they with thy Gotes should yede. 

They soone myght be corrupted, 110 
Or like not of the frowie fede, 

Of with the weedes be glutted. 
The hylls where dwelled holy saints 

I reverence and adore : 
Not for themselfe, but for the sayncts 115 

Which han be dead of yore. 
And nowe they bene to heaven forwent, 

Theyr good is with them goe : 
Theyr sample ouely to us lent, 

That als we mought doe soe. 120 

Shepheards they weren of the best. 

And lived iu lowlye leas : 
And, sith theyr soules bene now at rest, 

Why done we them disease ? 
Such one he was (as I have heard 125 

Old Algrind often sayne) 
That whilome was the first shepheard, 

And lived with little gayne : 
And meeke he was, as meeke mought be, 

Simple as simple sheepe ; 130 

Humble, and like in eche degree 

The flocke which he did keepe. 
Often he used of hys keepe 

A sacrifice to bring, 
Nowe with a Kidde, now with a sheepe, 

The Altars hallowing. 136 

So lowted he unto hys Lord, 

Such favour couth he fynd, 
That sithens never was abhord 

The simple shepheards kynd. 140 

And such, I weene, the brethren were 

That came from Canaan : 
The brethren twelve, that kept yfere 

The flockes of mighty Pan. 
But nothing such thilk shephearde was 

Whom Ida hyll dyd beare, 146 



578 



THE SHEPHEARDS CALENDER. 



[L. 147-232. 



That left hys flocke to fetch a lasse, 

Whose love he bought to deare ; 
For he was proude, that ill was payd, 

(No such mought shepheards bee) 150 
Aud with lewde lust was overlay d : 

Tway thiugs doeu ill agree. 
But shepheard mought be meeke and 
mylde, 

AVell-eyed, as Argus was, 
With fleshly follyes undefyled, 155 

And stoute as steede of brasse. 
Sike one (sayd Algrind) Moses was, 

That sawe hys makers face. 
His face, more cleare then Christall glasse, 

And spake to him in place. 160 

This had a brother (his name I knewe) 

The first of all his cote, 
A shepheard trewe, yet not so true 

As he that earst I hote. 
Whilome all these were lowe and lief, 165 

And loved their flocks to feede ; 
They never stroven to be chief e. 

And simple was theyr weede : 
But now (thanked be God therefore) 

The world is well amend, 170 

Their weedes bene not so uighly wore ; 

Such simplesse mought them shend : 
They bene yclad in purple and pall, 

So hath theyr god them blist ; 
They reigne and rulen over all, 175 

And lord it as they list : 
Ygyrt with belts of glitterand gold, 

(Mought they good sheepelieards bene ?) 
Theyr Pan theyr sheepe to them has 
sold, 

I saye as some have seene. 180 

For Palinode (if thou him ken) 

Yode late on Pilgrimage 
To Rome, (if such be Rome) and then 

He saw thilke misusage ; 
For shepeheards (sayd he) there doen 
leade, 185 

As Lordes done other where ; 
Theyr sheepe ban crustes, and they the 
bread ; 



The chippes, and they the chere : 
They ban the fleece, and eke the flesh, 

(O, seely sheepe, the while! ) 190 

The corne is theyrs, let other thresh, 

Their handes they may not file. 
They ban great stores and thriftye stockes, 

Great freendes and feeble foes : 
What neede hem caren for their flocks, 

Theyr boyes can looke to those. 196 

These wisards welter in welths waves, 

Pampred in pleasures deepe : 
They ban fatte kernes, and leany knaves, 

Their fasting flockes to keepe. 200 

Sike mister men bene all misgone, 

They heapen hylles of wrath ; 
Sike syrlye shepheards ban we none, 

They keepen all the path. 
Mor. Here is a great deale of good matter 

Lost for lacke of telling : 206 

Now, sicker, I see thou doest but clatter, 

Harme may come of melling. 
Thou medlest more then shall have thanke, 

To wyten shepheards welth : 210 

When folke bene fat, and riches rancke, 

It is a signe of helth. 
But say me, what is Algrind, he 

That is so oft bynempt? 
Thorn. He is a shepheard great in gree. 

But hath bene long ypent. 216 

One daye he sat upon a hyll, 

(As now thou wouldest me : 
But I am taught, by Algrinds ill, 

To love the lowe degree) ; 220 

For sitting so with bared scalpe, 

An Eagle sored bye. 
That, M^eening hys why te head was chalke, 

A shell-fish downe let flye : 
She weeud the shell-fishe to have broke. 

But therewith bruzd his brayne ; 226 
So now, astonied with the stroke. 

He lyes in lingring payne. 
Mor. Ah ! good Algrind ! his hap was ill. 

But shall be better in time. 230 

Now farwell, shepheard, sith thys hyll 

Thou hast such doubt to climbe. 



THOMALINS EMBLEME. 

In medio virtus. 

MORBELLS EMBLEME. 

In summo fo&licitas. 



GLOSSE. 



A Goteheard : by Gotes, in scrypture, be repre- 
sented the wicked and reprobate, whose pastour 
also must needes be such. 

Banck, is the seate of honor. 

Straying heard, which wander out of the 
waye of truth. 

Als, for also. . 

Clymhe, spoken of Ambition. 



Great clyrnbers, according' to Seneca his 
verse. ' Decidunt celsa, graviore lapsus.' Mickle, 
much. 

TJie Sonne, A reason why he refaseth to dwell 
on Mountaines, because there is no shelter against 
the scortching Sunne, according to the time of 
the yeare, whiche is the whotest moneth of all. 

The Cupp and Diademe, be two signes in the 



JULYE. 



579 



Firmament, through which the soime maketh his 
com-se in the moneth of July. 

Lion, Thys is poetically spoken, as if the Sunne 
(lid hunt a Lion with, one dogge. The meaning 
Avhereof is, that in July the Sonne is in Leo. At 
which time the Dogge starre, which is called 
Syrius, or Canicula, reigneth with immoderate 
heate, causing pestilence, drougth, and many 
diseases. 

Overture, an open place. The word is borrowed 
of the French, and used in good writers. 

To holden chatt, to talke and prate. 

A loofde was wont among the old Britons to 
signifie a Lorde. And therefore the Danes, that 
long time usurped theyr Tyrannie here in Brj^- 
taine, were called, for more dread then dignitie, 
Lurdaues, s. Lord Danes. At which time it is 
sayd, that the insolencie and pryde of that nation 
was so outragious in thys Eealme, that if it for- 
tuned a Briton to be going over a bridge, and 
sawe the Dane set foote upon the same, he muste 
retorne backe, till the Dane were cleane over, or 
els abyde the pryce of his displeasure, which was 
no lesse then present death. But being after- 
warde expelled, that name of Lurdane became so 
odious unto the people, whom they had long 
oppressed, that even at this daye they use, for 
more reproche, to call the Quartane ague the 
Fever Lurdane. 

Hecks much of thy swinck, counts much of thy 
paynes. 

Weefelesse, not understoode. 

S. Michels mount, is a promontorie in the 
West part of England. 

A hill, Parnassus aflforesayd. 

Pan, Christ. 

Dan, one trybe is put for the whole nation, 
per Synecdochen. 

Where Titan, the Sonne. "Which story is to 
be redde in Diodorus Syc. of the hyl Ida ; from 
whence, he sayth, all night time is to bee seene a 
mightye fire, as if the skye burned, Avhich toward 
morning beginneth to gather into arownd forme, 
and thereof ryseth the sonne, whome the Poetes 
call Titan. 

The Shepheard isEndymion, whom the Poets 
fayne to have bene so beloved of Phoebe, s. the 
Moone, that he was by her kept asleepe in a cave 
by the space of xxx yeares, for to enjoye his corn- 
pan ve. 

There, that is. in Paradise, where, through 
errour of the shepheards understanding, he sayth, 
that all shepheards did use to feede theyr flocks, 
till one, (that is Adam,') by hys follye and diso- 
bedience, made all the rest of hj-s ofspring be 
debarred and shutte out from thence. 

Synah, a hill in Arabia, where God appeared. 

Our Ladyes bowre, a place of pleasure so 
called. 

Farines, or Sylvaneshe of Poetes feigned to 
be Gods of the Woode. 

Medway, the name of a Eyver in Kent, Avhich, 
running by Eochester, meeteth with Thames, 
whom he calleth his elder brother, both because 
he is greater, and also falleth sooner into the 
Sea. 

Meynt, mingled. 

Melampode and Terebinth be hearbes good 
to cure diseased Gotes : of thone speaketh Man- 
tuane, and of thother Theocritus. 



Tep/mtV^ou Tpo-ymv elKarov aKpe/Xova. 



Nigher heaven : Note the shepheards simple- 
nesse, which supposeth that from the hylls is 
nearer waye to heaven. 

Levin, lightning, which he taketh for an argu- 
ment to prove the nighnes to heaven, because the 
lightning doth commonly light on hygh moun- 
taynes, according to the" saying of the Poete : 
' Feriuntque summos fulmina montes.' 

Lorrdl, a losell. 

A horrell, a playne fellowe. 

Narre, nearer. 

Hale, for hole. 

Yede, goe. 

Fi-ouye, mustye or mossie. 

Of yore, long agoe. 

Foreicente, gone afore. 

Thefiff'te shepheard, was Abell the righteous, 
who (as Scripture sayth) bent hys mind to keep- 
ing of sheepe, as did hys brother Cain to tilling 
the grownde. 

His keepe, hys charge, s. his flocke. 

Lou-ted, did honour and reverence. 

The hrethren, the twelve sonnes of Jacob, 
which were shepe-maisters, and lyved onelye 
thereupon. 

Whom Ida, Paris, which being the sonne of 
Priamus king of Tro}', for his mother Hecubas 
dreame, which, being with childe of hym, 
dreamed shee broughte forth a firebrand, that 
set all the towre of Ilium on fire, was cast forth 
on the hyll Ida, where being fostered of shep- 
heards, he eke in time became a shepheard, and 
lastly came to the knowledge of his parentage. 

A lasse, Helena, the wyfe of Menelaus king of 
Lacedemonia, was by Venus, for the golden 
Aple to her geven, then promised to Paris, Avho 
thereupon with a sorte of lustye Troyanes, stole 
her out of Lacedemonia. and kept her in Troye, 
which was the cause of the tenne yeares warre in. 
Troye, and the moste famous citye of all Asia 
lamentably sacked and defaced. 

Argus,'\\-a.% of the Poets devised to be full of 
eyes, and therefore to hym Avas committed the 
keeping of the transformed Cow, lo : so called, 
because that, in the print of a Cowes foote, there 
is figured an I in the niiddest of an O. 

Ilis name, he meaneth Aaron, whose name, 
for more Decorum, the shepehearde sayth he hath 
forgot, lest his remembraunce and skill in an- 
tiquities of holy writ should seeme to exceede 
the meanenesse of the Person. 

JSfot so true, for Aaron, in the absence of Moses, 
started aside, and committed Idolatry. 

In purple, spoken of the Popes and C»irdi- 
nalles, which use such tyrannical colours and 
pompous pavnting. 

Belts, Girdles. 

Glitterand, glittering, a participle used som.e- 
time in Chancer, but altogether in I. Gower. 

Theyr Pan, that is, the Pope, whom they 
count theyr God and greatest shepheard. 

Palinode, a shephearde, of whose report he 
seemeth to speake all thys. 

Wisards, greate learned heads. 

Welter, wallowe. 

Kerne, a Churle or Farme.r. 

Sike mister men, suche kinde of men. 

Surly, stately and prowde. 



58o 



THE SHEPHEARDS CALENDER. 



[L. 1-34. 



3felling, niedling. 
£eU, better. 
Bi/7iempte, named. 
Gree, for degree. 



Algriiid, the name of a sliepheard afiforesayde, 
whose myshaj) he alludeth to the chaunce that 
happened to the Poet ^schylus, that was brayned 
with a shell-lishe. 



By thys poesy e Thomalin confirraeth that, 
which in hys former speach by sondrye reasons 
he had proved ; for being both hymselfe seques- 
tred from all ambition, and also abhorring it in 
others of hys cote, he taketh occasion to prayse 
the meane and lowly state, as that wherein is 
safetie without feare,"and quiet without daunger ; 
according to the saying of olde Philosophers, that 
vertue dwelleth in the middest, being environed 
with two contrary vices : whereto Morrell re- 
plieth with continuaunce of the same Philoso- 
phers opinion, that albeit all bountye dwelleth in 



mediocritie, yet perfect felicitye dwelleth in 
supremacie: for they say, and most true it is, 
that happinesse is placed in the highest degree, 
so as if any thing be higher or better, then that 
streight way ceavseth to be perfect happines. 
Much like to that which once I heard alleaged in 
defence of humilitye, out of a great doctour. 
'Suorum Ohristus humillimus: ' which saying a 
gentle man in the companie taking at the re- 
bownd, beate backe againe with a lyke saying of 
another doctoure, as he sayde 'Suorum Deus 
altissimus.' 



AUGUST. 



.^GLOGA OCTAYA. AEGUMENT. 



In this ^glogue is set forth a delectable eoniroversie, made in imitation of that in Theocritus: 
whereto also Vlrgile fashioned his third and seventh ^glogue. They choose for umpere 
of their strife, Cuddie, a neatheards boye ; xoho, having erided their cause, reciteth also 
himself e a proper song, whereof Colin, he sayth, was Authour. 



Willie. 



Wil. 



Tell me, Perigot, what shalbe the 

game, 
Wherefore with myne thou dare thy 

musick matche? 
Or bene thy Bagpypes renne farre out of 

frame ? 
Or hath the Crampe thy jOynts benomd 

with ache? 
Per. Ah! Willye, when the hart is ill 

assayde, 5 

How can Bagpipe or joynts be well apayd ? 
Wil. What the foule evill hath thee so 

bestadde ? 
Whilom thou was peregall to the best, 
And wont to make the jolly shepeheards 

gladde, 
With pyping and dauncing did passe 

the rest. 10 

Pen. Ah! Willye, now I have learnd a 

newe daunce; 
My old musick mard by a newe mis- 

chaunce. 
Wil. Mischiefe mought to that mis- 

chaunce befall, 
That so hath raft us of our meriment. 
But reede me what payne doth thee so 

appall ; 15 

Or lovest thou, or bene thy younglings 

miswent ? 
Per. Love hath misled both my young- 
lings and mee: 



Perigot. Cuddie. 

I pyne for payne, and they my payne to 

see. 
Wil. 



Perdie, and wellawaye, ill may they 

thrive ! 
Never knew I lovers sheepe in good 

plight : 20 

But, and if in rymes with me thou dare 

strive, 
Such fond fantsies shall soone be put to 

flight. 
Per. That shall I doe, though mochell 

worse I fared : 
Never shall be sayde that Perigot was 

dared. 
Wil. Then loe, Perigot, the Pledge which 

I plight, 25 

A mazer ywrought of the Maple warre. 
Wherein is enchased many a fayre sight 
Of Beres and Tygres, that maken fiers 

warre ; 
And over them spred a goodly wild vine, 
Entrailed with a wanton Yvie twine. 30 



Lambe in the Wolves 
renneth the shep- 



Thereby is a 
jawes: 
But see, how fast 
heard swayne 
To save the innocent from the beastes 
pawes, 
And here with his shepe-hooke hath 
him slayne. 



L. 35-127.] 



AUGUST. 



581 



Tell me, such a cup hast thou ever 
sene? 35 

Well mought it beseme any harvest 
Queene. 

Per. Thereto will I pawne yonder spotted 

Lambe, 
Of all my flocke there nis sike another, 
For I brouo-ht him up without the Dambe : 
But Colin Clout rafte me of his 

brother, 40 

That he purchast of me iu the playne 

field : 
Sore against my will was I forst to yield, 
Wil. Sicker, make like account of his 

brother. 
But who shall judge the wager wonne 

or lost? 
Per. That shall yonder heardgrome, and 

none other, 45 

Which over the pousse hetheward doth 

post. 
Wil. But, for the Sunnbeame so sore doth 

us beate, 
Were not better to shunne the scortching 

heate ? 
Per. Well agreed, Willie: then, sitte 

thee downe, swayne : 
Sike a song never heardest thou but 

Colin sing. 50 

Cud. Gynne when ye lyst, ye jolly shep- 

heards twayne : 
Sike a judge as Cuddie were for a king. 
Per. * It fell upon a holy eve, 
Wil. Hey, ho, hollidaye! 
Per. When holy fathers wont to shrieve ; 
Wil. Now gynneth this roundelay. 56 
Per. Sitting upon a hill so liye, 
Wil. Hey, ho, the high hyll! 
Per. The while my flocke did feede 

thereby ; 
Wil. The while the shepheard selfe 

did spill. 60 

Per. I saw the bouncing Bellibone, 
Wil. Hey, ho, BonibeU! 
Per. Tripping over the dale alone, 
Wil. She can trippe it very well. 
Per. Well decked in a frocke of gray, 65 
Wil. Hey, ho, gray is greete! 
Per. And in a Kirtle of greene saye, 
Wil. The greene is for maydens meete. 
Per. A chapelet on her head she wore, 
Wil. Hey, ho, chapelet! 70 

Per. Of sweete Violets therein was store, 
Wil. She sweeter then the Violet. 
Per. My sheepe did leave theyr wonted 

food, 
Wil. Hey, ho, seely sheepe ! 74 

Per. And gazd on her as they were wood, 
Wil. Woode as he that did them keepe. 
Per. As the bonilasse passed bye, 



Wil. Hey, ho, bonilasse! 
Per. She rovde at me with glauncing eye, 
Wil. Ascleareas thechristallglasse; 80 
Per. All as the Sunnye beanie so bright, 
Wil. Hey, ho, the Sunne-beame ! 
Per. Glaunceth from Phoebus face forth- 
right, 
Wil. So love into thy hart did streame : 
Per. Or as the thouder cleaves the 

cloud es, 85 

Wil. Hey, ho, the Thouder! 
Per. Wherein the lightsome levin 

shroudes, 
Wil. So cleaves thy soule asonder : 
Per. Or as Dame Cynthias silver raye, 
Wil. Hey, ho, the Moonelight! 90 

Per. Upon the glyttering wave doth 

playe, 
Wil. Such play is a pitteous plight. 
Per. The glauuce into my heart did glide ; 
Wil. Hey, ho, the glyder! 
Per. Therewith my soule was sharply 

gry(le» i^5 

Wil. Such woundes soone wexen wider. 
Per. Hasting to raunch the arrow out, 
Wil. Hey, ho, Perigot! 
Per. I left the head in my hart-roote, 
Wil. It was a desperate shot. 100 

Per. There it ranckleth , ay more and more, 
Wil. Hey, ho, the arrowe! 
Per. Ne can I find salve for my sore : 
Wil. Love is a curelesse sorrowe. 
Per. And though my bale with death I 

bought, 105 

Wil. Hey, ho, heavie cheere! 
Per. Yet should thilk lasse not from my 

thought, 
Wil. So you may buye golde to deere. 
Per. But whether in paynefull love I 

pyne, 
Wil. Hey, ho, pinching payne I 110 

Per. Or thrive in welth, she shalbe mine, 
Wil. But if thou can her obteine. 
Per. And if for gracelesse greefe I dye, 
Wil. Hey, ho, gracelesse grief e ! 
Per. Witnesse shee slewe me with her 

eye, 115 

Wil. Let thy follye be the priefe. 
Per. And you, that sawe it, simple shepe, 
Wil. Hey, ho, the fayre flocke! 
Per. For priefe thereof, my death shall 

weepe, 119 

Wil. And mone with many a mocke. 
Per. So learnd I love on a holye eve, 
Wil. Hey, ho, holidaye! 
Per. That ever since my hart did greve, 
Wil. Now endeth our roundelay.' 
Cud. Sicker, sike a roundle never heard 

I none : 125 

Little lacketh Perigot of the best, 
And Willye is not greatly overgone. 



582 



THE SHEPHEARDS CALENDER. 



[l. 128-198. 



So weren his under-songs well addrest. 
Wil. Herdgrorae, I fear me, thou have a 

squint eye : 
Areede uprightly who has the victorye. 130 
Cud. Fayth of my soule, I deeme ech have 

gayued : 
For-thy let the Lambe be Willye his 

owne: 
And for Perigot, so well hath hym payued, 
To him be the wroughten mazer alone. 
Per. Perigot is well pleased with the 

doome : 135 

Ne can Willye wite the witelesse herd- 

groome. 
Wil. Never dempt more right of beauty e, 

I weeue, 
The shepheard of Ida that j udged beauties 

Queene. 
Cud. But tell me, shepherds, should it not 

yshend 
Your roundels fresh, to heare a doolef nil 

verse 140 

Of Rosalend (who knowes not Rosalend ?) 
That Colin made? ylke can I you re- 
hearse. 
Per. Now say it, Cuddie, as thou art a 

ladde : 
With mery thing its good to media sadde. 
Wil. Fayth of my soule, thou shalt 

ycrouned be 145 

In Colins stede, if thou this song areede ; 

For never thing on earth so pleaseth 

me 
As him to heare, or matter of his 

deede. 
Cud, Then listneth ech unto my heavy 

laye, 
And tune your pypes as ruthful as ye 

may. 150 

* Ye wastef nil Woodes ! beare witnesse of 
my woe, 

Wherein my plaints did oftentimes re- 
sound : 

Ye carelesse byrds are privie to my 
cryes, 

Which in your songs were wont to make 
a part : 

Thou, pleasaunt spring, hast luld me oft 
asleepe, 155 

Whose streames my tricklinge teares did 
ofte augment. 

'Resort of people doth my greefs aug- 
ment, 
The walled townes doe worke my greater 

woe; 
The forest wide is fitter to resound 
The hollow Echo of my carefull cryes :160 
I hate the house, since thence my love did 
part, 



Whose waylef ull want debarres myne eyes 
from sleepe. 

' Let stremes of teares supply the place of 
sleepe ; 

Let all, that sweete is, voyd : and all that 
may augment 

My doole, draw ueare! More meete to 
wayie my woe 165 

Bene the wild woodes, my sorowes to re- 
sound. 

Then bedde, or bowre, both which I fill 
with cryes, 

When I them see so waist, and fynd no 
part 

' Of pleasure past. Here will I dwell apart 

In gastfull grove therefore, till my last 
sleepe 170 

Doe close mine eyes : so shall I not aug- 
ment 

With sight of such as chaunge my restlesse 
woe. 

Helpe me, ye banefull byrds, whose 
shrieking somid 

Ys signe of dreery death, my deadly cryes 

'Most ruthfuUy to tune: And as my 
cryes 175 

(Which of my woe cannot bewray least 
part) 

You heare all night, when nature craveth 
sleepe. 

Increase, so let your yrksome yells aug- 
ment. 

Thus all the night in plaints, the daye in 
woe, 179 

I vowed have to wayst, till safe and sound 

' She home returne, whose voyces silver 

sound 
To cheerefull songs can chaunge my chere- 

lesse cryes. 
Hence with the Nightingale will I take 

part, 
That blessed byrd, that spends her time 

of sleepe 
In songs and plaintive pleas, the more 

taugment 185 

The memory of hys misdeede that bred 

her woe. 

And you that feele no woe, 

When as the sound 
Of these my nightly cryes 

Ye heare apart, 190 

Let breake your sounder sleepe. 

And pitie augment.' 

Per. O Colin, Colin! the shepheards 
.1oye, 
How I admire ech turning of thy verse ! 



L. 1-8.] 



And Cuddie, fresh Cuddie, the liefest boye, 
How dolefully his doole thou didst re- 
hearse ! 196 



SEPTEMBER. 583 

Cud. Then blowe your pypes, shepheards, 

til you be at home ; 
The night nigheth fast, yts time to be gone. 



PEKIGOT III8 EMBLE.ME. 

Vincenti gloria vlcti. 

WILLTES EMBLEME. 

Vinto non vitto. 

CUDDIES EMBLEME. 

Felice chipuo. 



GLOSSE. 



Bestadde, disposed, ordered. 

Peregall, equall. 
Whilome, once. 
Bafie, bereft, deprived. 
Mi.sxcent, gon a straye. 
Ill may, according to Yirgile. 

' Infelix o semper ovis pecus.' 

A mazer: So also do Theocritus and Virgile 
feigne pledges of their strife. 

JSnchased, engraved. Such pretie descriptions 
ever}' where useth Theocritus to bring iu his 
Idyliia. For which speciall cause, indede, he by 
that name termeth his ^glogues ; for Idyllion in 
Greeke signifieth the shape or picture" of any 
thynge, wherof his booke is ful. And not, as I 
have heard some fondly guesse, that they be called 
not Idyliia, but Hsedilia, of the Goteheards in 
them. 

Entroiled, wrought betwene. 

Harvest Queene, The manner of country folke 
in harvest tyme. 

Pousse, Pease. 

It fell upon : Perigot maketh all hys song in 



prayse of his love, to whom Willy answereth every 
underverse. By Perigot who is meant, I can not 
uprightly say : but if it be who is supposed, his 
love, shee deserveth no lesse pra3'se then he giveth 
her. 

Greete, weeping and complaint. 

Chaplet, a kinde of Garlond lyke a crowne. 

Leveti, Lightning. 

Cynthia, was sayd to be the Moone. 

Gryde, perced. 

But if, not unlesse. 

Squint eye, partiall judgement. 

JSch have, so saith Virgile, 

' Et -situla tu dignus, et hie,' &c. 

So by enterchaunge of gyfts Cuddie pleaseth 
both partes. 

Doome, judgement. 

Dempt, for deemed, judged. 

Wit the icitelesse, blame the blamelesse. 

The shepherd of Ida, was sayd to be Paris. 

Beauties Queene, Venus, to whome Paris ad- 
judged the golden Apple, as the prj^ce of hei"- 
beautie. 



The meaning hereof is very ambiguous : for 
Perigot by his poesie claiming" the conquest, and 
Willye not yeelding, Cuddie the arbiter of theyr 
cause, and Patron of his own, semeth to chalenge 



it, as his dew, saying, that he is happy which can, 
so abruptly ending : but hee meaneth eyther him, 
that can win the beste, or moderate him selfe 
being best, and leave of with the best. 



SEPTEMBER. 



^GLOGA NONA, ARGUMENT. 



Herein Diggon Davie is devised to be a shepheard that, i% 
sheepe into afarre country e. The abzises ivhereof, and I 
occasion of Hobhinols demaund, he discourseth at large. 



hope of more gayne, drove his 
70se living of Popish prelates, by 



HOBBINOL. 

Hob. DiGGM)N Davik! I bidde her god 
day; 
Or Diggon her is, or I missaye. 
Dig. Her was her, while it was daye- 
light. 
But now her is a most wretched wight : 



Diggon Davie. 

For day, that was, is wightly past, 5 

And now at earst the dirke night doth 

hast. 
Hob. Diggon, areede who has thee so 

dight? 
Never I wist thee in so poore a plight. 



5^4 



THE SHEPHEARDS CALENDER. 



[L. 9-98. 



Where is the fayre flocke thou was wont 

to leade ? 
Or bene they chaff red, or at mischief e 

dead? 10 

Dig. Ah! for love of that is to thee 

moste leefe, 
Hobbinol, I pray thee, gall not my old 

grief e : 
Sike question ripeth up cause of uewe woe, 
For one, opened, mote unfolde many moe. 
Hob. Nay, but sorrow close shrouded 

in hart, 15 

I know, to kepe is a burdenous smart : 
Eche thing imparted is more eath to beare : 
When the rayne is fain, the cloudes wexen 

cleare. 
And nowe, sithence I sawe thy head last, 
Thrise three Moones bene fully spent and 

past; 20 

Since when thou hast measured much 

grownd, 
And wandred, I wene, about the world 

round, 
So as thou can many thinges relate ; 
But tell me first of thy flocks estate. 
Dig. My sheepe bene wasted; (wae is 

me therefore !) 25 

The jolly shepheard that was of yore 
Is nowe nor joUye, nor shepeheard more. 
In forrein costes men sayd was plentye ; 
And so there is, but all of miserye : 
I dempt there much to have eeked my 

store, 30 

But such eeking hath made my hart sore. 
In tho countryes, whereas I have bene, 
No being for those that truely mene ; 
But for such, as of guile maken gayne, 
No such countrye as there to remaine ; 35 
They setten to sale their shops of shame. 
And maken a Mart of theyr good name : 
The shepheards there robben one another. 
And layen bay tes to beguile her brother ; 
Or they will buy his sheepe out of the 

cote, 40 

Or they will carven the shepheards throte. 
The shepheardes swayne you cannot wel 

ken. 
But it be by his pryde, from other men : 
They looken bigge as Bulls that bene bate, 
And bearen the cragge so stiffe and so 

state, 45 

As cocke on his dunghill crowing cranck. 

Hob. Diggon, I am so stiffe and so 

stanck, 
That uneth may I stand any more : 
And nowe the Westerne wind bloweth 

sore, 
That nowe is in his chief e sovereigntee, 50 
Beating the withered leafe from the tree, 
Sitte we downe here under the hill ; 
Tho may we talke and tellen our fill. 



And make a mocke at the blustring blast. 
Now say on, Diggon, what ever thou 

hast. 55 

Dig. Hobbin, ah Hobbin! I curse the 

stounde 
That ever I cast to have lorne this grounde : 
Wel-away the while I was so foude 
To leave the good, that I had in haude. 
In hope of better that was uncouth ! 60 
So lost the Dogge the flesh in his mouth. 
My seely sheepe (ah, seely sheepe!) 
That here by there I whilome usd to keepe, 
All were they lustye as thou didst see. 
Bene all sterved with pyne and penuree : 65 
Hardly my selfe escaped thilke payne. 
Driven for neede to come home agayne. 
Hob. Ah fon! now by thy losse art 

taught, 
Thatseeldomechaunge the better brought : 
Content who lives Mdth tryed state 70 
Neede f eare no chaunge of frowning fate ; 
But who will seeke for imknowne gayne, 
Oft lives by losse, and leaves with payne. 
Dig. I wote ne, Hobbin, how I was 

bewitcht 
With vayne desire and hope to be enricht ; 
Bat, sicker, so it is, as the bright starre 76 
Seemeth ay greater when it is farre : 
I thought the soyle would have made me 

rich, 
But nowe I wote it is nothing sich ; 
For eyther the shepeheards bene ydle and 

still, 80 

And ledde of theyr sheepe what way they 

wyll. 
Or they bene false, and full of covetise. 
And casten to compasse many wrong 

emprise : 
But the more bene fraight with fraud and 

spight, 
Ne in good nor goodnes taken delight, 85 
But kindle coales of conteck and yre. 
Wherewith they sette all the world on fire ; 
Which when they think en agayne to 

quench, 
With holy water they doen hem all drench. 
They saye they con to heaven the high- 
way, 90 
But, by my soule, I dare undersaye 
They never sette f oote in that same troade. 
But balk the right way, and strayen 

abroad. 
They boast they ban the devill at com- 

maund. 
But aske hem therefore what they ban 

paund : 95 

Marrie ! that great Pan bought with deare 

borrow. 
To quite it from the blacke bowre of sor- 

rowe. 
But they ban sold thilk same long agoe, 



L. 99-189.] 



SEPTEMBER. 



585 



For-thy woulden drawe with hem many 

moe. 
But let hem gange alone a Gods name ; 100 
As they haa brewed, so let hem beare 

blame. 
Hob. Diggon, I praye thee, speake not 

so dirke ; 
Such myster saying me seemeth to mirke. 
Dig. Then, playnely to speake of shep- 

heards most what, 
Badde is the best ; (this English is flatt.) 
Their ill haviour garres men missay 106 
Both of their doctrine, and of theyr faye. 
They sayne the world is much war then it 

wont, 
All for her shepheards bene beastly and 

blont. 
Other sayne, but how truly I note, 110 
All for they holden shame of theyr cote : 
Some sticke not to say, (whote cole on her 

tongue !) 
That sike mischiefe graseth hem emong, 
All for they casten too much of worlds 

care, 
To deck her Dame, and enrich her heyre ; 
For such encheason, if you goe nye, 116 
Fewe chymneis reeking you shall espye : 
The fatte Oxe, that wont ligge in thestal. 
Is nowe fast stalled in her crumenall. 
Thus chatten the people in theyr steads, 120 
Ylike as a Monster of many heads ; 
But they that shooten neerest the pricke 
Sayne, other the fat from their beards doen 

lick: 
ForbiggeBulles of Basan brace hem about. 
That with theyr homes butten the more 

stoute ; 125 

But the leane soules treaden under foote. 
And to seeke redresse mought little boote ; 
For liker bene they to pluck away more, 
Then ought of the gotten good to restore : 
For they bene like foule wagmoires over- 

grast, 130 

That, if thy galage once sticketh fast. 
The more to wind it out thou doest 

swinck. 
Thou mought ay deeper and deeper sinck. 
Yet better leave of with a little losse, 
Then by much wrestling to leese the 

grosse. 135 

Hob. Nowe, Diggon, I see thou speakest 

to plaine ; 
Better it were a little to feyne. 
And cleanly cover that cannot be cured : 
Such ill, as is forced, mought nedes be 

endured. 
But of sike pastoures howe done the flocks 

creepe ? 140 

Dig. Sike as the shepheards, sike bene 

her sheepe. 
For they nill listen to the shepheards voyce. 



But-if he call hem at theyr good choyce : 
They wander at wil and stay at pleasure, 
And to theyr foldes yeed at their owne 

leasure. 145 

But they had be better come at their cal ; 
For many han into mischiefe fall. 
And bene of ravenous Wolves yrent, 
All for they nould be buxome and bent. 
Hob. Fye on thee, Diggon, and all thy 

foule leasing ! 150 

Well is knowne that sith the Saxon king 
Never was Woolfe scene, many nor some. 
Nor in all Kent, nor in Christendome ; 
But the fewer Woolves (the soth to sayne) 
The more bene the Foxes that here remaine . 
Dig. Yes, but they gang in more secrete 

wise, 156 

And with sheepes clothing doen hem dis- 
guise. 
They walke not widely as they were wont. 
For feare of raungers and the great hunt, 
But prively prolling to and froe, 160 

Enaunter they mought be inly knowe. 

Hob. Or prive or pert yf any bene. 
We han great Bandogs will teare their 

skinne. 
Dig. Indeede, thy Ball is a bold bigge 

curre. 
And could make a jolly hole in theyr 

f urre : 165 

But not good Doggeshem needeth to chace. 
But heedy shepheards to discerne their 

face; 
For all their craft is in their countenaunce. 
They bene so grave and full of maynte- 

naunce. 
But shall I tell thee what my selfe knowe 
Chaunced to Roffynn not long ygoe ? 171 
Hob. Say it out, Diggon, whatever it 

hight. 
For not but well mought him betight : 
He is so meeke, wise, and merciable. 
And with his word his worke is con venable. 
Colin Clout, I wene, be his selfe boye, 176 
(Ah, for Colin, he whilom e my ioyel) 
Shepheards sich, God mought us many 

send. 
That doen so carefully theyr flocks tend. 
Dig. Thilk same shepheard mought I 

well marke, * 180 

He has a Dogge to byte or to barke ; 
Never had shepheard so kene a kurre, 
That waketh and if but a leafe sturre. 
Whilome there wonned a wicked Wolfe, 
That with many a Lambe had glutted his 

gulfe, 185 

And ever at night wont to repayre 
Unto the flocke, when the Welkin shone 

faire, 
Ycladde in clothing of seely sheepe. 
When the good old man used to sleepe. 



586 



THE SHEPHEARDS CALENDER. 



[L. 190-259. 



Tho at midnight he would barke and 
ball, 190 

(For he had eft learned a curres call,) 
As if a Woolfe were emong the sheepe : 
With that the shepheard would breake his 



And send out Lewder (for so his dog hote) 
To raunge the fields with wide open 

throte. 195 

Tho, when as Lowder was farre awaye, 
This Wolvish sheepe woulde catchen his 

pray, 
A Lambe, or a Kidde, or a wean ell 

wast; 
With that to the wood would he speede 

him fast. 
Long time he used this slippery pranck, 
Ere Roffy could for his laboure him 

thanck. 201 

At end, the shepheard his practise spyed, 
(For Roify is wise, and as Argus eyed,) 
And when at even he came to the flocke. 
Fast in theyr folds he did them locke, 205 
And tooke out the Woolfe in his counter- 
feet cote, 
And let out the sheepes bloud at his 

throte. 
Hoh. Marry, Diggon, what should him 

affraye 
To take his owne where ever it laye ? 
For, had his wesand bene a little widder, 
He would have devoured both bidder and 

shidder. 211 

Dig. Mischiefe light on him, and Gods 

great curse ! 
Too good for him had bene a great deale 

worse ; 
For it was a perilous beast above all, 
And eke had he cond the shepherds 

call, 215 

And oft in the night came to the shepe- 

cote. 
And called Lowder, with a hollow throte, 
As if it the old man selfe had bene : 
The dog his maisters voice did it wene. 
Yet halfe in doubt he opened the dore, 220 
And ranne out as he was wont of yore. 
No sooner was out, but, swifter then 

thought, 



Fast by the hyde the Wolfe Lowder 

caught ; 
And, had not Roify renne to the Steven, 
Lowder had be slaine thilke same even. 
Hoh. God shield, man, he should so ill 

have thrive, 226 

All for he did liis devoyr belive ! 
If sike bene Wolves, as thou hast told. 
How mought we, Diggon, hem be-hold? 
Dig. How, but, with heede and watch- 

fullnesse, 230 

Forstallen hem of their wilinesse : 
For-thy with shepheards sittes not playe. 
Or sleepe, as some doen, all the long day ; 
But ever liggen in watch and ward. 
From soddein force theyr flocks for to 

gard. 235 

Hoh. Ah, Diggon! thilke same rule 

were too straight, 
All the cold season to wach and waite ; 
We bene of fleshe, men as other bee, 
Why should we be bound to such miseree ? 
Whatever thing lacketh chaungeable rest, 
Mought n cedes decay, when it is at 

best. 241 

Dig. Ah! but, Hobbinoll, all this long 

tale 
Nought easeth the care that doth me for- 

haile ; 
What shall I doe ? what way shall I wend. 
My piteous plight and losse to amend ? 
Ah! good Hobbinoll, mought I thee 

praye 246 

Of ayde or counsell in my decaye. 
Hoh. Now, by my soule, Diggon, I 

lament 
The haplesse mischiefe that has thee hent ; 
Nethelesse thou seest my lowly saile, 250 
That froward fortune doth ever availe : 
But, were Hobbinoll as God mought 

please, 
Diggon should soone find favour and ease : 
But if to my cotage thou wilt resort, 
So as I can I wil thee comfort ; 255 

There mayst thou ligge in a vetchy bed. 
Till fayrer Fortune shewe forth her head. 
Dig. Ah, Hobbinoll! God mought it 

thee requite; 
Diggon on fewe such freendsdid ever lite. 



DIGGON8 EMBLEME. 

Inopem me copia fecit. 



GLOSSE. 



The Dialecte and phrase of speache, in this Dia- 
logue, seemeth somewhat to differ from the com- 
mon. The cause whereof is supposed to be, by 
occasion of the party herein meant, who, being 
very freend to the Author hereof, had bene long 
in forrain countryes, and there scene many dis- 
orders, which he here recounteth to Hobbinoll. 



Bidde her, Bidde good morrow. For to bidde, 
is to praye, whereof cometh beades for prayers, 
and so they say, To bidde his beades, s. to saye 
his prayers. 

Wightly, quicklye, or sodenlye. . 

Chaffred, solde. 

Dead at mischiefe, an unusuall speache, but 



SEPTEMBER. 



587 



much usurped at Lidgate, and sometime of 
Chaucer. 

Leefe, deare. 

Ethe, easie. 

Thrise three moonei^, nine monethes. 

JleUfftired, for traveled. 

Wae, woe, Northernly. 

Eeked, encreased. 

Carreii, cutte. 

Ktune, know. 

Cr(i{/ge, neck. 

/State, stoutely. 

StancA', woarie or fainte. 

A?id nove : he applieth it to the t3-me of the 
yeare, which is in thend of harvest, which they 
call the fall of the leafo ; at w^hich tyine the Wes- 
terne wynde bearoth most swaye. 

A viocke. Imitating Horace, ' Debes ludi- 
brium ventis.^ 

Lome, lefte. 

Soote, swete. 

Uncou-the, unknowen. 

Hereby there, here and there. 

An the bi ii/hte, translated out of Mantuane. 

Eifiprise. for enterprise. Per Syncopen. 

Contek, strife. 

Trade, path. 

Jfarrie tfuit, that is, their soules, which by 
popish Exorcismes and practices they damne to 
hell. 

£/acl-e, hell. 

Gauge, goe. 

Mister, maner. 

Mirke, obscure. 

War re, worse. 

Cruinenall, purse. 

Brace, com passe. 

Enchesou. occasion. 

Orergrast. overgrowen with grasse. 

Galage, shoe. 

The grouse, the whole. 

Btia'ame <tnd bent, meeke and obedient. 

Saxon King. King Edgare that reigned here 
in Brytanye in the yeare of our Lord [1)57-975] 
whicli king caused all the "Wolves, whereof then 
was store in this countrye, by a proper policie to 
be destroyed. So as never since that time there 
have ben "Wolves here founde, unlesse they were 
brought from other countryes. And therefore 
Hobbinoll rebuketh him of "untruth, for saj-ing 
that there be Wolves in England. 

Xor in Christendome : this saying seemeth to 
be strange and unreasonable ; but indede it was 



wont to be an olde proverbe and common phrase. 
The original whereof was, for that most part of 
England in the reigne of "King Ethelbert was 
christened, Kent ouely except, which remayned 
long after in mysbeliefe and unchristened": So 
that Kent was counted no part of Christendome. 

Great hunt, Executing of hiwes and iustice, 

Enannter, least that. 

Inh/. inwardly : atforesayde. 

Prirely or pert, openly, sayth Chaucer. 

J^"Jf!/^ the name of a shepehearde in Marot his 
Jilglogue of Kobin and the Kinge. Whome he 
here commendeth for greate care and wise gov- 
ernaunce of hisllock. 

Colin cloute: Now I thinke no man doubteth 
but by Colin is meant the Authour selfe, whose 
especiall good freend Hobbinoll sayth hee is, or 
more rightly Mayster Gabriel Harvey : of whose 
speciall commendation, aswell in "Poetrye as 
Khetorike and other choyce learning, we have 
lately had a sutiicient tryall in divers his workes, 
but "specially in his Miisarnrn Lachrymce. and 
his late Gratulationinn Valdinensiuin, which 
b(>ke, in the progresse at Audley in Essex, he 
dedicated in writing to her Majestie, afterward 
presenting the same in print to her Highnesse at 
the worshipfull Maister Capells in Hertfordshire. 
Beside other his sundrye most rare and very 
notable writings, partely under unknown tytles, 
and partly under cou'nterfayt names, as his 
Tyrannow astiiv, his Ode Natalitia, his Ramei- 
dos, and esspecially that parte of Philonnisus, 
his divine AnticosmopoUta. and divers other of 
lyke importance. As also, by the name of other 
shepheardes, he covereth the persons of divers 
other his familiar freendes and best acquaynt- 
aunce. 

This tale of Roffy seemeth to coloure some par- 
ticular Action of his. But what, I certeinlye 
know not. 

Wanned, haunted. 
Welkin, skie : alforesaid. 

A neanell waste, a weaned youngling. 

Ilidder (i?id shidder, he and she, Male and 
Female. 

Steven, noyse. 

Bet ire, quickly. 

What erer, Ovids verse translated. 

' Quod caret alterna requie durabile non est.' 

Forehaile, drawe or distresse. 
Vetehie, of Pease strawe. 



This is the saying of Narcissus in Ovid. For 
when the foolishe boy, by beholding hys face in 
the brooke, fell in love with his owne likenesse, 
and not hable to content him selfe with much 
looking thereon, he cryed out, that plentye made 
him poore, meaning that much gazing had bereft 



him of sence. But our Diggon useth it to other 
purpose, as who that, by tryall of many wayes, 
had founde the worst, and through greate plentye 
was fallen into great penurie. This posie" I 
knowe to have bene much used of the author, and 
to suche like effecte, as fyrste Narcissus spake it. 



588 



THE SHEPHEARDS CALENDER. 



[L. 1-47. 



OCTOBEE,. 



iEGLOGA DECIMA. AKGUMENT. 

In Cuddle is set out the perfecte paterne of a Poete, ^ohiche, finding no maintenaimce of Ms 
state and studies, complayneth of the contempte ofPoetrie, andthe causes thereof: Specially 
having bene in all ages, and even amongst the most barbarous, alwayes of singular 
accoumpt and honor, and being indede so worthy and commendable an arte ; or rather 
no arte, but a divine gift and heavenly instinct not to bee gotten by labonre and learning, 
but adorned with both ; and poured into thewitte by a certain 'Ef0ov<ria(r/u.6s and, celestiall 
inspiration, as the Author hereof els where at large discourseth in his booke called The 
English Poete, which booke being lately come to my hands, I mynde also by Gods grace, 
v/pon further advisement, to publish. 



Pierce. 

Piers. CucDiE, for shame! hold up 

thy heavy e head, 
And let us cast with what delight to chace, 
And weary thys long lingring Phoebus 

race. 
Whilome thou wont the shepheards laddes 

to leade 
In rymes, in ridles, and in byddingbase; 
Now they in thee, and thou in sleepe art 

dead. 6 

Cud. Piers, I have pyped erst so long 

with payne, 
That all mine Oten reedes bene rent and 

wore, 
And my poors Muse hath spent her spared 

store, 
Yet little good hath got, and much lesse 

gayne. 10 

Such pleasaunce makes the Grashopper 

so poore, 
And ligge so layd, when Winter doth her 

straine. 

The dapper ditties, that 1 wont devise 
To feede youthes fancie, and the flocking 

fry, 
Delighten much; what I the bett for- 

thy? 15 

They han the pleasure, I a sclender prise ; 
I beate the bush, the byrds to them doe 

flye: 
What good thereof to Cuddie can arise? 

Piers. Cuddie, the prayse is better 

then the price, 
The glory eke much greater then the 

gayne : 20 

O ! what an honor is it, to restraine 
The lust of lawlesse youth with good 

advice. 
Or pricke them forth with pleasaunce of 

thy vaine, 
Whereto thou list their trayned willes 

entice. 



Cuddie. 

Soone as thou gynst to sette thy notes in 

frame, 25 

O, how the rurall routes to thee doe 

cleave ! 
Seemeth thou dost their soule of sence 

bereave ; 
All as the shepheard that did fetch his 

dame 
From Plutoes balefuU bowre withouten 

leave, 
His musicks might the hellish hound did 

tame. 30 

Cud. So praysen babes the Peacoks 

spotted traine, 
And wondren at bright Argus blazing 

eye; 
But who rewards him ere the more 

for-thy. 

Or feedes him once the fuller by a graine ? 

Sike prayse is smoke, that sheddeth in 

the skye ; 35 

Sike words bene wynd, and wasten soone 

in vayne. 

Piers. Abandon, then, the base and 

viler clowne ; 
Lyft up thy selfe out of the lowly dust, 
And sing of bloody Mars, of wars, of 

giusts ; 
Turne thee to those that weld the awful 

crowne, 40 

To doubted Knights, whose woundlesse 

armour rusts, 
And helmes unbruzed wexen dayly 

browne. 

There may thy Muse display her fluttryng 

wing. 
And stretch her selfe at large from East 

to West ; 
Whither thou list in fayre Elisa rest, 45 
Or, if thee please in bigger notes to sing, 
Advaunce the worthy whome shee loveth 

best, 



L. 48-114.] 



OCTOBER. 



589 



That first the white beare to the stake 
did bring. 

And, when the stubborne stroke of 

stronger stounds 
Has somewhat slackt the tenor of thy 

string, 50 

Of love and lustihead tho mayst thou 

sing, 
And carroU lowde, and leade the Myllers 

rownde, 
All were Elisa one of thilke same ring ; 
So mought our Cuddies name to heaven 

sownde. 

Cud. Indeede the Romish Tityrus, I 

heare, 55 

Through his Mecaenas left his Oaten 

reede. 
Whereon he earst had taught his flocks 

to feede, 
And laboured lands to yield the timely 

eare. 
And eft did sing of warres and deadly 

drede, 
So as the Heavens did quake his verse to 

here. 60 

But ah! Mecaenas is yclad in claye, 
And great Augustus long ygoe is dead, 
And all the worthies liggen wrapt in 

leade. 
That matter made for Poets on to play : 
For ever, who in derring-doe were 

dreade, 65 

The loftie verse of hem was loved aye. 

But after vertue gan for age to stoope. 

And mishtie manhode brought a bedde 
of ease. 

The vaunting Poets found nought worth 
a pease 

To put in preace emong the learned 
troupe : 70 

Tho gan the streames of flowing wittes to 
cease, 

And sonne-bright honour pend in shame- 
full coupe. 

And if that any buddes of Poesie, 
Yet of the old stocke, gan to shoote agayne, 
Or it- mens follies mote be forst to 
fayne, 75 

And rolle with rest in rymes of rybaudrye ; 
Or, as it sprong, it wither must agayne : 
Tom Piper makes us better melodic. 

Piers. O pierlesse Poesye! where is 

then thy place ? 

If nor in Princes pallace thou doe sitt, 80 

(And yet is Princes pallace the most fitt,) 

Ne brest of baser birth doth thee embrace, 



Then make thee winges of thine aspyring 

wit. 
And, whence thou camst, flye backe to 

heaven apace. 

Cud. Ah, Percy! it is all to weake and 

wanne, 80 

So high to sore and make so large a 

flight ; 
Her peeced pyneons bene not so in plight: 
For Colin tittes such famous flight to 

scanne ; 
He, were he not with love so ill bedight, 
Would moimt as high, and sing as soote 

as Swanue. 90 

Piers. Ah, fon! for love does teach him 

climbe so hie, 
And lyftes him up out of the loathsome 

myre : 
Such immortal mirrhor, as he doth 

admire, 
Would rayse ones mynd above the starry 

skie. 
And cause a cay tive corage to aspire ; 95 
For lofty love doth loath a lowly eye. 

Cwd. All otherwise the state of Poet 

stands ; 
For lordly love is such a Tyranne fell, 
That where he rules all power he doth 

expell ; 
The vamited verse a vacant head de- 

mamides, 100 

Ne wont with crabbed care the Muses 

dwell : 
Unwisely weaves, that takes two webbes 

in hand. 

Who ever casts to compasse weightye 

prise. 
And thinkes to throwe out thondring 

words of threate. 
Let powre in lavish cups and thriftie bitts 

of meate, 10.1 

For Bacchus fruite is frend to Phoibus 

wise; 
And, when with Wine the braine begins 

to sweate, 
The nombers flowe as fast as spring doth 

ryse. 

Thou kenst not, Percie, howe the ryme 

should rage, 
O! if my teni^ples were distaind with 

wine, 110 

And girt in girlonds of wild Yvie twine, 
How I could reare the Muse on stately 

stage. 
And teache her tread aloft in buskin fine. 
With queint Bellona in her equipage I 



590 



THE SHEPHEARDS CALENDER. 



[l. 1 1 5-1 20. 



But ah! ray corage cooles ere it be 
warme : 115 

For-thy content us in tliys humble 
shade, 

Where no such troublous tydes han us 



Here we our slender pypes may safely 

charme. 
Piers. And, when my Gates shall han 

their bellies layd. 
Cuddle shall have a Kidde to store his 

farme. 120 



CUDDIES EMBLEME. 



Agitante calescimus illo, &c. 



GLOSSE. 



This Mglogne is made in imitation of Theoc- 
ritus his xvi. Idilion, wherein he reproved the 
Tyranne Hiero of Syracuse for his nigardise 
towarde Poetes, in whome is the power to make 
men immortal for theyr good dedes, or shameful 
for their naughty lyfe. And the lyke also is in 
Mantuane. The style hereof, as also that in 
Theocritus, is more loftye then the rest, and 
applyed to the heighte of Poeticall wltte. 

Cuddie. I doubte whether by Cuddle be 
specified the authour selfe, or some other. For 
in the eyght ^glogue the same person was 
brought in, singing a Caution of Colins making, 
as he sayth. So that some doubt that the per- 
sons be different. 

Whilome, sometime. 

Oaten reedes, Avena. 

Ligge so layde, lye so faynt and unlustye. 

Dapper, pretye. 

Frye, is a bold Metaphore, forced from the 
spawning fishes ; for the multitude of young fish 
be called the frye. 

To 7'estraine : This place seemeth to conspyre 
with Plato, who in his first booke de Legibus 
sayth, that the first invention of Poetry was of 
very vertuous intent. For at what time an in- 
finite number of youth usually came to theyr great 
solemne feastes called Panegyrica, which they 
used every five yeere to hold, some learned man, 
being more hable tlien the rest for speciall gyftes 
of wytte and Musicke, would take upon him to 
sing fine verses to the people, in prayse eyther 
of vertue or of victory, or of immortality, or such 
like. At whose wonderfull gyft al men being 
astonied, and as it were ravished with delight, 
thinking (as it was indeed) that he was inspired 
from above, called him vatem : which kinde of 
men afterward framing their verses to fighter 
musick (as of musick be many kinds, some 
sadder, some lighter, some martiall, some heroical, 
and so diversely eke aff'ect the mynds of men,) 
found out lighter matter of Poesie also, some play- 
ing wyth love, some scorning at mens fashions, 
some povvred out in pleasures : and so were called 
Poetes or makers. 

Sence bereave : what the secrete working of 
Musick is in the myndes of men, as well 
appeareth hereby, that some of the auncient 
Philosophers, and those the moste wise, as Plato 
and Pythagoras, held for opinion, that the mynd 
was made of a certaine harmonic and musicall 
nombers, for the great compassion, and likenes of 
affection in thone and in the other, as also by 
that memorable history of Alexander : to whom 
when as Timotheus the great Musitian playd the 



Phrygian melody, it is said, that he was distraught 
with such unwonted fury, that, streightway 
rysing from the table in great rage, he caused 
him selfe to be armed, as ready to goe to warre, 
(for that musick is very warlike). And im- 
mediatly when as the Musitian chaunged his 
stroke into the Lydian and louique harmony, 
he vv^as so furr from warring, that he sat as styl, 
as if he had bene in matters of counsell. Such 
might is in musick : wherefore Plato and Aris- 
totle forbid the Arcadian Melodic from children 
and youth. For that being altogither on the fyft 
and vii tone, it is of great force to molifie and 
quench the kindly courage, which useth to burne 
in yong brests. So that it is not incredible 
which the Poete here sayth, that Musick can 
bereave the soule of sence. 

The shepheard that, Orpheus : of whom is 
said, that by his excellent skil in Musick and 
Poetry, he recovered his wife Eurydice from 
hell. 

Argus eyes : of Argus is before said, that Juno 
to him committed her husband lupiter his Para- 
gon lo, bicause he had an hundred eyes : but 
afterwarde Mercury, wyth hys Musick lulling 
Argus aslepe, slew him and 'brought lo away, 
whose eyes it is sayd that luno, for his eternall 
memory, placed in her byrd the Peacocks tayle ; 
for those coloured spots indeede resemble eyes. 

Woundlesse armour, unwounded in warre, 
doe rust through long peace. 

Display, A poeticall metaphore, whereof the 
meaning is, that, if the Poet list showe his skill 
in matter of more dignitie then is the homely 
^glogue, good occasion is him offered of higher 
veyne and more Heroicall argument in the person 
of our most gratious soveraign, whom (as before) 
he calleth Elisa. Or if matter of knighthoode and 
chevalrie please him better, that there he many 
Noble and valiaunt men, that are both worthy 
of his payne in theyr deserved prayses, and also 
favourers of hys skil and faculty. 

77ie worthy, he meaneth(as I guesse) the most 
honorable and renowmed the Erie of Leycester, 
whom by his cognisance (although the same be 
also proper to other) rather then by his name he 
bewrayeth, being not likely that the names of 
worldly princes be known to country clowne. 

Slack, that is when thou chaungest thy verse 
from stately discourse, to matter of more pleas- 
aunce and delight. 

The Millers, a kind of daunce. 

Ring, company of dauncers. 

The Romish tityrus, wel knowen to be Yir- 
gile, who by Maecenas means was brought into 



NOVEMBER. 



591 



the favour of the Emperor Augustus, and by him 
moved to write in loftier kinde then he erst had 
doen. 

Whereon, in these three verses are the three 
severall woi-kes of Virgil intended, for in teaching 
his docks to feede, is meant his -iEglogues. In 
labouring of lands, is hys BucoHques. In singing 
of warrs and deadly dreade, is his divine ^neis 
figured. 

In derring doe, In manhood and chevalrie. 

For ever : He sheweth the cause why Poetes 
were wont to be had in such honor of noble men, 
that is, that by them their worthines and valor 
shold through theyr famous Poesies be com- 
mended to al posterities. Wherefore it is sayd, 
that Achilles had never bene so famous, as he is, 
but for Homeres immortal verses, which is the 
only advantage which he had of Hector. And 
also that Alexander the great, comming to his 
tombe in Sigeus, with naturall teares blessed him, 
that ever was his hap to be honoui-ed with so 
excellent a Poets work, as so renowmed and 
ennobled onely by hys meanes. Which being 
declared in a most eloquent Oration of Tallies, is 
of Petrarch no lesse woorthely sette forth in a 
sonet. 

' Giunto Alexandro a la famosa tomba 

'Del fero Achille, sospirando disse : 

' O fortunato, che si chiara tromba. Trouasti,' &c. 

And that such account hath bene alwayes made 
of Poetes, as well sheweth this, that the worthy 
Scipio, in all his warres against Carthage and 
Numantia, had evermore in his company, and 
that in a most familiar sort, the good olde poet 
Ennius ; as also that Alexander destroying 
Thebes, when he was enformed, that the famous 
Lyrick poet Pindarus was borne in that citie, not 
onely commaunded streightly, that no man 
should, upon payne of death, do any violence 
to that house, by fire or otherwise : but also 
specially spared most, and some highly rewarded, 
that were of hys kinne. So favoured "he the only 
name of a Poete, which prayse otherwise was in 
the same man no lesse famous, that when he 
came to ransacking of king Darius coffers, whom 
he lately had overthrowen, he founde in a little 
coffer of silver the two bookes of Homers works, 
as layd up there for speeiall jewels and richesse, 
which he taking thence, put one of them dayly in 
his bosome, and thother every night layde under 
his pillowe. Such honor have Poetes alwayes 
found in the sight of princes and noble men, 
which this author here very well sheweth, as els 
where more notably. 

But after, He sheweth the cause of contempt 
of Poetry to be idlenesse. and basenesse of mynd. 

Pent, shut up in slouth, as in a coope or cage. 

Tom piper, an ironicall Sarcasmus, spoken in 
derision of these rude wits, whych make more 
account of a ryming rybaud, then of skill grounded 
upon learning and judgment. 

Ne bresi, the meaner sort of men. 



Iler peeced pineons, unperfect skil: Spoken 
wyth humble modestie. 

^46' soote as Swanne : The comparison seemeth 
to be strange, for the swanne hath ever wonne 
small commendation for her swete singing : but 
it is sayd of the leariied, that the swan, a little 
before hir death, singeth most pleasantly, as 
prophecying by a secrete instinct her neere des- 
tinie. As well sayth the Poete elsewhere in one 
of his sonetts. 

' The silver swanne doth sing before her dying 

day, 
'As shee that feeles the deepe delight that is in 

death,' &c. 

Immortall myrrliour. Beau tie, which is an 
excellent object of Poeticall spirites, as appeareth 
by the worthy Petrarch, saying, 

' Fiorir faccA'a 11 mio debile ingegno, 

' A la sua ombra, et crescer ne gli affanni.' 

A caytive cor age, a base and abject minde. 

For lofty love, I thinke this playing with the 
letter, to be rather a fault then a figure, as wel in 
our English tongue, as it hath bene alwayes in 
the Latine called Cacozelon. 

A vacant, imitateth Mantuanes saying, ' va- 
cuum curls divina cerebrum Poscit.' 

Lavish cvps, Eesembleth the comen verse, 
' Fcecundi calices quem nou fecere disertum.' 

if my, he seemeth here to be ravished with 
a Poetical furie. For (if one rightly mark) the 
numbers rise so ful, and the verse groweth so big, 
that it seemeth he had forgot the meanenesse of 
shepheards state and stile. 

Wild y?;*^, for it is dedicated to Bacchus, and 
therefore it is sayd, that the Msenades (that is 
Bacchus franticke priestes) used in theyr sacrifice 
to carry Thyrsos, which were pointed staves or 
Javehns, wrapped about with yvie. 

In htiskin, it was the maner of Poetes and 
plaiers in tragedies to were buskins, as also in 
Comedies to use stockes and light shoes. So that 
the buskin in Poetry is used for tragical matter, 
as is said in Virgile, ' Sola Sophocleo tua carmina 
digna cothurno.' And the like in Horace, 
'Magnum loqui, nitique cothurno.' 

Queint, strange. Bellona, the goddesse of bat- 
taile, that is, Pallas, which may therefore wel be 
called queint, for that (as Lucian saith) when 
Jupiter hir father was in traveile of her, he caused 
his Sonne Vulcane with his axe to hew his head : 
Out of which leaped forth lustely a vahant darasell 
armed at all poyntes, whom seeing Vulcane so 
faire and comely, lightly leaping to her, proferred 
her some cortesie, which the Lady disdeigning, 
shaked her speare at him, and "threatned his 
saucinesse. Therefore such straungenesse is well 
applyed to her. 

jFquipage, order. 

Tydes, seasons. 

Charme, temper and order ; for Charmes were 
wont to be made by verses, as Ovid sayth, ' Aut 
si carminibus.' 



Hereby is meant, as also in the whole course 
of this JEglogue, that Poetry is a divine instinct, 
and unnatural rage, passing'the reach of common I whereof in Cuddie hee hadde already hadde a taste 



reason. Whom Piers answereth Epiphoneraati- 
cos, as admitting the excellencye of the skjil. 



592 



THE SHEPHEARDS CALENDER. 



[L. 1-58. 



NOVEMBER. 



^GLOGA UNDECIMA. AE6UMENT. 



In this xi. ^glogue hee 'bewayleth the death of some may den of greate bloud, whom he calleth 
Dido. The personage is secrete, and to me altogether unknowne, aide of him selfe 1 often 
required the same. This jEglogue is made hi imitation of Marot his song, tchich he inade 
upon the death of Loys the Frenche Queene; but farre passing his reache, and in myne 
opinion all other the Eglogues of this hooke. 



Thenot. 

The. Colin, my deare, when shall it 

please thee sing, 
As thou were wont, songs of some 

jouisaunce? 
Thy Muse to long slombreth in sorrowing. 
Lulled a sleepe through loves misgover- 

naunce. 
Now somewhat sing, whose endles sove- 

naunce 5 

Emong the shepeheards swaines may aye 

remaine, 
Whether thee list thy loved lasse ad- 

vaunce, 
Or honor Pan with hymnes of higher 

vaine. 
Col. Thenot, now nis the time of meri- 

make. 
Nor Pan to herye, nor with love to 

playe ; 10 

Sike myrth in May is meetest for to 

make, 
Or summer shade, under the cocked hay. 
But nowe sadde Winter welked hath the 

day, 
And Phoebus, weary of his yerely taske, 
Ystabledhath hissteedesinlowlyelaye, 15 
And taken up his ynne in Fishes haske. 
Thilke sollein season sadder plight doth 

aske. 
And loatheth sike delightes as thou doest 

prayse : 
The mornefull Muse in myrth now list ne 

maske. 
As shee was wont in youngth and sommer 

dayes ; 20 

But if thou algate lust light virelayes, 
And looser songs of love to underfong, 
Who but thy selfe deserves sike Poetes 

prayse ? 
Relieve thy Oaten pypes thatsleepen long. 
The. The Nightingale is sovereigne of 

song, 25 

Before him sits the Titraose silent bee ; 
And I, unfitte to thrust in skilfull thronge, 
Should Colin make judge of my fooleree : 
Nay, better learne of hem that learned 

bee, 
And han be watered at the Muses well ; 30 



Colin. 

The kindelye dewe drops from the higher 

tree, 
And wets the little plants that lowly 

dwell. 
But if sadde winters wrathe, and season 

chill, 
Accorde not with thy Muses meriment, 
To sadder times thou mayst attune thy 

quill, 35 

And sing of sorrowe and deathes dreeri- 

ment; 
For deade is Dido, dead, alas! and drent; 
Dido ! the greate shepehearde his daugh- 
ter sheene. 
The fayrest May she was that ever went, 
Her like shee has not left behind e I 

weene : 40 

And, if thou wilt bewayle my wofull tene, 
I shall thee give yond Cosset for thy 

payne ; 
And, if thy rymes as rownde and rufull 

bene 
As those that did thy Rosalind complayne, 
Much greater gyf ts for guerdon thou shalt 

gayne, - 45 

Then Kidde or Cosset, which I thee by- 

nempt. 
Then up, I say, thou jolly shepeheard 

swayne. 
Let not my small demaund be so contempt. 
Col. Thenot, to that I choose thou doest 

me tempt ; 
But ah! to well I wote my humble vaine, 
And howe my rimes bene rugged and 

unkempt ; 51 

Yet, as I conne, my conning I will strayne. 

'Up, then, Melpomene! the mournefulst 

Muse of nyne. 
Such cause of mourning never hadst 

afore ; 
Up, grieslie ghostes! and up my rufull 

ryme ! 55 

Matter of myrth now shalt thou have no 

more ; 
For dead shee is, that myrth thee made 

of yore. 
Dido, my deare, alas! is dead. 



L. 59-1 34-] 



NOVEMBER. 



593 



Dead, and lyeth wrapt in lead. 
O heavie herse ! 60 

Let streaming teares be poured out in store ; 
O caref ull verse ! 

' Shepheards, that by your flocks on Kent- 
ish downes abyde, 
Waile ye this wofull waste of Natures 

warke ; 
Waile we the wight whose presence was 
our pryde ; 65 

Waile wo the wight whose absence is our 

carke ; 
The Sonne of all the world is dimme and 
darke : 
The earth now lacks her wonted light, 
And all we dwell in deadly night. 
O heavie herse ! 70 

Breake we our pypes, that shrild as lowde 
as Larke ; 
O caref ull verse! 

* Why doe we longer live, (ah ! why live we 

so long?) 
Whose better dayes death hath shut up in 

woe? 

The fayrest floure our gyrlond all emong 

Is faded quite, and into dust ygoe. 76 

Sing now, ye shepheards daughters, sing 

no moe 

The songs that Colin made you in her 

praise, 
But into weeping turne your wanton 

layes. 
O heavie herse ! 80 

No we is time to dye : Nay, time was long 
ygoe: 
O caref ull verse ! 

* Whence is it, that the flouret of the field 
"• doth fade, 

And lyeth buryed long in Winters bale ; 
Yet, soone as spring his mantle hath dis- 
playde, 85 

It floure th fresh, as it should never fayle ? 
But thing on earth that is of most availe. 

As vertues braunch and beauties budde, 

Reliven not for any good. 

O heavie herse ! 90 

The braunch once dead, the budde eke 
needes must quaile ; 

O caref ull verse ! 

' She, while she was, (that was, a woful 

word to sayne!) 
For beauties prayse and plesaunce had no 

peere ; 
So well she couth the shepherds enter- 

tayne 95 

With cakes and cracknells, and such 

country chere : 



Ne would she scorne the simple shep- 
heards swaine; 
For she would cal him often heame, 
And give him curds and clouted Creame. 
O heavie herse ! 100 

Als Colin Cloute she would not once dis- 
dayne ; 
O caref ull verse ! 

* But nowe sike happy cheere is turnd to 

heavie chaunce. 
Such pleasaunce now displast by dolors 

dint: 
All musick sleepes, where death doth leade 
the daunce, 105 

And shepherds wonted solace is extinct. 
The blew in black, the greene in gray is 
tinct ; 
The gaudie girlonds deck her grave. 
The faded flowres her corse embrave. 
O heavie herse ! 110 

Morne nowe, my Muse, now morne with 
teares besprint ; 
O caref ull verse ! 

'O thou greate shepheard, Lobbin, how 

great is thy grief e ! . 
Where bene the nosegayes that she dight 

for thee ? 
The coloured chaplets wrought with a 
chiefe, 115 

The knotted rush-ringes, and gilte Rose- 

maree ? 
For shee deemed nothing too deere for thee. 
Ah ! they bene all yclad in clay ; 
One bitter blast blewe all away. 
O heavie herse ! 120 

Thereof nought remaynes but the mem- 
oree; 
O carelull verse ! 

* Ay me ! that dreerie Death should strike 

so mortall stroke. 

That can undoe Dame Natures kindly 

course; 124 

The faded lockes fall from the loftie oke. 

The flouds do gaspe, for dryed is theyr 

sourse. 
And flouds of teares flowe in theyr stead 
perforse : 
The mantled medowes mourne, 
Theyr sondry colours tourne. 
O heavie herse ! 130 

The heavens doe melt in teares without 
remorse ; 
O caref ull verse ! 

' The feeble flocks in field refuse their 

former foode, 
And hang theyr heads as they would learne 

to weepe ; 



594 



THE SHEPHEARDS CALENDER. 



[L. 135-208. 



The beastes in forest wayle as they were 

woode, 135 

Except the Wolves, that chase the wau- 

dring sheepe, 
Now she is gone that safely did hem keepe : 
The Turtle on the bared braunch 
Laments the wound that death did 

launch. 
O heavie herse ! 140 

And Philomele her song with teares doth 
steepe ; 
O caref uU verse ! 

' The water Nymphs, that wont with her 

to sing and daunce, 
And for her girlonde Olive braunches 

beare, 
Nowe balefull boughes of Cypres doen 
advaunce ; 145 

The Muses, that were wont greene bayes 

to weare, 
Nowbringeu bitter Eldre braunches scare ; 
The fatall sisters eke repent 
Her vitall threde so soone was spent. 
O heavie herse ! 150 

Morne now, my Muse, now morne with 
heavy cheare, 
O caref ull verse ! 

* O ! trustlesse state of earthly things, and 

slipper hope 
Of mortal men, that swincke and sweate 

for nought, 
And, shooting wide, doe misse the marked 
scope ; 155 

Now have I learnd (a lesson derely bought) 
Thatnys on earth assurauuce to be sought ; 
For what might be in earthlie mould. 
That did her buried body hould. 
O heavie herse ! 160 

Yet saw I on the beare when it was 
brought ; 
O caref ull verse ! 

' But maugre death, and dreaded sisters 

deadly spight, 
And gates of hel, and fyrie furies forse, 
She hath the bonds broke of eternall night, 
Her soule unbodied of the burdeuous 
corx)se. KJG 

"Why then weepes Lobbin so without re- 
morse ? 
O Lobb ! thy losse no longer lament ; 
Dido nis dead, but into heaven bent. 
O happye herse ! 170 

Cease now, my Muse, now cease thy sor- 
rowes sourse ; 
O joyfull verse! 



* Why wayle we then ? why weary we the 

Gods with playnts. 
As if some evill were to her betight ? 
She raignes a goddesse now emong the 
saintes, 175 

That whilome was the saynt of shep- 

heards light, 
And is eustalled nowe in heavens hight. 
I see thee, blessed soule, I see 
Walke in Elisian fieldes so free. 
O happy herse ! 180 

Might 1 once come to thee, (O that 1 
might!) 
O joyfull verse! 

' Unwise and wretched men, to weete 

whats good or ill. 
We deeme of Death as doome of ill desert ; 
But knewe we, looles, what it us bringes 
until, 185 

Dye would we dayly, once it to expert! 
No daunger there the shepheard can astert ; 
Fayre fieldes and pleasaunt layes there 

bene ; 
The fieldes ay fresh, the grasse ay 

greene. 
O happy herse ! 190 

Make hast, ye shepheards, thether to 
revert : 
O joyfull verse! 

' Dido is gone afore ; (whose turne shall 

be the next?) 
There lives shee with the blessed Gods in 

blisse, 
There drincks she Nectar with Ambrosia 
mixt, 195 

And joyes enjoyes that mortall men doe 

misse. 
The honor now of highest gods she is, 
That whilome was poo're shepheards 

pryde. 
While here on earth she did abyde. 
O happy herse ! 200 

Ceasse now, my song, my woe now wasted 
is ; 
O joyfull verse! ' 

The. Ay, francke shepheard, how bene 
thy verses meint 

With doleful pleasaunce, so as I ne wotte 

Whether re Joyce or weepe for great con- 
strain te. 205 

Thyne be the cossette, well hast thow it 
gotte. 

Up, Colin up! ynough thou morned hast; 

Now gynnes to mizzle, hye we homeward 
fast. 



COLTN8 EMBLEME. 

La mort ny mord. 



NOVEMBER. 



595 



GLOSSE. 



Jouisaunce, mj^rtli. 

Sovenaunce, remembrance. 

I/erie, honour. 

Welked, shortned or enipayred. As the Mooue 
being in the waine is sayde of Lidgate to welk. 

7m lowly lay, according to the season of the 
moneth November, when the sonne draweth low 
in the South toward his Tropick or returne. 

In fishes haske, the sonne reigneth, that is, in 
the signe Pisces all November : a haske is a wicker 
pad, wherein they used to cary tish. 

Virelaies, a light kind of song. 

Bee xoatred, for it is a saying of Poetes, that 
they have dronk of the Muses well (JastaUas, 
whereof was before sufficiently sayd. 

Dreriment, dreery and heavy cheere. 

Tlie great shepheard, is some man of high 
degree, and not, as some vainely suppose, God 
Pan. The person bothx»f the shephearde and of 
Dido is unknowen and close!}- buried in the 
Authors conceipt. But out of doubt I am, that 
it is not IvosaUnd, as some imagin : for he 
speaketh soone after of her also. 

Shene, fayre and shining. 

3Iay, for mayde. 

Tene, sorrow. 

Guerdon, reward. 

Bynempt, bequethed. 

Cosset, a lambe brought up without the dam. 

Unkempt, Incompti. Not comed, that is, rude 
and imhansome. 

Melpomene, The sadde and waylefull Muse, 
used of Poets in honor of Tragedies : as saith Vir- 
gile, ' Melpomene tragicoproclamatmcestaboatu.' 

Up griesly gosts. The maner of Tragicall 
Poetes, to call for helpe of Furies, and damned 
ghostes : so is Hecuba of Euripides, and Tanta- 
lus brought in of Seneca. A nd the rest of the rest. 

Ilerse, is the solemne obsequle in funeralles. 

Wast of, decay of so beautifull a peece. 

Car-ke, care. 

Ah why, an elegant Epanorthosis, as also soone 
after : nay, time was long ago. 

Flouret, a diminutive for a little floure. This 
is a notable and sententious comparison, 'A 
minor 6 ad ma jus.'' 

Beliven not^ live not againe, s. not in theyr 
earthly bodies : for in heaven they enjoy their 
due reward. 

77(6 hraunch. He meaneth Dido, who being 
as it were the mayne braunch now withered, the 
buddes. that is, beautie (as he sayd afore) can no 
more flourish. 

With cakes, fit for shepheards bankets. 

Heame, for home, after the northerne pro- 
nouncing. 

Tinct, dyed or stayned. 

The gaudie: the meaning is, that the things 
which were the ornaments of her lyfe are made 
the honor of her funerall, as is used in burialls. 

Bobbin, the name of a shepherd, which 
seemeth to have bene the lover and deere frende 
of Dido. 



Rushrings, agreeable for such base gyftes. 

Faded lockes, dryed leaves. As if Nature her 
selfe bewayled the death of the Mayde. 

Sourse, spring. 

Mantled, medowes, for the sondry flowres are 
like a Mantle or coverlet wi-ought with many 
colours. 

Philomele, the Nightingale : whome the 
Poetes faine once to have bene a Ladye of great 
beauty, till, being ravished by hir sisters hus- 
bande, she desired to be turned into a byrde of 
her name, whose complalntes be very wel set 
forth of Ma. George Gascoin, a wittie gentleman, 
and the very chefe of our late rymers, who, and 
if some partes of learning wanted not (albee it 
is well knowen he altogyther wanted not learn- 
ing) no doubt would have attayued to the excel- 
lencye of those famous Poetes. For gifts of wit 
and naturall promptnesse appeare in hym 
aboundantly. 

Cypresse, used of the old Paynims in the fur- 
nishing of their funerall Pompe, and properly the 
signe of all sorow and heavinesse. 

The fatull sisters, Clotho, Lachesis, and 
Atropos, daughters of Herebus and the Nighte, 
whom the Poetes fayne to spinne the life of man. 
as it were a long threde, which they drawe out in 
length, till his fatal howre and timely death be 
come ; but if by other casualtie his dayes be 
abridged, then one of them, that is, Atropos, is 
sayde to have cut the threde in twain. Hereof 
commeth a common verse. 

' Clotho columba julat, Lachesis trahit, Atropos 
occat. 

O trtisilesse, a gallant exclamation, moralized 
with great wisedom, and passionate wyth great 
affection. 

Beare, a frame, wheron they use to lay the 
dead corse. 

Furies, of Poetes are feyned to be three, Per- 
sephone, Alecto, and Megera, which are sayd to 
be the Authours of all evill and mischiefe. 

Eiernall night, is death or darknesse of hell. 

Betight, happened. 

/ see, a lively Icon or representation, as if he 
saw her in heaven present. 

Elysian fieldes, be devised of Poetes to be a 
place of pleasure like Paradise, where the happye 
soules doe rest in peace and eternal happy- 
nesse. 

Lye woibld, the very expresse saying of Plato 
in Phsedone. 

Astert, befall unwares. 

Nectar and Ambrosia, he feigned to be the 
drink and foode of the gods : Ambrosia they 
liken to Manna in scripture, and Nectar to be 
white like Creme, whereof is a proper tale of 
Hebe, that spilt a cup of it, and stayned the 
heavens, as vet appeareth. But I have already 
discoursed that at large in my Commentarye 
upon the Dreames of the same Authour. 

Meynt, mingled. 



Which is as much to sav, as death biieth not. 



EMBLEME. 

harvest, we must be gathered in time, or els of 



For although bv course of nature we be borne to our selves we fall like rotted ripe fruite fro the 
dye, and being ripened with age, as with a timely | tree : yet death is not to be counted tor eviU, nor 



596 



THE SHEPHEARDS CALENDER. 



[L. 1-43. 



(as the Poete sayd a little before) as doome of ill 
desert. For though the trespasse of the flrst 
man brought death into the world, as the guerdon 
of sinne, yet being overcome by the death of one 



that dyed for al, it is now made (as Chaucer 
sayth) the grene path way to hfe. 80 that it 
agVeeth well with that was sayd, that Death 
byteth not (that is) hurteth not at all. 



DECEMBER. 



^GLOGA DUODECIMO. ARGUMENT. 



This JEglogue {even as the firat heganne) is ended with a complaynte of CoUn to God Pan ; 
wherein, as weary of his former wayes, hee proportioneth his life to the four e seasons of 
the yeare ; comparing hys yoiUhe to the spring titne, when he was fresh and free from 
loves follye. His manhoode to the sommer, which, he sayth, was consumed with greate 
heate and excessive drouth, caused throughe a Comet or biasing starre, by tchich hee 
meaneth love ; which passion is commonly compared to suchflam,es and immoderate heate. 
His riper yeares hee resemhleth to an unseasonable harveste, wherein the fruites fall ere 
they he rype. His latter age to winters chyll andfrostie season, now drawing neare to his 
last ende. 



The gentle shepheard satte beside a 

springe, 
All in the shadowe of a busliye brere, 
That Colin hight, which wel could pype 

and singe, 
For he of Tityrus his songs did lere : 
There, as he satte in secreate shade 
alone, 5 

Thus gan he make of love his piteous 
mone. 

* O soveraigne Pan ! thou god of shep- 

heards all. 
Which of our tender Lambkins takest 

keepe, 
And, when our flocks into mischaunce 

mought fall, 
Doest save from mischiefe the unwary 

sheepe, 10 

Als of their maisters hast no lesse 

regarde 
Then of the flocks, which thou doest 

watch and warde; 

' I thee beseche (so be thou deigne to 

heare 
Rude ditties, tund to shepheards Oaten 
/!) reede. 

Or if I ever sonet song so cleare, 15 

As it with pleasaunce mought thy fancie 
feede) 
Hearken awhile, from thy greene 

cabinet, 
The rurall song of carefull Colinet. 

' Whilome in youth, when flowrd my joy- 
full spring, 

Like Swallow swift I wandred here and 
there ; 20 

For heate of heedlesse lust me so did 
sting, 

That I of doubted daunger had no feare : 



I went the wastef ull woodes and forest 

wide, 
Withouten dreade of Wolves to bene 

espyed. 

* I wont to raunge amydde the mazie 

thickette, 25 

And gather nuttes to make me Christmas 

game. 
And joyed oft to chace the trembling 

Pricket, 
Or hunt the hartlesse hare til shee were 

tame. 
What recked I of wintrye ages waste ? — 
Tho deemed I my spring would ever 

laste. 30 

* How often have I scaled the craggie 

Oke, 
All to dislodge the Raven of her nest ? 
How have I wearied with many a stroke 
The stately Walnut-tree, the while the 
rest 
Under the tree fell all for nuts at 
strife ? 35 

For ylike to me was libertee and lyfe. 

* And for I was in thilke same looser 

yeares, 
(Whether the Muse so wrought me from 

my byrth. 
Or I to much beleeved my shepherd 

peeres,) 
Somedele ybent to song and musicks 

mirth, 40 

A good old shephearde, Wrenock was 

his name, 
Made me by arte more cunning in the 

same. 

* Fro thence I durst in derring-doe com- 

pare 



L. 44-106.] 



DECEMBER. 



597 



With shepheards swayne what ever fedde 

in field ; 

And, if that Hobbinol right judgement 

bare, 45 

To Pan his owne selfe pype I neede not 

yield: 

For, if the flocking Nymphes did folow 

Pan, 
The wiser Muses after Colin ranne. 

'But, ah! such pryde at length was ill 

repayde : 
The shepheards God (perdie God was he 

none) 50 

My hurtlesse pleasaunce did me ill up- 

braide ; 
My freedome lorne, my life he lefte to 

mone. 
Love they him called that gave me 

checkmate, 
But better mought they have behote 

him Hate. 

' Tho gan my lovely Spring bid me f are- 
wel, 55 

And Sommer season sped him to display 
(For love then in the Lyons house did 

dwell) 
The raging fyre that kindled at his ray. 
A comett stird up that unkindly heate, 
That reigned (as men sayd) in Venus 
seate. 60 

* Forth was I ledde, not as I wont afore, 
When choise I had to choose my wan- 

dring waye, 
But whether luck and loves unbridled 

lore 
Woulde leade me forth on Fancies bitte to 
playe : 
The bush my bedde, the bramble was 
my bowre, 65 

The woodes can witnesse many a wofull 
stowre. 

'Where I was wont to seeke the honey 

Bee, 
Working her formall rowmes in wexen 

frame, 
The grieslie Tode-stoole growne there 

mought I se, 
And loathed Paddocks lording on the 

same : 70 

And where the chaunting birds luld me 

asleepe, 
The ghastlie Owle her grievous ynne 

doth keepe. 

* Then as the springe gives place to elder 

time. 
And bringeth forth the fruite of sommers 
pryde ; 



Also my age, now passed youngthly 

pryme, 75 

To thinges of ryper season selfe applyed. 

And learnd of lighter timber cotes to 

frame, 
Such as might save my sheepe and me 
fro shame. 

' To make fine cages for the Nightingale, 
And Baskets of bulrushes, was my 
wont : 80 

Who to entrappe the fish in winding sale 
Was better scene, or hurtful beastes to 
hont? 
I learned als the signes of heaven to ken, 
How Phoebe fayles, where Venus sittes, 
and when. 

' And tryed time yet taught me greater 

thinges ; 85 

The sodain rysing of the raging seas, 
The soothe of byrdes by beating of their 

winges. 
The power of herbs, both which can hurt 

and ease. 
And which be wont t' enrage the rest- 

lesse sheepe, 
And which be wont to worke eternall 

sleepe. 90 

' But, ah ! unwise and witlesse Colin 

Cloute, 
That kydst the hidden kinds of many a 

wede. 
Yet kydst not ene to cure thy sore hart- 

roote. 
Whose ranckling wound as yet does rifelye 

bleede. 
Why livest thou stil, and yet hast thy 

deathes wound ? 95 

Why dyest thou stil, and yet alive art 

founde ? 

' Thus is my sommer worne away and 

wasted. 
Thus is my harvest hastened all to rathe ; 
The eare that budded faire is burnt and 

blasted, 
And all my hoped gaine is turnd to 

scathe : 100 

Of all the seede that in my youth was 

sowne 
Was nought but brakes and brambles to 

be mowne. 

* My boughes with bloosmes that crowned 

were at firsts. 
And promised of timely fruite such store, 
Are left both bare and barrein now at 

erst ; 105 

The flattring fruite is fallen to grownd 

l3efore. 



598 



THE SHEPHEARDS CALENDER. 



[l. 107-156. 



And rotted ere they were halfe mellow 

ripe ; 
My harvest, wast, my hope away dyd 

wipe. 

' The fragrant flowres, that in my garden 

grewe, 
Bene withered, as they had bene gathered 

long ; 110 

Theyr rootes bene dryed up for lacke of 

dewe, 
Yet dewed with teares they han be ever 

among. 
Ah! who has wrought my Rosalind this 

spight, 
To spil the flowres that should her gir- 

loud dight ? 

* And I, that whilome wont to frame my 

pype 115 

Unto the shifting of the shepheards foote, 

Sike follies nowe have gathered as too 

ripe, 
And cast hem out as rotten and unsoote. 
The loser Lasse I cast to please no 
more ; 119 

One if I please, enough is me therefore. 

' And thus of all my harvest-hope I have 
Nought reaped but a weedye crop of care ; 
Which, when I thought have thresht in 

swelling sheave, 
Cockel for corne, and chaffe for barley, 

bare : 
Soone as the chaffe should in the fan be 

fynd, , 125 

All was blowne away of the wavering 

wynd, 

' So now my yeare drawes to his latter 

terme, 
My spring is spent, my sommer burnt up 

quite ; 
My harveste basts to stirre up Winter 

Sterne, 
And bids him clayme with rigorous rage 

hys right : 130 



So nowe he stormes with many a sturdy 

stoure ; 
So now his blustring blast eche coste 

dooth scoure. 

' The careful 1 cold hath nypt my rugged 

rynde. 
And in my face deepe furrowes eld hath 

pight : 
My head besprent with hoary frost I fynd, 
And by myne eie the Crow his clawe dooth 

Wright : 136 

Delight is layd abedde; and pleasure 

past ; 
No Sonne now shines; cloudes han all 

overcast. 

' Now leave, ye shepheards boyes, your 

merry glee ; 
My Muse is hoarse and wearie of thys 

stounde : 140 

Here will I hang my pype upon this tree : 
Was never pype of reede did better 

sound e. 
Winter is come that blowes the bitter 

blaste. 
And after Winter dreerie death does 

hast. 

' Gather together ye my little flocke, 145 
My little flock, that was to me so liefe; 
Let me, ah! lette me in your foldes ye 

lock. 

Ere the breme Winter breede you greater 

grief e. 

Winter is come, that blowes the balefull 

breath, 149 

And after Winter cometh timely death. 

' Adieu, delightes, that lulled me asleepe ; 
Adieu, my deare, whose love I bought so 

deare ; 

Adieu, my little Lambes and loved sheepe ; 

Adieu, ye Woodes, that oft my witnesse 

were : 154 

Adieu, good Hobbinoll, that was so true. 

Tell Rosalind, her Colin bids her adieu.' 



COLIN8 EMBLEME. 

Vivitur ingenio : cxtera mortis erunt. 



GLOSSE. 



Tityrus, Chaucer, as hath bene oft sayd. 

Lambkins, young lambes. 

Als of their, seemeth to expresse Virgils verse. 

'Pan curat oves oviumque magistros.' 

Deigne, voutchsafe. 
Cabinet, Colinet, diminutives. 
Mazie, for they be like to a maze whence it is 
hard to get out agayne. 



Peres, felowes and companions. 

Musick, that is Poetry, as Terence sayth, ' Qui 
artem tractant musicam,' speking of Poetes. 

Derring doe, aforesayd. 

Lions house : he imagineth simply that Cupid, 
which is love, had his abode in the whote signe 
Leo, which is in the middest of somer ; a prettie 
allegory ; whereof the meaning is, that love in him 
wrought an extraordiuarie heate of lust. 



DECEMBER. 



599 



His ray, which is Cupides beame or flames of 
Love. 

A comete, a biasing starre, meant of beautie, 
which was the cause of his whote love. 

I'enus, the goddosse of beauty or pleasure. 
Also a signe in heaven, as it is here taken. So 
he meaneth that beautie, which hath alwayes 
aspect to Venus, was the cause of his unquietnes 
in love. 

Where I was : a fine description of the chaunge 
of his lyfe and liking, for all things nowe seemed 
to hiiu to have altered their kindly course. 

Lording: Spoken after the manner of Pad- 
docks and Frogges sitting, which is indeed lordly, 
not removing nor looking once aside, unlesse they 
be sturred. 

Tken as : The second part, that is, his man- 
hoode. 

Cotes, Sheepecotes, for such be the exercises 
of shepheards. 

Sale, or sallow, a kinde of woodde like Wyllow, 
lit to wreath and bynde in leapes to catch tish 
withall. 

Ph'jbbefayles, The Eclipse of the Moone, which 
is alwayes in Cauda, or Capite Draconis, signes in 
heaven. 

Venus, 8. Venus starre, otherwise called Hes- 
perus, and Vesper, and Lucifer, both because he 
seemeth to be one of the brightest starres, and 
also first ryseth, and setteth last. All which skill 
in starres being convenient for shepheardes to 
knowe, Theocritus and the rest use. 

Raging seas: The cause of the swelling and 
ebbing of the sea commeth of the course of the 
Moone, sometime encreasing, sometime wayning 
and decreasing. 

Sooih ofbyrdes, A kind of soothsaying used in 
elder tymes, which they gathered by the flying of 
byrds:' First (as is sayd) invented by the Thus- 
canes, and from them" derived to the Eomanes 
who, as it is sayd in Livie, were so supersticiously 
rooted in the "same, that they agreed that every 



Noble man should put his sonne to the Thus- 
canes, by them to be brought up in that knowl- 
edge. 

Of herhes : That wonderous thinges be wrought 
by herbes, as well appeareth by the common 
working of them in our bodies, as also by the 
wonderful enchauntments and sorceries that have 
bene wrought by them, insomuch that it is sayde 
that Circe, a famous sorceresse, turned men into 
sondry kinds of beastes and Monsters, and onely 
by herbes : as the Poete sayth, 

' Dea saiva potentibus i^erbis, &c.' 

Kidst, knewest. 

Eare, of corne. 

Scathe, losse, hinderaunce. 

The fragrant flowres, sundry studies and 
laudable partes of learning, wherein our Poet is 
scene, be they witnesse which are privie to this 
study. 

Frer among. Ever and anone. 

Thus is my. The thyrde part wherein is set 
forth his ripe yeeres as "an untimely harvest that 
bringeth little'fruite. 

So note my yeere : The last part, wherein is 
described his age, by comparison of wyntrye 
stormes. 

Care full cold, for care is sayd to coole the 
blood. 

Glee, mirth. 

Iloary frost, a metaphore of hoary heares scat- 
tered lyke to a graj- frost. 

Breeme, sharpe'and bitter. 

Adiew delights, is a conclusion of all : where 
in sixe verses he comprehendeth briefly all that 
was touched in this booke. In the firstverse his 
delights of youth generally : In the second, the love 
of Posalind : In the thyrd. the keeping of shee])e, 
which is the argument of all the Jiglogues : In 
the fourth, his complaints : And in the last two, 
his professed frendship and good will to his good 
friend Hobbinoll. 



The meaning whereof is, that all thinges perish 
and come to thejT last end, but workes of learned 
wits and monuments of Poetry abide for ever. 
And therefore Horace of his Odes, a worke though 
ful indede of great wit and learning yet of no so 
great weight and importaunce, boldly sayth. 



' Exegi monimentum a>re perennius, 
' Quod nee imber edax, nee aquilo vorax. 



&c. 



Therefore let not be envied, that this Poete in 
his Epilogue sayth, he hath made a Calendar that 
shall endure as long as time, &c. folowing the 
ensample of Horace and Ovid in the like. 

' Grande opus exegi, quod nee lovis ira, nee 

ignis, 
'Ne ferum poterit nee edax abolere vetustas,' 

&c. 



LoE ! I have made a Calender for every 
yeare, 

That Steele in strenffth, and time in du- 
rance, shall outiveare ; 

A7id, if I marked well the starres revolu- 
tion, 

It shall continewe till the worlds dissolu- 
tion, 

To teach the ruder shepheard hoio tofeede 
his sheepe, 

And from the falsers fraude his folded 
flocke to keepe. 



Goe, hjttle Calender! thou hast a free 

passe-porte ; 
Goe hut a lowly gate emongste the meaner 

sorte : 
Dare not to match thy pype with Tityrus 

his style. 
Nor with the Pilgrim that the Ploughman 

playde awhyle ; 
But followe them far re off, and their high 

steppes adore : 
The better please, the worse despise ; I 

aske no more. 



MEBCE NON MERCEDE. 



COMPLAINTS: 

CONTAINING SUNDRIE SMALL POESIES 

OF THB 

WORLDS YANITIE. 

WHEREOF THE NEXT PAGE MAKETH IVIENTION. 
BY ED. SP. 



A NOTE OF THE SUNDRIE POEMES CONTAINED IN THIS VOLUME. 



1. The Ruines of Time. 

2. The Teares of the Muses. 

3. Virgils Gnat. 

4. Prosopopoia, or Mother Huhherds Tale. 

5. Tlie Ruines of Rome : by Bellay. 



6. Muiopotmos,or The Tale of the Butter- 

flie. 

7. Visions of the Worlds Vanitie. 

8. Bellayes Visions. 

9. Petrarches Visions. 



THE PEINTER TO THE GENTLE EEADER. 



Since my late setting foorth of the Faerie 
Queeue, finding that it hath found a fa- 
vourable passage amongst you, I have 
sithence endevoured by all good meanes 
(for the better encrease and accomplish- 
ment of your delights,) to get into my 
handes such smalePoemes of the same 
Authors, as I heard T^ere disperst abroad 
in sundrie hands, and not easie to bee come 
by, by himself e : some of them having bene 
diverslie imbeziled and purloyned from 
him since his departure over Sea. Of the 
which I have, by good meanes, gathered 
togeather these fewe parcels present, which 
I have caused to bee imprinted altogeather, 
for that they al seeme to coutaine like 
matter of argument in them ; being all 
complaints and meditations of the worlds 



vanitie, verie grave and profitable. To 
which effect I understand that he besides 
wrote sundrie others, namelie Kcclesiastes 
and Canticum Canticorvm translated, A 
senights slumber, T/'te hell of lovers, his 
Purgatorie, being all dedicated to Ladies ; 
so as it may seeme he ment them all to 
one volume. Besides some other Pam- 
phlets looselie scattered abroad : as The 
dying Pellican, The hoicers of the Lord, 
the sacrifice of a sinner, The seven 
Psalmes, &c., which when I can, either 
by himselfe or otherwise, attaine too, I 
nieane likewise for j^our favour sake 
to set foorth. In the meane time, pray- 
ing you gentiie to accept of these, and 
graciouslie to entertain e the new Poet, 
I take leave. 



THE EUINES OF TIME. 



DEDICATED TO THE EIGHT NOBLE AND BEAXTTIFULL LADIE, 



THE LADIE MAEIE, 



COUNTESSE OF PKMBROOKE. 



Most Honourable and bountifull Ladie, 
there bee long sitlieus deepe sowed in my 
brest the seede of most entire love and 
humble affection vmto that most brave 
Knight, your noble brother deceased ; 
which, taking roote, began in his life time 
some what to bud forth, and to shew 
themselves to him, as then in the weake- 
nes of their first spring; And would in 
their riper strength (had it pleased high 
God till then to drawe out his dales) 
spired forth fruit of more perfection. 
But since God hath disdeigned the world 
of that most noble Spirit, which was the 
hope of all learned men, and the Patron 
of my young Muses, togeather with him 
both their hope of anie further fruit was 
cut off, and also the tender delight of 
those their first blossoms nipped and 
quite dead. Yet, sithens my late cum- 
ming into England, some frends of mine, 
(which might much prevaile with me, and 
indeede commaund me) knowing with 
howe straight bandes of duetie I was tied 
to him, as also bound unto that noble 



house, (of which the chief e hope then 
rested in him) have sought to revive them 
by upbraiding me, for that I have not 
shewed anie thankefull remembrance tow- 
ards him or any of them, but suffer 
their names to sleep in silence and forget- 
fulnesse. Whome chiellie to satisfie, or 
els to avoide that fowle blot of unthanke- 
fulnesse, I have conceived this small 
Poeme, intituled by a generall name of 
The Worlds Ruines ; yet speciallie in- 
tended to the renowming of that noble 
race, from which both you and he sprong, 
and to the eternizing of some of the 
chief e of them late deceased. The which 
I dedicate unto your La. as whome it 
most speciallie concerneth ; and to whome 
I acknowledge my selfe bounden by 
manie singular favours and great graces. 
I pray for your Honourable happinesse ; 
and so humblie kisse your handes. 
Your Ladiships ever 
humblie at commaund. 
E. S. 



THE RUINES OF TIME. 



It chaunced me on day beside the shore 
Of silver streaming Thamesis to bee. 
Nigh where the goodly Verlame stood of 

yore. 
Of which there now remaines no memorie, 
Nor anie little moniment to see, 5 

By which the travailer, that fares that 

way, 
'This once was she,' may warned be to 

say. 

There, on the other side, I did behold 
A Woman sitting, sorrowfullie wailing. 
Rending her yeolow locks, like wyrie gold 
About her shoulders careleslie downe 
trailing, 11 



And streames of teares from her fairs 

eyes forth railing: 
In her right hand a broken rod she held, 
Which towards heaven shee seemd on 

high to weld. 

Whether she were one of that Rivers 

Nymph es, 15 

Which did the losse of some dere love 

lament, 
I doubt ; or one of those three fatall Impes 
Which draw the dayes of men forth in 

extent; 
Or th' auncient Genius of that Citie brent : 
But, seeing her so piteouslie perplexed, 20 
I (to her calling) askt what her so vexed. 



603 



6o4 



THE RUINES OF TIME. 



[l. 22-91. 



' Ah ! what delight (quoth she) in earthlie 

thing, 
Or comfort can I, wretched creature, 

have? 
Whose happines the heavens envying, 
From highest staire to lowest step me 

drave, 25 

And have in mine owne bowels made my 

grave, 
That of all Nations now I am forlorne. 
The worlds sad spectacle, and fortunes 

scorne.' 

Much was I mooved at her piteous plaint. 

And felt my heart nigh riven in my brest 

With tender ruth to see her sore con- 
straint ; 31 

That, shedding teares a while, I still did 
rest. 

And after did her name of her request. 

' Name have I none (quoth she) nor anie 
being, 34 

Bereft of both by Fates unjust decreeing. 

* I was that Citie, which the garland wore 
Of Britaines pride, delivered unto me 

By Romane Victors, which it wonne of 

yore; 
Though nought at all but mines now I bee, 
And lye in mine owne ashes, as ye see, 40 
Verlame I was : what bootes it that I was, 
Sith now I am but weedes and wastfull 

gras? 

* O value worlds glorie ! and unstedf ast 

state 
Of all that lives on face of sinf ull earth ! 
Which, from their first untill their utmost 

date, 45 

Taste no one hower of happines or 

merth ; 
But like as at the ingate of their berth 
They crying creep out of their mothers 

woomb. 
So wailing backe go to their wofuU toomb. 

* Why then dooth flesh, a bubble-glas of 

breath, 50 

Hunt after honour and advauncement 

vaine. 
And reare a trophee for devouring death. 
With so great labour and long lasting 

paine, 
As if his dales for ever should remaine? 
Sith all that in this world is great or 

gaie • 55 

Doth as a vapour vanish, and decaie. 

' Looke backe, who list, unto the former 

ages, 
And call to count what is of them become : 



Where be those learned wits and antique 

Sages, 
Which of all wisedome knew the perfect 

somrae? 60 

Where those great warriors, which did 

overcome 
The world with conquest of their might 

and maine. 
And made one meare of th' earth and of 

their raiue ? 

' What nowe is of th' Assyrian Lyonessc, 
Of whome no footing now on earth ap- 

peares ? 65 

What of the Persian Beares outragious- 

nesse, 
Whose memorie is quite worne out with 

yeares. 
Who of the Grecian Libbard now ought 

heares. 
That overran the East with greedie powre, 
And left his whelps their kingdomes to 

devoure ? 70 

'And where is that same great seven- 

headded beast, 
That made all nations vassals of her 

pride. 
To fall before her feete at her beheast. 
And in the necke of all the world did 

ride? 
Where doth she all that wondrous welth 

nowe hide? 75 

With her owne weight down pressed now 

shee lies. 
And by her heaps her hugenesse testifies. 

' O Rome ! thy mine I lament and rue. 
And in thy fall my fatall overthrowe. 
That whilom was, whilst heavens with 

equall vewe 80 

Deignd to behold me and their gifts be- 

stowe. 
The picture of thy pride in pompous shew : 
And of the whole world as thou wast the 

Empresse, 
So I of this small Northerne world was 

Princesse. 

* To tell the beawtie of my buildings 

fay re, 85 

Adornd with purest golde and precious 

stone ; 
To tell my riches, and endowments rare. 
That by my foes are now all spent and 

gone; 
To tell my forces, matchable to none, 
Were but lost labour, that few would be- 

leeve, 90 

And with rehearsing would me more 

agreeve. 



L. 92-158.] 



THE RUINES OF TIME. 



605 



' High towers, faire temples, goodly thea- 
ters, 

Strong walls, rich porches, priucelie pal- 
laces, 

Large streetes, brave houses, sacred 
sepulchers, 

Sure gates, sweete gardeus, stately gal- 
leries, 95 

Wrought with faire pillours and fine 
imageries ; 

All those (O pitie!) now are turnd to 
dust, 

And overgrowen with blacke oblivions 
rust. 

' Theretoo for warlike power, and peoples 

store, 
In Britannie was none to match with 

mee, 100 

That manie often did able full sore ; 
Ne Troynovant, though elder sister shee. 
With my great forces might compared 

bee: 
That stout Pendragon to his perill felt, 
Who in a siege seaven yeres about me 

dwelt. 105 

' But long ere this, Bunduca, Britonnesse, 
Her mightie hoast against my bulwarkes 

brought, 
Bunduca, that victorious conqueresse, 
That, lifting up her brave heroick thought 
Bove womens weaknes, with the Romanes 

fought, 110 

Fought, and in field against them thrice 

prevailed ; 
Yet was she f oyld,when as she me assailed. 

* And though at last by force I conquered 

were 
Of bardie Saxons, and became their 

thrall, 
Yet was I with much bloodshed bought 

full deere, 115 

And prizde with slaughter of their Gen- 

erall ; 
The mouiment of whose sad funerall, 
For wonder of the world, long in me 

lasted. 
But now to nought through spoyle of time 

is wasted. 

' Wasted it is, as if it never were ; 120 
And all the rest, that me so honord made 
And of the world admired ev'rie where, 
Is turnd to smoake, that doth to nothing 

fade; 
And of that brightnes now appeares no 

shade, 
But greislie shades, such as doo haunt in 

hell 125 



With fearfull fiends, that in deep darknes 
dwell. 

* Where my high steeples whilom usde to 

stand. 
On which the lordly Faulcon wont to 

towre 
There now is but an heap of lyme and 

sand, 
For the Shriche-owle to build her balefull 

bowre : 130 

And where the Nightingale wont forth to 

powre 
Her restles plaints, to comfort wakefull 

Lovers, 
There now haunt yelling Mewes and whin- 
ing Plovers. 

' And where the christall Thamis wont to 

slide 
In silver channell, downe along the Lee, 
About whose flowrie bankes on either 

side 136 

A thousand Nymphes, with mirthfull 

jollitee, 
Were wont to play, from all annoyance 

free. 
There now no rivers course is to be scene. 
But moorish fennes, and marshes ever 

greene. 140 

* Seemes, that that gentle River for great 

griefe 
Of my mishaps, which oft I to him plained. 
Or for to shunne the horrible mischiefe, 
With which he saw my cruell foes me 

pained. 
And his pure streames with guiltles blood 

oft stained ; 145 

From my unhappie neighborhood farre 

fled, 
And his sweete waters away with him led. 

' There also, where the winged ships were 

scene 
In liquid waves to cut their fomie waie. 
And thousand Fishers numbred to have 

been, 150 

In that wide lake looking for plenteous 

praie 
Of fish, which they with baits usde to 

betraie. 
Is now no lake, nor anie fishers store. 
Nor ever ship shall saile there anie more. 

' They all are gone, and all with them is 
gone ; 155 

Ne ought to me remaines, but to lament 
My long decay , which no man els doth mone. 
And mourne my fall with dolefuU dreri- 
ment. 



6o6 



THE RUINES OF TIME. 



[L. 159-237- 



Yet it is comfort in great languishment, 
To be bemoned with compassion kinde, IGO 
And mitigates the anguish of tlie minde. 

' But me no man bewaileth, but in game, 

Ne sheddeth teares from lamentable eie ; 
Nor anie lives that meutioueth my name 
To be remembred of posteritie, 165 

Save One that, maugre fortunes injurie, 
And times decay, and envies cruell tort, 
Hath writ my record in true-seeming sort. 

* Cambden ! the nourice of antiquitie. 
And lanterne unto late succeding age, 170 
To see the light of simple veritie 
Buried in mines, through the great out- 



Of her owne people led with warlike 

rage : 
Cambden! though Time all moniments 

obscure, 
Yet thy just labours ever shall endure. 175 

' But whie (unhappie wight !) doo I thus 

crie, 
And grieve that my remembrance quite 

is raced 
Out of the knowledge of posteritie. 
And all my antique moniments defaced ? 
Sith I doo dailie see things highest placed. 
So soone as Fates their vitall thred have 

shorne, 181 

Forgotten quite as they were never borne. 

' It is not long, since these two eyes be- 
held 
A mightie Prince, of most renowmed race, 
Whom England high in count of honour 
held, 185 

And greatest ones did sue to gaine his 

grace ; 
Of greatest ones he, greatest in his place, 
Sate in the bosome of his Soveraine, 
And Right and loyall did his word main- 
taine. 

' I saw him die, I saw him die, as one 190 
Of the meane people, and brought foorth 

on beare ; 
I saw him die, and no man left to mone 
His dolefuU fate, that late him loved 

deare : 
Scarse anie left to close his eylids neare ; 
Scarse anie left upon his lips to laie 195 
The sacred sod, or Requiem to sale. 

* O! trustlesse state of miserable men, 
That builde your blis on hope of earthly 

thing, 
And vainly thinke your selves halfe happie 

then, 



When painted faces with smooth flatter- 
ing 200 

Doo fawne on you, and your wide praises 
sing; 

And, when the courting masker louteth 
lowe, 

Him true in heart and trustie to you trow. 

' All is but fained, and with oaker dide. 
That everie shower will wash and wipe 

away ; 205 

All things doo change that under heaven 

abide, 
And after death all friendship doth decaie : 
Therefore, what ever man bearst worldlie 

sway. 
Living, on God and on thy selfe relie; 
For, when thou diest, all shall with thee 

die. 210 

'He now is dead, and all is with him 
dead, 

Save what in heavens storehouse he up- 
laid : 

His hope is faild, and come to passe his 
dread, 

And evill men, now dead, his deeds uj)- 
braid : 

Spite bites the dead, that living never baid. 

He now is gone, the whiles the Foxe is 
crept 216 

Into the hole, the which the Badger swept. 

' He now is dead, and all his glorie gone. 
And all his greatnes vapoured to nought, 
That as a glasse upon the water shone, 220 
Which vanisht quite, so soone as it was 

sought : 
His name is worne alreadie out of thought, 
Ne anie Poet seekes him to revive, 
Yet manie Poets honourd him alive. 

' Ne doth his Colin, carelesse Colin Cloute, 
Care now his idle bagpipe up to raise, 226 
Ne tell his sorrow to the listning rout 
Of shepherd groomes, which wont his 

songs to praise: 
Praise who so list, yet I will him dispraise, 
Untill he quite him of his guiltie blame. 230 
Wake, shepheards boy, at length awake 

for shame ! 

' And who so els did goodnes by him gaine, 
And who so els his bounteous minde did 

trie. 
Whether he shepheard be, or shepheards 

swain e, 
(For manie did, which doo it now denie,) 
Awake, and to his Song a part applie : 236 
And I, the whilest you mourne for his 

decease. 



L. 238-311.] 



THE RUINES OF TIME. 



607 



Will 



with my mourniug plaints 
plaint increase. 



your 



' He dyde, and after him his brother dyde, 
His brother Prince, his brother noble 

Peere, 240 

That whilste he lived was of none envyde, 
And dead is now, as living, counted deare, 
Deare unto all that true atlectiou beare : 
But unto thee most deare, O dearest 

Dame! 
His noble Spouse, and Paragon of fame. 

' He, whilest he lived, happie was through 

thee, 246 

And, being dead, is happie now much 

more ; 
Living, that lincked chaunst with thee to 

bee, 
And dead, because him dead thou dost 

adore 
As living, and thy lost deare love deplore. 
So whilst that thou, faire flower of 

chastitie, 251 

Dost live, by thee thy Lord shall never die. 

' Thy Lord shall never die, the whiles this 

verse 
Shall live, and surely it shall live for 

ever : 
For ever it shall live, and shall rehearse 255 
His worthie praise, and vertues dying 

never, 
Though death his soule doo from his bodie 

sever ; 
And thou thy selfe berein shalt also live : 
Such grace tbe heavens doo to my verses 

give. 

' Ne shall his sister, ue thj father die, 2G0 
Thy father, that good Earle of rare re- 

nowne, 
And noble Patrone of weake povertie ; 
Whose great good deeds, in countrey and 

in towne, 
Have purchast him in heaven an happie 

crowne. 
Where he now liveth in eternall blis, 2(55 
And left his soune t' ensue those steps of 

his. 

' He, noble bud, his Grandsires livelie 

hayre, 
Under the shadow of thy countenaunce 
Now ginnes to shoote up fast, and flourish 

fay re 
In learned artes, and goodliegovernaunce, 
Tliat him to highest honour shall ad- 

vaunce. 271 

Brave Impe of Bedford ! grow apace in 

bountie, 



And count of wisedome more than of thy 
Co untie. 

' Ne may I let thy husbands sister die, 
That goodly Ladie, sith she eke did 

spring 275 

Out of his stocke and famous familie, 
Whose praises I to future age doo sing ; 
And foorth out of her happie womb" did 

bring 
The sacred brood of learning and all 

honour ; 
In whom the heavens powrde all their 

gifts upon her. 280 

* Most gentle spirite, breathed from above 
Out of the bosome of the makers blis. 

In whom all bouutie and all vertuous love 
Appeared in their native propertis. 
And did enrich that noble breast of his 285 
With treasure passing all this worldes 

worth, 
Worthie of heaven it selfe, which brought 

it forth. 

* His blessed spirite, full of power divine 
And influence of all celestiall grace. 
Loathing this siufull earth and earthlie 

slime, 290 

Fled back too soone unto his native place ; 
Too soone for all that did his love embrace. 
Too soone for all this wretched world, 

whom he 
Robd of all right and true nobilitie. 

*Yet, ere his happie soule to heaven 
went 295 

Out of this fleshlie gaole, he did devise 
Unto his heavenlie maker to present 
His bodie, as a spotles sacrifise ; 
And chose that guiltie hands of enemies 
Should powre forth th' offring of his 
guil ties blood: 300 

So life exchanging for his countries good. 

' O noble spirite ! live there ever blessed. 
The worlds late wonder, and the heavens 

new joy ; 
Live ever there, and leave me here dis- 
tressed 
With mortall cares and cumbrous worlds 
anoy ! 305 

But, where thou dost that haj^piues enjoy, 
Bid me, O! bid me quicklie come to thee. 
That happie there I male thee alwaies see. 

' Yet, whilest the fates affoord me vitall 

breath, 
I will it spend in speaking of thy praise, 310 
And sing to thee, untill that timelie 

death 



6o8 



THE RUINES OF TIME. 



[l. 312-386. 



By heavens doome doo ende my earthlie 

daies : 
Thereto doo thou my humble spirite raise, 
And into me that sacred breath inspire, 
Which thou there breathest perfect and 

entire. 315 

* Then will I sing ; but who can better 

sing 
Than thine owne sister, peerles Ladie 

bright, 
Which to thee sings with deep harts 

sorrowing, 
Sorrowing tempered with deare delight. 
That her to heare I feele my feeble 

spright 320 

Robbed of sense, and ravished with joy: 
O sad joy, made of mourning and anoy! 

* Yet will I sing ; but who can better sing 
Than thou thy selfe, thine owue selfes 

valiance, 
That, whilest thou livedst, madest the 

forrests ring, 325 

And fields resownd, and flockes to leap 

and daunce, 
And shepheards leave their lambs unto 

mischaunce. 
To runne thy shrill Arcadian Pipe to 

heare : 
O, happie were those dayes, thrice happie 

were ! 

* But now, more happie thou, and wretched 

wee 330 

Which want the wonted sweetnes of thy 

voice, 
Whiles thou, now in Elisian fields so free. 
With Orpheus, and with Linus, and the 

choice 
Of all that ever did in rimes rejoice, 
Conversest, and doost heare their heaven- 
lie layes, 325 
And they heare thine, and thine doo better 
praise. 

* So there thou livest, singing evermore. 
And here thou livest, being ever song 
Of us, which living loved thee afore, 
And now thee worship mongst that blessed 

throng 340 

Of heavenlie Poets and Heroes strong. 
So thou both here and there immortall 

art, 
And everie where through excellent desart. 

* But such as neither of themselves can 

sing, 
Nor yet are sung of others for reward, 3i5 
Die in obscure oblivion, as the thing 
Which never was, ne ever with regard 



Their names shall of the later age be 

heard, 
But shall in rustie darknes ever lie, 
Unles they mentiond be with infamie. 350 

' What booteth it to have been rich alive ? 
What to be great ? what to be gracious ? 
When after death no token doth survive 
Of former being in this mortall hous. 
But sleepes in dust, dead and inglorious, 
Like beast whose breath but in hisnostrels 
is, 35G 

And hath no hope of happinesse or blis. 

' How manie great ones may remembred 

be. 
Which in their daies most famouslie did 

florish ; 
Of whome no word we heare, nor signe 

now see, 360 

But as things wipt out with a sponge to 

perishe. 
Because they living cared not to cherishe 
No gentle wits, through pride orcovetize, 
Which might their names for ever 

memorize. 

' Provide therefore (ye Princes) whilst ye 
live, 365 

That of the Muses ye may friended bee, 
Which unto men eternitie do give ; 
For they be daughters of Dame Memorie 
And Jove, the father of eternitie. 
And do those men in golden thrones 
repose, 370 

Whose merits they to glorifie do chose. 

' The sevenfold yron gates of grislie Hell, 
And horrid house of sad Proserpina, 
They able are with power of mightie spell 
To breake, and thence the soules to bring 

awaie 375 

Out of dread darkenesse to eternall day. 
And them immortall make, which els 

would die 
In foule forgetfulnesse, and nameles lie. 

* So whilome raised they the puissant 

brood 
Of golden girt Alcmena, for great merite, 
Out of the dust, to which the Oetsean 

wood 381 

Had him consum'd, and spent his vitall 

spirite, 
To highest heaven, where now he doth 

inherite 
All happinesse in Hebes silver bowre, 
Chosen to be her dearest Paramoure. 385 

* So raisde they eke faire Ledaes warlick 

twinnes, 



L. 387-456.] 



THE RUINES OF TIME. 



609 



And interchanged life unto them lent, 
That, when th' one dies, th' other then 

beginues 
To shew in Heaven his brightnes orient; 
And they, for pittie of the sad way- 

ment 390 

Which Orpheus for Eurydice did make, 
Her back againe to life sent for his sake. 

* So happie are they, and so fortunate, 
Whom the Pierian sacred sisters love. 
That freed from bands of impacable 

fate, 395 

And power of death, they live for aye 

above, 
W^here mortall wreakes their blis may not 

remove ; 
But with the Gods, for former vertues 

meede. 
On Nectar and Ambrosia do feede. 

'For deeds doe die, how ever noblie 

donne, 400 

And thoughts of men do as themselves 

decay ; 
But wise wordes, taught in numbers for to 

runne. 
Recorded by the Muses, live for ay ; 
Ne may with storming showers be washt 

away, 
Ne bitter-breathing windes with harmfull 

blast, 405 

Nor age, nor envie, shall them ever wast. 

* In vaine doo earthly Princes, then, in 

vaine, 
Seeke, with Pyramides to heaven aspired, 
Or huge Colosses built with costlie paine, 
Or brasen Pillours never to be fired, 410 
Or Shrines made of the mettall most 

desired. 
To make their memories for ever live ; 
For how can mortall immortalitie give ? 

' Such one Mausolus made, the worlds 

great wonder, 
But now no remnant doth thereof re- 

maine : 415 

Such one Marcellus, but was torne with 

thunder : 
Such one Lisippus, but is worne with raine : 
Such one King Edmond, but was rent for 

gaine. 
All such vaine moniments of earthlie 

masse, 
Devour'd of Time, in time to nought doo 

passe. 420 

' But Fame with golden wings aloft doth 

flie. 
Above the reach of ruinous decay, 



And with brave plumes doth beate the 

azure skie, 
Admir'd of base-borne men from farre 

away : 
Then, who so will with vertuous deeds 

assay 425 

To mount to heaven, on Pegasus must ride, 
And with sweete Poets verse be glorifide. 

' For not to have been dipt in Lethe lake. 
Could save the sonne of Thetis from to 

die; 
But that bliade bard did him immortall 

make 430 

With verses, dipt in deawof Castalie : 
Which made the Easterne Conquerour to 

crie, 
O fortunate yong-man, whose vertue 

found 
So brave a Trompe, thy noble acts to 

sound ! 

' Therefore in this halfe happie I doo 
read 435 

Good Melibae, that hath a Poet got 
To sing his living praises being dead, 
Deserving never here to be forgot, 
In spight of envie that his deeds would 

spot: 
Since whose decease, learning lies unre- 
garded, 440 
And men of armes doo wander unrewarded. 

' Those two be those two great calamities, 
That long agoe did grieve the noble 

spright 
Of Salomon with great indignities. 
Who whilome was alive the wisest wight : 
But now his wisedome is disprooved 

quite ; 446 

For he, that now welds all things at his 

will, 
Scorns th' one and th' other in his deeper 

skill. 

* O grief e of grief es ! O gall of all good 

heartes ! 
To see that vertue should dispised bee 450 
Of him, that first was raisde for vertuous 

parts. 
And now, broad spreading like an aged 

tree. 
Lets none shoot up that nigh him planted 

bee: 
O let the man, of whom the Muse is 

scorned, 
Nor alive nor dead be of the Muse 

adorned ! 455 

' O vile worlds trust ! that with such vaine 
illusion 



6io 



THE RUINES OF TIME. 



[L- 457-531. 



Hath so wise men bewitclit, and overkest, 
That they see not the way of their con- 
fusion. 

vainesse ! to he added to the rest, 
That do my soule with inward griefe 

infest : 460 

Let them behold the piteous fall of mee, 
And in my case their owne ensample see. 

' And who so els that sits in highest seate 
Of this worlds glorie, worshipped of all 
Ne feareth change of time, nor fortunes 
threate, 465 

Let him behold the horror of my fall, 
And his owne unto remembrance call ; 
That of like ruine he may warned bee, 
And in himselfe be moov'd to pittie mee.' 

Thus having ended all her piteous plaint, 
With dolefull shrikes shee vanished 

away, 471 

That I, through inward sorrowe wexen 

faint, 
And all astonished with deepe dismay, 
For her departure, had no word to say ; 
But sate long time in sencelesse sad 

affright, 475 

Looking still, if I might of her have sight. 

Which when I missed, having looked long. 
My thought returned greeved home againe. 
Renewing her complaint with passion 

strong, 
For ruth of that same womans piteous 

paine ; 480 

Whose wordes recording in my troubled 

braine, 

1 felt such anguish wound my feeble heart, 
That f rosen horror ran through everie part. 

So inlie greeving in my groning brest. 
And deepelie muzing at her doubtfull 

speach, 485 

Whose meaning much I labored foorth to 

wreste. 
Being above my slender reasons reach ; 
At length, by demonstration me to teach. 
Before mine eies strange sights presented 

were. 
Like tragicke Pageants seeming to ap- 

peare. 490 

I. 

I SAW an Image, all of massie gold, 
Placed on high upon an Altare faire, 
That all, which did the same from farre 

beholde, 
Might worship it, and fall on lowest staire. 
Not that great Idoll might with this com- 

paire, 495 

To which th' Assyrian tyrant would have 

made 
The holie brethren falslie to have praid. 



But th' Altare, on the which this Image 

staid, 
Was (O great pitie !) built of brickie clay, 
That shortly the foundation decaid, 500 
With showres of heaven and tempests 

worne away; 
Then downe it fell, and low in ashes 

lay, 
Scorned of everie one, which by it went ; 
That I, it seeing, dearelie did lament. 



Next unto this a statelie Towre appeared, 
Built all of richest stone that might bee 

found, 506 

And nigh unto the Heavens in height 

upreared, 
But placed on a plot of sandie ground : 
Not that great Towre, which is so much 

renownd 
For tongues confusion in Holie Writ, 510 
King Ninus worke, might be compar'd 

to it. 

But O vaine labours of terrestriall wit, 
That buildes so stronglie on so frayle a 

soyle. 
As with each storme does fall away, and 

flit. 
And gives the fruit of all your travailes 

toyle 515 

To be the pray of Tyme, and Fortunes 

spoyle ! 
I saw this Towre fall sodainelie to dust, 
That nigh with grief e thereof my heart 

was brust. 



Then did I see a pleasant Paradize, 

Full of sweete flowres and daintiest 

delights, 520 

Such as on earth man could not more 

devize. 
With pleasures choyce to feed his cheere- 

fuU sprights: 
Not that, which Merlin by his magicke 

slights 
Made for the gentle Squire, to entertaine 
His fayre Belphoebe, could this gardiue 

staine. ^ 525 

But O short pleasure, bought with lasting 

paine ! 
Why will hereafter anie flesh delight 
In earthlie blis, and joy in pleasures 

vaine, 
Since that I sawe this gardine wasted 

quite, 
That where it was scarce seemed anie 

sight? 5,30 

That I, which once that beau tie did 

beholde. 



L. 532-600.] 



THE RUINES OF TIME. 



611 



Could not from teares my melting eyes 
witliholde. 

IV. 

Soone after this a Giaunt came in place, 
Of wondrous powre, and of exceeding 

stature, 
That none durst vewe the horror of his 

face, 535 

Yet was he milde of speach, and meeke 

of nature : 
Not he, which in despight of his Creatour 
With railing tearmes defied the Jewish 

hoast. 
Might with this mightie one in hugenes 

boast ; 

For from the one he could to th' other 

coast 540 

Stretch his strong thighes, and th' Ocean 

. overstride, 
And reatch his hand into his enemies 

hoast. 
But see the end of pompe and fleshlie 

pride ! 
One of his feete unwares from him did 

slide, 
That downe hee fell into the deepe 

Abisse, 545 

Where drownd with him is all his earthlie 

blisse. 

V. 

Then did I see a Bridge, made all of 

golde, 
Over the Sea from one to other side, 
Withouten prop or pillour it t' upholde, 
But like the coloured Rainbowe arched 

wide : 550 

Not that great Arche, which Trajan edi- 

fide, 
To be a wonder to all age ensuing, 
AVas matchable to this in equall vewing. 

But (ah!) what bootes it to see earthlie 

thing 
In glorie, or in greatnes to excell, 555 
Sith time doth greatest things to mine 

bring ? 
This goodlie bridge, one foote not fastned 

well, 
Gan faile, and all the rest downe shortlie 

fell, 
Ne of so brave a building ought remained, 
That griefe thereof my spirite greatly 

pained. 560 

VI. 

I saw two Beares, as white as anie milke, 

Lying together in a mightie cave, 

Of milde aspect, and haire as soft as 

silke. 
That salvage nature seemed not to have, 



Nor after greedie spoyle of bloud to 
crave : 5(55 

Two fairer beasts might not elswhere be 
found. 

Although the compast world were sought 
around. 

But what can long abide above this 

ground 
In state of blis, or stedfast happinesse? 
The Cave, in which these Beares lay 

slecphig sound, 570 

Was but earth, and with her owne weigh t- 

inesse. 
Upon them fell, and did unwares op- 

presse ; 
That, for great sorrow of their sudden 

fate. 
Henceforth all worlds felicitie I hate. 

Tf Much was I troubled in my heavie 

spright, 575 

At sight of these sad spectacles fo repast, 
Tbat all my senses were bereaved quight. 
And I in minde remained sore agast, 
Distraught twixt feare and pitie ; when 

at last 
I heard a voyce, which loudly to me 

called, 580 

That with the suddein shrill I was 

appaled. 

Behold (said it) and by ensample see, 
That all is vanitie and griefe of minde, 
Ne other comfort in this world can be. 
But hope of heaven, and heart to God 

iuclinde ; 585 

For all the rest must needs be left 

behinde : 
With that it bad me, to the other side 
To cast mine eye, where other sights I 

spide. 

I. 

Upon that famous Rivers further shore, ■ 
There stood a snowie Swan of heavenly 

hiew, 590 

And gentle kinde as ever Fowle afore ; 
A fairer one in all the goodlie criew 
Of white Strimonian brood might no man 

view: 
There he most sweetly sung the prophecie 
Of his owne death in dolefull Elegie. 595 

At last, when all his mourning melodie 
He ended had, that both the shores 

resounded, 
Feeling the fit that him forewarnd to die, 
With loftie flight above the earth he 

bounded. 
And out of sight to highest heaven 

mounted, (iOO 



6l2 



THE RUINES OF TIME. 



[l. 601-667. 



Where now he is become an heavenly 

signe, 
There now the joy is his, here sorrow 

mine. 

II. 

Whilest thus I looked, loe! adowne the 

Lee 
I sawe an Harpe stroong all with silver 

twyne, 
And made of golde and costlie y vorie, 605 
Swimming, that whylome seemed to have 

been 
The Harpe on which Dan Orpheus was 

scene 
Wylde beasts and forrests after him to 

lead, 
But was th' Harpe of Philisides now 

dead. 

At length out of the River it was 
reard 610 

And borne above the cloudes to be 
divin'd, 

Whilst all the way most heavenly noyse 
was heard 

Of the strings, stirred with the warbling 
wind, 

That wrought both joy and sorrow in my 
mind: 

So now in heaven a signe it doth ap- 
peare, 615 

The Harpe well knowne beside the North- 
ern Beare. 

III. 

Soone after this I saw, on th' other side, 
A curious Coffer made of Heben wood. 
That in it did most precious treasure 

hide, 
Exceeding all this baser worldes good : 620 
Yet through the overflowing of the flood 
It almost drowned was, and done to 

nought. 
That sight thereof much griev'd my pen- 
sive thought. 

At length, when most in perill it was 

brought. 
Two Angels, downe descending with swift 

flight, 625 

Out of the swelling streame it lightly 

caught, 
And twixt their blessed armes it carried 

quight 
Above the reach of anie living sight : 
So now it is transform 'd into that starre, 
In which all heavenly treasures locked 

are. 630 

IV. 

Looking aside I saw a stately Bed, 
Adorned all with costly cloth of gold, 



That might for anie Princes couche be 

red. 
And deckt with daintie flowres, as if it 

shold 
Be for some bride, her joyous night to 

hold : 635 

Therein a goodly Virgine sleeping lay ; 
A fairer wight saw never summers day. 

I heard a voyce that called farre away. 
And her awaking bad her quickly dight. 
For lo! her Bridegrome was in readie 

ray 640 

To come to her, and seeke her loves 

delight. 
With that she started up with cherefuU 

sight, 
When suddeinly both bed and all was gone, 
And I in languor left there all alone. . 



Still as I gazed, I beheld where stood 645 
A Knight all arm'd, upon a winged 

steed ; 
The same that bred was of Medusaes 

blood. 
On which Dan Perseus, borne of heavenly 

seed, 
The faire Andromeda from perill freed : 
Full mortally this Knight ywounded 

was, 650 

That streames of blood foorth flowed on 

the gras. 

Yet was he deckt (small joy to him, 

alas!) 
With manie garlands for his victories, 
And with rich spoyles, which late he did 

purchas 
Through brave atcheivements from his 

enemies ; 655 

Fainting at last through long infirmities, 
He smote his steed, that straight to 

heaven him bore. 
And left me here his losse for to deplore. 

VI. 

Lastly I saw an Arke of purest golde 
Upon a brazen pillour standing hie, 660 
Which th' ashes seem'd of some great 

Prince to hold, 
Enclosde therem for endles memorie 
Of him, whom all the world did glorifie: 
Seemed the heavens with the earth did 

disagree. 
Whether should of those ashes keeper 

bee. 665 

At last me seem'd wing-footed Mercuric, 
From heaven descending to appease their 
strife, 



L. 668-686.] 



THE RUINES OF TIME. 



613 



The Arke did beare with him above the 

skie, 
And to those ashes gave a second life, 
To live in heaven where happines is 

rife : 670 

At which the earth did grieve exceedingly, 
And I for dole was almost like to die. 

L' Envoy. 

Immortall spirite of Philisides, 

Which now art made the heavens orna- 
ment, 

That whilome wast the worldes chiefst 
riches, 675 

Give leave to him that lov'de thee to 
lament 

His losse, by lacke of thee to heaven 
hent, 



And with last duties of this broken verse, 
Broken with sighes, to decke thy sable 
Herse ! 

And ye, faire Ladie, th' honour of your 

dales, 680 

Andglorie of the world your high thoughts 

scorne, 
Vouchsafe this moniment of his last 

praise 
With some few silver-dropping teares t' 

adorne ; 
And as ye be of heavenlie off-spring 

borne. 
So unto heaven let your high minde 

aspire, 685 

And loath this drosse of sinful! worlds 

desire 1 



THE TEARES OF THE MUSES. 

BY ED. SP. 



TO THE EIGHT HONOBABLB 



THE LADIE STRANGE. 



Most brave and noble Ladie, the things, 
that make ye so much honored of the 
world as ye bee, are such, as (without my 
simple lines testimonie) are tliroughlie 
knowen to all men ; namely, your excel- 
lent beautie, your vertuous behavior, and 
your noble match with that most honour- 
able Lord, the verie Paterne of right 
Nobilitie: But the causes for which ye 
have thus deserved of me to be honoured 
(if honour it be at all) are, both your 
particular bounties, and also some private 
bands of afi&nitie, which it hath pleased 
your Ladiship to acknowledge. Of which 
whenas I found my selfe in no part 
worthie, I devised this last slender meanes, 



both to intimate ray humble affection to 
your Ladiship, and also to make the same 
universallie knowen to the world ; that 
by honouring you they might know me, 
and by knowing me they might honor 
you. Vouchsafe, noble Lady, to accept 
this simi)le remembrance, thogh not 
worthy of your self, yet such as, per- 
haps, by good acceptance thereof, ye may 
hereafter cxill out a more meet and mem- 
orable evidence of your own excellent 
deserts. So, recommending the same to 
your Ladiships good liking, I humbly 
take leave. 

Your La : humbly ever. 

ED. SP. 



THE TEAEES OF THE MUSES. 



Rehearse to me, ye sacred Sisters nine. 
The golden brood of great Apolloes wit, 
Those piteous plaints and sorrowfull sad 

tine, 
Which late ye powred forth as ye did sit 
Beside the silver Springs of Helicone, 5 
Making your musick of hart-breaking 

mone. 

For since the time that Phoebus foolish 

Sonne 
Ythundered, through Joves avengefull 

wrath. 
For traversing the charret of the Sunne 
Beyond the compasse of his pointed 

path, 10 

Of you, his mournful! Sisters, was 

lamented. 
Such mournfull tunes were never since 

invented. 

Nor since that faire Calliope did lose 
Her loved Twiunes, the dear lings of her joy , 



Her Palici, whom her unkindly foes, 15 
The fatall Sisters, did for spight destroy, 
Whom all the Muses did bewaile long 



Was ever heard such way ling in this 
place. 

Fqr all their groves, which with the 

heavenly uoyses 
Of their sweete instruments were wont to 

sound, 20 

And th' hollow hills, from which their 

silver voyces 
Were wont redoubled Echoes to rebound. 
Did now rebound with .nought but rufull 

cries. 
And yelling shrieks throwne up into the 

skies. 

The trembling streames, which wont in 
chanels cleare 25 

To romble gently downe with murmur 
soft, 



614 



L. 27- -95.] 



THE TEARES OF THE MUSES. 



615 



And were by them right tuuefull taught 

to beare 
A Bases part amongst their consorts oft, 
Now, forst to overtiow with brackish 

teares, 
With troublous noyse did dull their daintie 

eares. 30 

The joyous Nymphes and lightfoote 

Faeries 
Which thether came to heare their musick 

sweet. 
And to the measure of their melodies 
Did learne to move their nimble-shifting 

feete, 
Now, hearing them so heavily lament, 35 
Like heavily lamenting from them went. 

And all that els was wont to worke 

delight 
Through the divine infusion of their skill, 
And all that els seemd faire and fresh in 

sight, 
So made by nature for to serve their 

will, 40 

Was turned now to dismall heavinesse, 
Was turned now to dreadfull uglinesse. 

Ay me! what thing on earth, that all 

thing breeds, 
Might be the cause of so impatient plight ? 
What furie, or what feend with felon 

deeds 45 

Hath stirred up so mischievous despight ? 
Can grief e then enter into heavenly harts, 
And pierce immortall breasts with mortal! 

smarts ? 

Vouchsafe ye then, whom onely it con- 

cernes. 
To me those secret causes to display; 50 
For none but you, or who of you it 

learnes. 
Can rightfully aread so dolefull lay. 
Begin, thou eldest Sister of the crew. 
And let the rest in order thee ensew. 

Clio. 
Heare, thou great Father of the Gods on 

hie, 55 

That most art dreaded for thy thunder 

darts ; 
And thou, our Syre, that raignst in 

Castalie 
And mount Parnasse, the God of goodly 

Arts : 
Heare, and behold the miserable state 
Of us, thy daughters, dolefull desolate. 60 

Behold the fowle reproach and open 
shame, 



The which is day by day unto us wrought 
By such as hate the honour of our name, 
The foes of learning and each gentle 

thought ; 
They, not contented us themselves to 

scorne, (i5 

Doo seeke to make us of the world for- 

lorne, 

Ne onely they that dwell in lowly dust, 
The sonnes of darknes and of igiioraunce, 
But they, whom thou, great Jove, by 

doome unjust 
Didst to the type of honour earst ad- 
vaunce ; 70 

They now, puft up with sdeignfull in- 
solence. 
Despise the brood of blessed Sapience. 

The sectaries of my celestiall skill, 

That wont to be the worlds chiefe 
ornament, 

And learned Impes that wont to shoote up 
still, 75 

And grow to height of kingdom es govern- 
ment. 

They underkeep, and with their spredding 
armes 

Do beat their buds, that perish through 
their harmes. 

It most behoves the honorable race 

Of mightie Peeres true wisedome to 

sustaine, 80 

And with their noble countenaunce to 

grace 
The learned forheads, without gifts or 

gaine ; 
Or rather learnd themselves behoves to 

bee, 
That is the girlond of Nobilitie. 

But (ah!) all otherwise they doo es- 
teeme 85 

Of th' heavenly gift of wisdomes in- 
fluence, 

And to be learned it a base thing deeme : 

Base minded they that want intelligence ; 

For God himselfe for wisedome most is 
praised, 

And men to God thereby are nighest 
raised. 90 

But they doo onely strive themselves to 

raise 
Through pompous pride, and foolish 

van i tie : 
In th' eyes of people they put all their 

praise. 
And onely boast of Armes and Auncestrie, 
But vertuous deeds, which did t'.os" 

Armes first give ii") 



6i6 



THE TEARES OF THE MUSES. 



[l. 96-167. 



To their Grandsyres, they care not to 
atchive. 

So I, that doo all noble feates professe 
To register, and sound in trump of gold, 
Through their bad dooings, or base sloth- 

fulnesse, 
Finde nothing worthie to be writ, or 

told ; 100 

For better farre it were to hide their 

names, 
Than telling them to blazon out their 

blames. 

So shall succeeding ages have no light 
Of things forepast, nor moniments of 

time; 
And all that in this world is worthie 

hight 105 

Shall die in darknesse, and lie hid in slime : 
Therefore I mourne with deep harts 

sorrowing, 
Because I nothing noble have to sing. 

With that she raynd such store of stream- 
ing teares, 

That could have made a stonie heart to 
weep ; 110 

And all her Sisters rent their golden 
heares, 

And their faire faces with salt humour 
steep. 

So ended shee ; and then the next anew, 

Began her grievous plaint as doth ensew. 

Melpomine. 

O! who shall powre into my swollen 

eyes 115 

A sea of teares that never may be dryde, 

A brasen voice that may with shrilling 

cryes 
Pierce the dull heavens and fill the ayer 

wide, 
And yron sides that sighing may endure, 
To waile the wretchednes of world im- 
pure ? 120 

Ah, wretched world! the den of wicked- 

nesse, 
Deformd with filth and fowle iniquitie ; 
Ah, wretched world ! the house of heavi- 

nesse, 
Fild with the wreaks of mortall miserie ; 
Ah, wretched world! and all that is 

therein, 125 

The vassals of Gods wrath, and slaves of 

sin. 

Most miserable creature under sky 
Man without understanding doth ap- 
peare ; 



For all this worlds affliction he thereby, 
And Fortunes freakes, is wisely taught 
to beare: 130 

Of wretched life the onely joy shee is, 
And th' only comfort in calamities. 

She armes the brest with constant patience 
Against the bitter throwes of dolours 

darts : 
She solaceth with rules of Sapience 135 
The gentle minds, in midst of worldlie 

smarts : 
When he is sad, shee seeks to make him 

merie. 
And doth refresh his sprights when they 

be werle. 

But he that is of reasons skill bereft, 
And wants the staffe of wisedome him to 
stay, 140 

Is like a ship in midst of tempest left 
Withouten helme or Pilot her to sway : 
Full sad and dreadfull is that ships event; 
So is the man that wants intendiment. 

Whie then doo foolish men so much de- 
spize 145 

The precious store of this celestiall riches? 

Why doo they banish us, that patronize 

The name of learning? Most unhappie 
wretches ! 

The which lie drowned in deep wretched- 
nes. 

Yet doo not see their owne unhappi- 
ness. 150 

My part it is and my professed skill 
The Stage with Tragick buskin to adorne. 
And fill the Scene with plaint, and out- 
cries shrill 
Of wretched persons to misfortune borne ; 
But none more tragick matter I can 
finde 155 

Than this, of men depriv'd of sense and 
minde. 

For all mans life me seemes a Tragedy, 
Full of sad sights and sore Catastrophees ; 
First comming to the world with weeping 

eye. 
Where all his dayes, like dolorous Tro- 

phees, 160 

Are heapt with spoyles of fortune and of 

feare, 
And he at last laid forth on baleful! beare. 

So all \\ith rufuU spectacles is fild, 
Fit for Megera or Persephone; 
But I that in true Tragedies am skild, 165 
The flowre of wit, finde nought to busie 

me : 
Therefore I mourne, and pitifully mone, 



L. 168-241.] 



THE TEARES OF THE MUSES. 



617 



Because that mourning matter I have 
none. 

Then gan she wofully to waile, and wring 
Her wretched hands in lamentable wise ; 
And all her Sisters, thereto answering, 171 
Threw forth lowd shrieks and drerie dole- 
full cries. 
So rested she ; and then the next in rew 
Began her grievous plaint, as doth eusew. 

Thalia. 

Where be the sweete delights of learnings 
treasure 175 

That wont with Comick sock to beautefie 

The painted Theaters, and fill with pleas- 
ure 

The listners eyes and eares with melodic ; 

In which I late was wont to raine as 
Queene, 

And maske in mirth with Graces well 
? 180 



O ! all is gone ; and all that goodly glee. 
Which wont to be the glorie of gay wits, 
Is layd abed, and no where now to see; 
And in her roome unseemly Sorrow sits. 
With hollow browes and greisly counte- 
naunce, 185 

Marring my joyous gentle dalliaunce. 

And him beside sits ugly Barbarisme, 
And brutish Ignorance, ycrept of late 
Out of dredd darknes of the deepe Abysme, 
Where being bredd, he light and heaven 

does hate : 190 

They in the mindes of men now tyrannize. 
And the faire Scene with rudenes foule 

disguize. 

All places they with follie have possest, 
And with vaine toyes the vulgare enter- 

taine ; 
But me have banished, with all the rest 195 
That whilome wont to wait upon my 

traine. 
Fine Counterfesaunce, and unhurtfull 

Sport, 
Delight, and Laughter, deckt in seemly 

sort. 

All these, and all that els the Comick 

Stage 
With seasoned wit and goodly pleasance 

graced, 200 

By which mans life in his likest image 
Was limnedforth, are wholly now defaced ; 
And those sweete wits, which wont the 

like to frame, 
Are now despizd, and made a laughing 

game. 



And he, the man whom Nature selfe had 
made 205 

To mock her selfe, and Truth to imitate, 
With kindly counter under Mimick shade. 
Our pleasant AVilly , ah ! is dead of late : 
With whom all joy and jolly meriment 
Is also deaded, and in dolour drent. 210 

In stead thereof scoffing Scurrilitie, 
And scornfuU Follie with Contempt is 

crept. 
Rolling in rymes of shameles ribaudrie 
Without regard, or due Decorum kept; 
Each idle wit at will presumes to make, 
And doth the Learneds taske upon him 

take. 216 

But that same gentle Spirit, from whose 
pen 

Large streames of honnie and sweete Nec- 
tar flowe. 

Scorning the boldnes of such base-borne 
men, 

Which dare their follies forth so rashlie 
throwe, 220 

Doth rather choose to sit in idle Cell, 

Than so himselfe to mockerie to sell. 

So am I made the servant of the manie, 
And laughing stocke of all that list to 

scorne ; 
Not honored nor cared for of anie, 225 
But loath'd of losels as a thing forlorne: 
Therefore I mourne and sorrow with the 

rest, 
Untill my cause of sorrow be redrest. 

Therewith she lowdly did lament and 

shrike. 
Pouring forth streames of teares abun- 
dantly ; 230 
And all her Sisters, with compassion like. 
The breaches of her singults did supply. 
So rested shee ; and then the next in rew 
Began her grievous plaint, as doth ensew. 

Euterpe. 

Like as the dearling of the Summers 
pryde, 235 

Faire Philomele, when winters stormie 
wrath 

The goodly fields, that earst so gay were 
dyde 

In colours. divers, quite despoyled hath, 

All comfortlesse doth hide her chearlesse 
head 

During the time of that her widow- 
head : 240 

So we, that earst were wont in sweet 
accord 



6i8 



THE TEARES OF THE MUSES. 



[l. 242-313. 



All places with our pleasant notes to fill, 
Whilest favourable times did us aiford 
Free libertie to chaunt our charmes at 

will, 
All comfortlesse upon the bared bow, 245 
Like wof ull Culvers, doo sit wayling now, 

For far more bitter storme than winters 

stowre 
The beautie of the world hath lately 

wasted, 
And those fresh buds, which wont so faire 

to flowre, 
Hath marred quite, and all their blossoms 

blasted ; 250 

And those yong plants, which wont with 

fruit t'abound, 
Now without fruite or leaves are to be 

found. 

A stonie coldnesse hath benumbd the 

sence 
And livelie spirits of each living wight, 
And dimd with darknesse their intelli- 
gence, 255 
Darknesse more than Cymerians daylie 

night : 
And monstrous error, flying in the ayre. 
Hath mard the face of all that semed 
fayre. 

Image of hellish horrour, Ignorance, 
Borne in the bosome of the black Abysse, 
And fed with Furies milke for suste- 

naunce 261 

Of his weake infancie, begot amisse 
By yawning Sloth on his owne mother 

Night ; 
So hee his sonnes both Syre and brother 

hight. 

He, armd with blindnesse and with bold- 
nes stout, 265 

(For blind is bold) hath our fayre light 
defaced ; 

And, gathering unto him a ragged rout 

Of Faunes and Satyres, hath our dwell- 
ings raced 

And our chast bowers, in which all vertue 
rained, 

With brutishnesse and beastlie filth hath 
stained. 270 

The sacred springs of horsefoot Helicon, 
So oft bedeawed with our learned layes. 
And speaking streames of pure Castalion, 
The famous witnesse of our wonted praise. 
They trampled have with their fowle foot- 
ings trade, 275 
And like to troubled puddles have them 
made. 



Our pleasant groves, which planted were 

with paines. 
That with our musick wont so oft to ring, 
And arbors sweet, in which the Shep- 

heards swaines 
Were wont so oft their Pastoralls to sing, 
They have cut downe, and all their 

pleasaunce mard, 281 

That now no pastorall is to bee hard. 

Instead of them, fowle Goblins and Shriek- 

owles 
With fearf ull howling do all places fill ; 
And feeble Eccho now laments and 

howles 285 

The dreadfull accents of their outcries 

shrill. 
So all is turned into wildernesse, 
Whilest Ignorance the Muses doth op- 

presse. 

And I, whose joy was earst with Spirit 

full 
To teach the warbling pipe to sound 

aloft, 290 

My spirits now dismayd with sorrow dull 
Doo mone my miserie with silence soft : 
Therefore I mourne and waile incessantly, 
Till please the heavens affoord me remedy. 

Therewith shee wayled with exceeding 
woe, 295 

And pitious lamentation did make ; 
And all her sisters, seeing her doo soe, 
With equall plaints her sorrowe did par- 
take. 
So rested shee ; and then the next in rew 
Began her grievous plaint, as doth ensew. 

Terpsichore. 
Whoso hath in the lap of soft delight 301 
Beene long time luld, and fed with pleas- 
ures sweet, 
Feareles through his own fault or For- 
tunes spight 
To tumble into sorrow and regreet, 
Yf chaunce him fall into calamitie, 305 
Findes greater burthen of his miserie. 

So wee that earst in joyance did abound, 
And in the bosome of all blis did sit, 
Like virgin Queenes, with laurell garlands 

cround 
For vertues meed and ornament of wit, 310 
Sith ignorance our kingdome did con- 
found. 
Bee now become most wretched wightes 
on ground. 

And in our royall thrones, which lately 
stood 



L. 314-386.] 



THE TEARES OF THE MUSES. 



619 



In th' hearts of meu to rule them care- 
fully, 
He now hath placed his accursed hrood, 
By him begotten of fowle infamy; 316 
Blind Error, scornel'uU Follie, and base 

Spight, 
Who hold by wrong that wee should have 
by right. 

They to the vulgar sort now pipe and sing, 

And make them merrie with their fool- 
eries ; 320 

They cherelie chaunt, and rymes at ran- 
dom fling, 

The fruitf ull spawne of their ranke fanta- 
sies: 

They feede the eares of fooles with 
flattery. 

And good men blame, and losels magnifj'". 

All places they doo with their toyes pos- 

sesse, 325 

And raigne in liking of the multitude : 
The schooles they fill with fond new 

fanglenesse, 
And sway in Court with pride and rash- 

ues rude ; 
Mongst simple shepheards they do boast 

their skill. 
And sav their musicke matcheth Phffibus 

quill. 330 

The noble hearts to pleasures they allure. 
And tell their Prince that learning is but 

vaine : 
Faire Ladies loves they spot with thoughts 

impure, 
And gentle mindes with lewd delights 

distaine ; 
Clerks they to loathly idlenes entice, 335 
And fill their bookes with discipline of 

vice. 

So every where they rule, and tyrannize, 
For their usurped kingdomes mainten- 

aunce, 
The whiles we silly Maides, whom they 

dispize 
And with reprochfull scorne discounte- 

naunce, 340 

From our owne native heritage exildc, 
Walk through the world of every one 

revilde. 

Nor anie one doth care to call us in, 
Or once vouchsafeth us to entertaine, 344 
Unlesse some one perhaps of gentle kin, 
For pitties sake compassion our paine. 
And yeeld us some reliefe in this dis- 

tresse ; 
Yet to be so reliev'd is wretcheduesse. 



So wander we all carefull comfortlesse, 
Yet none doth care to comfort us at all ; 
So seeke we helpe our sorrow to redresse , 
Yet none vouchsafes to answere to our 

call ; 352 

Therefore we mourne and pittilesse com- 

plaine, 
Because none living pittieth our paine. 

With that she wept and wofullie way- 
mented, 355 

That naught on earth her griefe might 
pacific ; 

And all the rest her dolefull din aug- 
mented 

With shrikes and groanes and grievous 
agonie 358 

So ended shee ; and then the next in rew 

Began her piteous plaint, as doth ensew. 

Erato. 
Ye gentle Spirits, breathing from above, 
Where ye in Venus silver bowre were bred, 
Thoughts halfe devine, full of the fire of 

love, 
With beawtie kindled, and with pleasure 

fed. 
Which ye now in securitie possesse, 365 
Forget full of your former heavinesse ; 

Now change the tenor of your joyous 

layes. 
With which ye use your loves to deifie, 
And blazon foorth an earthlie beauties 

praise 
Above the compasse of the arched skie ; 
Now change your praises into piteous 

cries, 371 

And Eulogies turne into Elegies. 

Such as ye wont, whenas those bitter 

stounds 
Of raging love first gan you to torment, 
And launch your hearts with lamentable 

wounds 375 

Of secret sorrow and sad languishment. 
Before your Loves did take you unto 

grace ; 
Those now renew, as fitter for this place. 

For I that rule in measure moderate 
The tempest of that stormie passion, 380 
.\iid use to paint in rimes the troublous 

state 
Of Lovers life in likest fashion, 
Am put from practise of my kindlie skill, 
Banisht by those that Love with leawdnes 

fill. 384 

Love wont to be schoolmaster of my skill, 
And the devicef all matter of my song ; 



^20 



THE TEARES OF THE MUSES. 



[l. 387-464. 



Sweete Love devoyd of villanie or ill, 
But pure and spotles, as at first he sprong 
Out of th' Almighties bosome, where he 
nests ; 389 

From thence infused into mortall brests. 

Such high conceipt of that celestiall fire, 
The base-borne brood of blindnes cannot 



Ne ever dare their dunghill thoughts 

aspire 
Unto so loftie pitch of perfectnesse, 394 
But rime at riot, and doo rage in love ; 
Yet little wote what doth thereto behove. 

Faire Cytheree, the Mother of delight, 
And Queene of beautie, now thou maist 

go pack ; 
For lo ! thy Kingdome is defaced quight, 
Thy scepter rent, and power put to wrack ; 
And thy gay Sonne, that winged God of 

Love, 401 

May now goe prune his plumes like ruffed 

Dove. 

And ye three Twins, to light by Venus 

brought. 
The sweete companions of the Muses 

late. 
From whom what ever thing is goodly 

thought, 405 

Doth borrow grace, the f ancie to aggrate ; 
Go beg with us, and be companions still, 
As heretofore of good, so now of ill. 

For neither you nor we shall anie more 
Find entertainment or in Court or Schoole ; 
For that which was accounted heretofore 
The leameds meed is now lent to the 

foole: 412 

He sings of love, and maketh loving 

layes, 
And they him heare, and they him highly 

prayse. 

With that she powred foorth a brackish 

flood ' 415 

Of bitter teares, and made exceeding 

mone ; 
And all her Sisters, seeing her sad mood. 
With lowd laments her answered all at 

one. 
So ended she ; and then the next in rew 
Began her grievous plaint, as doth ensew. 

Calliope. 

To whom shall I my evill case complaine, 
Or tell the anguish of my inward smart, 
Sith none is left to remedie my paine. 
Or deignes to pitie a perplexed hart ; 424 
But rather seekes my sorrow to augment 



With fowle reproach, and cruell banish- 
ment? 

For they, to whom I used to applie 
The faithfull service of my learned skill, 
The goodly off-spring of Joves progenie, 
That wont the world with famous acts to 
fill ; 430 

Whose living praises in heroick style. 
It is my chief e profession to compyle ; 

They, all corrupted through the rust of 

time 
That doth all fairest things on earth 

deface, 
Or through unnoble sloth, or sinful! crime. 
That doth degenerate the noble race, 436 
Have both desire of worthie deeds for- 

lorne, 
And name of learning utterly doo scorne. 

Ne doo they care to have the auncestrie 
Of th' old Heroes memorizde anew ; 440 
Ne doo they care that late posteritie 
Should know their names, or speak their 

praises dew. 
But die forgot from whence at first they 

sprong. 
As they themselves shalbe forgot ere long. 

What bootes it then to come from glori- 
ous 445 
Forefathers, or to have been nobly bredd ? 
What oddes twixt Irus and old Inachus, 
Twixt best and worst, when both alike 

are dedd; 
If none of neither mention should make, 
Nor out of dust their memories awake? 

Or who would ever care to doo brave deed. 
Or strive in vertue others to excell, 452 
If none should yeeld him his deserved 

meed. 
Due praise, that is the spur of dooing 

well? 
For if good were not praised more than 

ill, 455 

None would choose goodnes of his owne 

free-will. 

Therefore the nurse of vertue I am hight, 

And golden Trompet of eternitie. 

That lowly thoughts lift up to heavens 

hight, ^ 459 

And mortall men have powre to deifie : 
Bacchus and Hercules I raisd to heaven, 
And Charlemaine amongst the Starris 

seaven. 

But now I will my golden Clarion rend, 
And will henceforth immortalize no more ; 



L. 465-532.] 



THE TEARES OF THE MUSES. 



621 



Sith I no more finde worthie to commend 
For prize of value, or for learned lore : 
For noble Peeres, whom I was wont to 

raise, 467 

Now onely seeke for pleasure, nought for 

praise. 

Their great revenues all in sumptuous 

pride 
They spend, that nought to learning they 

may spare ; 470 

And the rich fee, which Poets wont 

divide. 
Now Parasites and Sycophants doo share : 
Therefore I mourne and endlesse sorrow 

make. 
Both for my selfe and for my Sisters sake. 

With that she lowdly gan to waile and 

shrike, 475 

And from her eyes a sea of teares did 

powre ; 
And all her sisters, with compassion 

like. 
Did more increase the sharpnes of her 

showre. 
So ended she ; and then the next in rew 
Began her plaint, as doth herein ensew. 

Urania. 

What wrath of Gods, or wicked influence 
Of Starres conspiring wretched men t' 
afflict, 482 

Hath powrd on earth this noyous pesti- 
lence, 
That mortall mindes doth inwardly infect 
With love of blindnesse and of ignorance. 
To dwell in darkenesse without sove- 
nance ? 486 

What difference twixt man and beast is 

left, 
When th' heavenlie light of knowledge is 

put out. 
And th' ornaments of wisdome are bereft ? 
Then wandreth he in error and in doubt, 
Unweeting of the danger hee is in, 491 
Through fleshes frailtie, and deceipt of 

sin. 

In this wide world in which they, wretches, 

stray, 
It is the onelie comfort which they 

have. 
It is their light, their loadstarre, and their 

day ; 495 

But hell, and darkenesse, and the grislie 

grave, 
Is ignorance, the enemy of grace. 
That mindes of men borne heavenlie doth 

debace. 



Through knowledge we behold the worlds 

creation. 
How in his cradle first he fostred was ; 500 
And judge of Natures cunning operation. 
How things she formed of a formelesse 

mas: 
By knowledge wee do learne our selves to 

knowe 
And what to man, and what to God, wee 

owe. 

From hence wee mount aloft unto the 
skie, 505 

And looke into the Christall firmament : 
There we behold the heavens great Hier- 
archic, 
The Starres pure light, the Spheres swift 

movement, 
The Spirites and Intelligences fayre. 
And Angels waighting on th' Almighties 
chayre. 510 

And there, with humble minde and high 

insight, 
Th' eternall Makers majestie wee viewe. 
His love, his truth, his glorie, and his 

might, 
And mercie more than mortall men can 

vew. 

soveraigne Lord! O soveraigne happi- 

nesse, 515 

To see thee, and thy mercie measurelesse ! 

Such happinesse have they that doo em- 
brace 

The precepts of my heavenlie discipline ; 

But shame and sorrow and accursed case 

Have they that scorne the schoole of arts 
divine, 620 

And banish me, which do professe the 
skill 

To make men heavenly wise through hum- 
bled will. 

How ever yet they mee despise and spight, 

1 feede on sweet contentment of my 

thought. 
And please my selfe with mine owne selfe- 

delight, 525 

In contemplation of things heavenlie 

wrought : 
So, loathing earth, I looke up to the sky. 
And, being driven hence, I thether fly. 

Thence I behold the miserie of men, 
Which want the blis that wisedom would 

them breed, 5C0 

And like brute beasts doo lie in loathsome 

den 
Of ghostly darkenes, and of gastlie 

dreed ; 



622 



THE TEARES OF THE MUSES. 



[L. 533-600. 



For whom I mourue, and for my selfe 

complaiue, 
And for my Sisters eake whom they dis- 

daiue. 1 

With that shee wept and waild so pity- 

ouslie, 535 

As if her eyes had heene two springing 

wells ; 
And all the rest, her sorrow to supplie, 
Diil throw forth shrieks and cries and 

dreery yells. 
So ended shee; and then the next in 

rew 
Began her mournfull plaint, as doth 

ensew. 540 

Polyhymnia. 

A dolefull case desires a dolefull song, 
Without vaine art or curious comple- 
ments ; 
And squallid Fortune, into basenes flong, 
Doth scorne the pride of wonted orna- 
ments : 
Then fittest are these ragged rimes for 
mee, 545 

To tell my sorrowes that exceeding bee. 

For the sweet numbers and melodious 
measures. 

With which I wont the winged words to 
tie, 

And make a tunefull Diapase of pleas- 
ures, 

Now being let t© runne at libertie 550 

By those which have no skill to rule them 
right, 

Have now quite lost their naturall delight. 

Heapes of huge wordes uphoorded hide- 
ously, 
With horrid sound though having little 

sence, 
They thinke to be chiefe praise of Poetry ; 
And, thereby wanting due intelligence, 556 
Have mard the face of goodly Poesie, 
And made a monster of their fantasie. 

Whilom in ages past none might professe 
But Princes and high Priests that secret 

skill ; 560 

The sacred lawes therein they wont ex- 

presse. 
And with deepe Oracles their verses 

fill: 
Then was shee held in soveraigne dignitie, 
And made the noursling of Nobilitie. 



But now nor Prince nor Priest doth her 
maintayne, 565 

But suffer her prophaned for to bee 
Of the base vulgar, that with hands un- 

cleane 
Dares to pollute her hidden mysterie ; 
And treadeth under foote hirholie things, 
Which was the care of Kesars and of 
Kings. 570 

One onelie lives, her ages ornament. 
And myrrour of her Makers majestic, 
That with rich bountie, and deare cherish- 

ment, 
Supports the praise of noble Poesie; 
Ne onelie favours them which it professe, 
But is her selfe a peereles Poetresse. 576 

Most peereles Prince, most peereles Poet- 
resse, 
The true Pandora of all heavenly graces, 
Divine Elisa, sacred Emperesse! 
Live she for ever, and her royall P'laces 580 
Be fild with praises of divinest wits. 
That her eternize with their heavenlie 
writs ! 

Some few beside this sacred skill esteme. 
Admirers of her glorious excellence ; 
Which, being lightned with her beawties 
heme, 585 

Are thereby fild with happie influence ; 
And lifted up above the world es gaze, 
To sing with Angels her immortall praize. 

But all the rest, as borne of salvage 

brood, 
And having beene with Acorns alwaies 

fed, 590 

Can no whit savour this celestiall food, 
But with base thoughts are into blindnesse 

led, 
And kept from looking on the lightsome 

day: 
For whome I waile and weepe all that I 

may. 

Eftsoones such store of teares shee forth 
did powre, 595 

As if shee all to water would have gone ; 

And all her sisters, seeing her sad stowre. 

Did weep and waile, and made exceed- 
ing mone. 

And all their learned instruments did 
breake : 

The rest untold no living tongue can 
speake. 600 



VIRGILS GNAT. 

LONG SINCE DEDICATED 
TO THE MOST NOBLE AND EXCELLENT LORD, 

THE EARLE OF LEICESTER, 

LATE DECEASED. 



Wrong'd yet not daring to expresse my paine, 
To you (great Lord) the causer of my care, 
In clowdie teares my case I thus complaine 
Unto yourselfe, that onely privie are : 

But if that any Oedipus unware 
Shall chaunce, through power of some divining spright, 
Toreade the secrete of this riddle rare, 
And know the piirporte of my evill plight, 
Let him rest pleased with his owne insight, 
Ne further seeke to glose upon the text ; 
For griefe enough it is to grieved wight 
To feele his fault, and not be further vext. 

But what so by my selfe may not be showen, 
May by this Gnatts complaint be easily knowen. 



yiEGILS GNAT. 



We now have playde (Augustus) wan- 
tonly, 
Tuning ouV song unto a tender Muse, 
And, like a cobweb weaving slenderly, 
Have onely playde: let thus much then 

excuse 
This Gnats small Poeme, that th' whole 
history 5 

Is but a jest, though en vie it abuse : 
But who such sports and sweet delights 

doth blame. 
Shall lighter seeme than this Gnats idle 
name, 

Hereafter, when as season more secure 
Shall bring forth fruit, this Muse shall 
speak to thee 10 

In bigger notes, that may thy sense allure, 
And for thy worth frame some fit Poesie: 
The golden ofspring of Latona pure, 
And ornament of great Joves progenie, 14 
Phoebus, shall be the author of my song. 
Playing on yvorie harp with silver strong. 



He shall inspire my verse with gentle 

mood 
Of Poets Prince, whether he woon beside 
Faire Xanthus sprincled with Chimseras 

blood. 
Or in the woods of Astery abide ; 20 

Or whereas mount Parnasse, the Muses 

brood, 
Doth his broad forhead like two homes 

divide. 
And the sweete waves of sounding Castaly 
With liquid foote doth slide downe easily. 

Wherefore ye Sisters, which the glorie 
bee 25 

Of the Pierian streames, fayre Naiades, 
Go too, and, dauncing all in companie, 
Adorne that God: and thou holie Pales, 
To whome the honest care of husbandrie 
Return eth by continuall successe, 30 

Have care for to pursue his footing light 
Throgh the wide woods and groves, with 
green leaves dight. 



623 



624 



VIRGILS GNAT. 



[l. 33-102. 



Professing thee I lifted am aloft 
Betwixt the foi-rest wide and starrie sky : 
And thou, most dread (Octavius), which 
oft 35 

To learned wits givest courage worthily, 
O come, (thou sacred childe) come slid- 
ing soft, 
And favour my beginnings graciously ; 
For not these leaves do sing that dread- 
full stound. 
When Giants bloud did staine Phlegrsean 
ground. 40 

Nor how th' halfe-horsy people, Centaures 

hight, 
Fought with the bloudie Lapithaes at 

bord : 
Nor how the East with tyranous despight 
Burnt th' Attick towres, and people slew 

with sword ; 
Now how mount Athos through exceeding 

might 45 

Was digged downe ; nor yron bands abord 
The Pontick sea by their huge Navy cast, 
My volume shall reuowne, so long since 

past. 

Nor Hellespont trampled with horses 

feete, 
When flocking Persians did the Greeks 

affray ; 50 

But my soft Muse, as for her power more 

meete, 
Delights (with Phoebus friendly leave) to 

play 
An easie running verse with tender feete. 
And thou, (dread sacred child) to thee 

alway, 
Let everlasting lightsome glory strive, 55 
Through the worlds endles ages to survive. 

And let an happie roome remaine for thee 
Mongst heavenly ranks, where blessed 

soules do rest ; 
And let long lasting life with joyous glee, 
As thy due meede that thoii deservest 

best, GO 

Hereafter many yeares remembered be 
Amongst good men, of whom thou oft are 

blest ; 
Live thou for ever in all happinesse ! 
But let us turne to our first businesse. 

The fiery Sun was mounted now on 
hight 65 

Up to the heavenly towers, and shot each 
where 

Out of his golden Charet glistering light ; 

And fayre Aurora, with her rosie heare. 

The hatefull darknes now had put to 
flight; 



When as the shepheard, seeing day 
appeare, 70 

His little Goats gan drive out of their 
stalls, 

To feede abroad where pasture best 
befalls. 

To an high mountaines top he with them 

went, 
Where thickest grasse did cloath the 

open hills : 
They now amongst the woods and 

thickets ment, 75 

Now in the valleies wandring at their 

wills, 
Spread themselves farre abroad through 

each descent ; 
Some on the soft greene grasse feeding 

their fills, 
Some, clambring through the hollow 

cliffes on hy 
Nibble the bushie shrubs which growe 

thereby. 80 

Others the utmost boughs of trees doe 

crop. 
And brouze the woodbine twigges that 

freshly bud ; 
This with full bit doth catch the utmost 

top 
Of some soft Willow, or new growen 

stud; 
This with sharpe teeth the bramble 

leaves doth lop, 85 

And chaw the tender prickles in her Cud ; 
The whiles another high doth overlooke 
Her owne like image in a christall brooke. 

O ! the great happines, which shepheards 
have, 

Who so loathes not too much the poore 
estate, 90 

With minde that ill use doth before de- 
prave, 

Ne measures all things by the costly rate 

Of riotise, and semblants outward brave! 

No such sad cares, as wont to macerate 

And rend the greedie mindes of covetous 
men, 95 

Do ever creepe into the shepheards den. 

Ne cares he if the fleece, which him 
arayes, 

Be not twice steeped in Assyrian dye; 

Ne glistering of golde, which underlayes 

The summer beames, doe blinde his gaz- 
ing eye ; 100 

Ne pictures beautie, nor the glauncing 
rayes 

Of precious stones, whence no good com- 
meth by ; 



L. 103-168.] 



VIRGILS GNAT. 



625 



Ne yet his cup embost with Imagery 
Of Baetus or of Alcons vanity. 

Ne ought the whelky pearles esteemeth 
hee, 105 

Which are from Indian seas brought far 
away ; 

But with pure brest from caref ull sorrow 
free, 

On the soft grasse his limbs doth oft 
display, 

In sweete spring time, when flowres 
varietie 

Withsundrie colours paints the sprinckled 
lay: 110 

There, lying all ateasefrom guile orspight, 

With pype of fennie reedes doth him de- 
light. 

There he, Lord of himselfe, with palme 

bedight, 
His looser locks doth wrap in wreath of 

vine: 
There his milk-dropping Goats be his 

delight, 115 

And fruitef ull Pales, and theforrest greene, 
And darkesome caves in pleasaunt vallies 

pight. 
Whereas continuall shade is to be seene, 
And where fresh springing wells, as 

christall neate, 
Do alwayes flow to quench his thirstie 

heate. 120 

O! who can lead, then, a more happie life 
Than he, that with cleane minde, and 

heart sincere, 
No greedy riches knowes nor bloudie 

strife. 
No deadly fight of warlick fleete doth 

f eare ; 
Ne runs in perill of foes cruell knife, 125 
That in the sacred temples he may reare 
A trophee of his glittering spoyies and 

treasure, 
Or may abound in riches above measure. 

Of him his God is worshipt with his sythe, 
And not with skill of craftsman 

polished : 130 

He joyes in groves, and makes himselfe 

full blythe 
With sundrie flowers in wilde fieldes 

gathered ; 
Ne frankincens he from Panchsea buyth : 
Sweete quiet harbours in his harmeless 

head, 
And perfect pleasure buildes her joyous 

bowre, 135 

Free from sad cares that rich mens hearts 

devowre. 



This all his care, this all his whole in- 

devour. 
To this his minde and senses he doth 

bend, 
How he may flow in quiets matchles 

treasour, 
Content with any food that God doth 

send ; 140 

And how his limbs, resolv'd through idle 

leisour, 
Unto sweete sleepe he may securely lend 
In some coole shadow from the scorching 

heat. 
The whiles his flock their chawed cuds 

do eate. 

O flocks ! O Faunes ! and O ye pleasaunt 

Springs 145 

Of Tempe! where the countrey Nymphs 

are rife. 
Through whose not costly care each shep- 

heard sings 
As merrie notes upon his rusticke Fife, 
As that Ascrsean bard, whose fame now 

rings 
Through the wide world, and leads as 

joy full life ; 150 

Free from all troubles and from worldly 

toyle. 
In which fond men doe all their dayes 

turmoyle. 

In such delights whilst thus his carelesse 

time 
This Shepheard drives, upleaniug on his 

batt, 
And on shrill reedes chaunting his rustick 

rime, 155 

Hyperion, throwing foorth his beames full 

hott. 
Into the highest top of heaven gan clime. 
And, the w^orld parting by an equall lott. 
Did shed his whirling flames on either 

side. 
As the great Ocean doth himselfe 

divide. 160 

Then gan the shepheard gather into one 
His stragling Goates, and drave them to 

a foord, 
Whose cserule streame, rombling in Pible 

stone, 
Crept under mosse as greene as any 

goord. 
Now had the Sun halfe heaven overgone. 
When he his heard back from that water 

foord 166 

Drave, from the force of Phoebus boyling 

ray, 
Into thick shadowes, there themselves to 

lay. 



626 



VIRGILS GNAT. 



[L. 169-234. 



Soone as he them plac'd in thy sacred 

wood 
(O Delian Goddesse!) saw, to which of 

yore 170 

Came the bad daughter of old Cadmus 

brood, 
Cruell Agave, flying vengeance sore 
Of king Nictileus for the guiltie blood 
Which she with cursed hands had shed 

before ; 
There she halfe frantick, having slaine 

her Sonne, 175 

Did shrowd her selfe like punishment to 

shonne. 

Here also playing on the grassy greene, 
Woodgods, and Satyres, and swift 

Dryades, 
With many Fairies oft were dauncing 

seene. 
Not so much did Dan Orpheus represse 180 
The streames of Hebrus Avith his songs, I 

weene. 
As that faire troupe of woodie God- 



Staied thee, (O Peneus!) powring foorth 

to thee 
From cheerefull lookes great mirth and 

gladsome glee. 

The verie nature of the place, re- 
sounding 185 

With gentle murmure of the breathing 
ayre, 

A pleasant bowre with all delight 
abounding 

In the fresh shadowe did for them 
prepay re. 

To rest their limbs with wearines re- 
dounding. 

For first the high Palme trees, with 
braunches faire, ' 190 

Out of the lowly vallies did arise. 

And high shoote up their heads into the 



And them amongst the wicked Lotos 

grew, 
Wicked for holding guilefully away 
Ulysses men, whom rapt with sweetenes 

new, 195 

Taking to hoste, it quite from him did 

stay; 
And eke those trees, in whose transformed 

hew 
The Sunnes sad daughters waylde the 

rash decay 
Of Phaeton, whose limbs, with lightening 

rent. 
They, gathering up, with sweete tearesdid 

lament. 200 



And that same tree, in which Demophoon, 
By his disloyalty lamented sore, 
Eteruall hurte left unto many one : 
Whom als accompanied the Oke, of yore 
Through fatall charmes trausformd to 

such an one ; 205 

The Oke, whose Acornes were our foode, 

before 
That Ceres seede of mortall men were 

knowne, 
Which first Triptoleme taught how to be 

sowne. 

Here also grew the rougher rinded Pine, 

The great Argoan ships brave orna- 
ment, 210 

Whom golden Fleece did make an 
heavenly signe ; 

Which coveting, with his high tops extent, 

To make the mountaines touch the starres 
divine, 

Decks all the forrest with embellishment; 

And the blacke Holme that loves the 
watrie vale; 215 

And the sweete Cypresse, signe of deadly 
bale. 

Emongst the rest the clambring Yvie 

grew, 
Knitting his wanton armes with grasping 

hold. 
Least that the Poplar happely should rew 
Her brothers strokes, whose boughes she 

doth enfold ' 220 

With her lythe twigs, till they the top 

survew. 
And paint with pallid greene her buds of 

gold. 
Next did the Myrtle tree to her approach, 
Not yet unmindfull of her olde reproach. 

But the small Birds, in their wide boughs 

embowring, 225 

Chaunted their sundrie tunes with sweete 

consent; 
And under them a silver Spring, forth 

powring 
His trickling streames, a gentle murmure 

sent; 
Thereto the frogs, bred in the slimie 

scowring 
Of the moist moores, their jarring voyces 

bent, 230 

And shrill grashoppers chirped them 

around ; 
All which the ayrie Echo did resound. 

In this so pleasant place this Shepheards 

flocke 
Lay everie where, their wearie limbs to 

rest, 



L. 235-300.] 



VIRGILS GNAT. 



627 



On everie bush, and everie hollow 

rocke, 235 

Where breathe on them the whistling 

wind mote best; 
The whiles the Shepheard self, tending 

his stocke, 
Sate by the fountaine side, in shade to 

rest, 
Where gentle slumbring sleep oppressed 

him 
Displaid on ground, and seized everie 

lim. 240 

Of trecherie or traines nought tooke he 

keep. 
But, looslie on the grassie greene dis- 

predd , 
His dearest life did trust to careles sleep ; 
Which, weighing down his drouping 

drowsie hedd, 
In quiet rest his molten heart did 

steep, 245 

Devoid of care, and feare of all falshedd ; 
Had not inconstant fortune, bent to ill, 
Bid strange mischance his quietnes to 

spill. 

For at his wonted time in that same 

place 
An huge great Serpent, all with speckles 

pide, 250 

To drench himselfe in moorish slime did 

trace. 
There from the boyling heate himselfe to 

hide: 
He, passing by with rolling wreathed 

pace. 
With brandisht tongue the emptie aire 

did gride, 
And wrapt his scalie boughts with fell 

despight, 255 

That all things seem'd appalled at his 

sight. 

Now, more and more having himselfe 
enrolde. 

His glittering breast he lifteth up on hie, 

And with proud vaunt his head aloft 
doth holde; 

His creste above, spotted with purple 
die, 260 

On everie side did shine like scalie golde ; 

And his bright eyes, glauncing full 
dreadfullie, 

Did seeme to flame out flakes of flashing 
fyre, 

And with sterne lookes to threaten kin- 
dled yre. 

Thus wise long time he did himselfe dis- 
pace 265 



There round about, when as at last he 

spide. 
Lying along before him in that place. 
That flocks grand Captaine and most 

trustie guide 
Eftsoones more fierce in visage, and in 

pace, 
Throwing his firie eyes on everie side, 270 
He commeth on, and all things in his 

way 
Full stearnly rends that might his passage 

stay. 

Much he disdaines that anie one should 
dare 

To come unto his haunt; for which 
intent 

He inly burns, and gins straight to pre- 
pare 275 

The weapons, which Nature to him hath 
lent : 

Fellie he hisseth, and doth fiercely stare. 

And hath his jawes with angrie spirits 
rent, 

That all ^lis tract with bloudie drops is 
stained 

And all his foldes are now in length out- 
strained. 280 

Wliom, thus at point prepared, to pre- 
vent, 

A litle noursling of the humid ayre, 

A Gnat, unto the sleepie Shepheard 
went ; 

And, marking where his ey-lids twinck- 
ling rare 

Shewd the two pearles which sight unto 
him lent, 285 

Through their thin coverings appearing 
fay re, 

His little needle there infixing deep, 

Warnd him awake, from death himselfe 
to keep. 

Wherewith enrag'd he fiercely gan up- 
start. 
And with his hand him rashly bruzing 
slewe 290 

As in avengement of his heedles smart. 
That straight the spirite out of his senses 

flew, 
And life out of his members did depart: 
When, suddenly casting aside his vew. 
He spide his foe with felonous intent, 295 
And fervent eyes to his destruction bent. 

All suddenly dismaid, and hartles quight. 
He fled abacke, and catching hastie holde 
Of a yong alder hard beside him pight. 
It rent, and streight about him gan 
beholde 300 



628 



VIRGILS GNAT. 



[L. 30I-373- 



What God or Fortune would assist his 

might. 
But whether God or Fortune made him 

bold 
Its hard to read : yet hardie will he had 
To overcome, that made him lesse adrad. 

The scalie backe of that most hideous 

snake 305 

Enwrapped round, oft faining to retire 
And oft him to assaile, he fiercely strake 
Whereas his temples did his crest-front 

tyre; 
And, for he was hut slowe, did slowth off 

shake 
And gazing ghastly on, (for feare and 

"yre 310 

Had blent so much his sense, that lesse 

he feard) 
Yet when he saw him slaine himselfe he 

cheard. 

By this the Night forth from the dark- 
some bowre 
Of Hevebus her teemed steedes gan call, 
And laesie Vesper in his timely howre 315 
From golden Oeta gan proceede withall ; 
When as the Shepheard after this sharpe 

stowre, 
Seeing the doubled shadowes low to fall, 
Gathering his straying flocke, does home- 
ward fare. 
And unto rest his wearie joynts pre- 
pare. 320 

Into whose sense so soone as lighter 

sleepe 
Was entered, and now loosing everie lim, 
Sweete slumbring deaw in carelesnesse 

did steepe. 
The Image of that Gnat appeard to 

him, 
And in sad tearmes gan sorrowfully 

weepe, 325 

With greislie countenaunce and visage 

grim. 
Wailing the wrong which he had done of 

late. 
In steed of good, hastning his cruell fate. 

Said he, ' AVhat have I, wretch, deserv'd, 

that 
Into this bitter bale I am outcast, 330 
Whilest that thy life more deare and 

precious thus 
Was than mine owne, so long as it did 

last? 
I now, in lieu of paines so gracious. 
Am tost in th' ayre with everie windie 

blast : 
Thou, safe delivered from sad decay, 335 



Thy careles limbs in loose sleep dost dis- 
play. 

'So livest thou; but my poore wretched 

ghost 
Is forst to ferrie over Lethes river, 
And spoyld of Charon too and fro am 

tost. 
Seest thou not how all places quake and 

quiver, 340 

Lightned with deadly lamps on everie 

post? 
Tisiphone each where doth shake and 

shiver 
Her flaming fire-brond, encountring me. 
Whose lockes uncombed cruell adders be. 

' And Cerberus, whose many mouthes doo 

bay 345 

And barke out flames, as if on fire he 

fed; 
Adowne whose necke, in terrible array. 
Ten thousand snakes cralling about his 

bed 
Doo hang in heapes, that horribly affray. 
And bloodie eyes doo glister firie red ; 350 
He oftentimes me dreadf ullie doth threaten 
With painfull torments to be sorely beaten. 

' Ay me ! that thankes so much should 

faile of meed ; 
For that I thee restor'd to life againe, 
Even from the doore of death and deadlie 

dreed ! 355 

Where then is now the guerdon of my 

paine ? 
Where the reward of my so piteous deed? 
The praise of pitie vanisht is in vaine. 
And th' antique faith of Justice long 

agone 
Out of the land is fled away and gone. 360 

' I saw anothers fate approaching fast. 
And left mine owne his safetie to tender ; 
Into the same mishap I now am cast, 
And shun'd destruction doth destruction 

render : 
Not imto him that never hath tres- 

past, 365 

But punishment is due to the offender. 
Yet let destruction be the punishment. 
So long as thankfull will may it relent. 

' I carried am into waste wildemesse, 
Waste wildernes, amongst Cymerian 

shades, 370 

Where endles paines and hideous heavi- 

nesse 
Is round about me heapt in darksome 



For there huge Othos sits in sad distresse. 



L. 374-446.] 



VIRGILS GNAT. 



629 



Fast bound with serpents that him oft 

invades ; 
Far of beholding Ephialtes tide, 375 

Which once assai'd to burne this world 

so wide. 

' And there is mourufull Tityus, niindefull 
yet 

Of thy displeasure, O Latona faire! 

Displeasure too implacable was it, 

That made him meat for wild foules of 
the ay re. 380 

Much do I feare among such fiends to 
sit; 

Much do I feare back to them to repay re, 

To the black shadowes of the Stygian 
shore, 

"Where wretched ghosts sit wailing ever- 
more. 

' There next the utmost brinck doth he 

abide, 385 

That did the bankets of the Gods bewray, 
Whose throat through thirst to nought 

nigh being dride 
His sense to seeke for ease turnes every 

way: 
And he, that in avengement of his pride 
For scorning to the sacred Gods to 

pray, 3i)0 

Against a mountaine rolls a mightie stone. 
Calling in vaine for rest, and can have 

none. 

'Go ye with them, go, cursed damosells. 

Whose bridale torches foule Erynnis 
tynde ; 

And Hymen, at your Spousalls sad, fore- 
tells 395 

Tydings of death and massacre unkinde : 

With them that cruell Colchid mother 
dwells, 

The which conceiv'd in her revengefull 
minde 

With bitter woundes her owne deere 
babes to slay, 

And murdred troupes upon great heapes 
to lay. 400 

' There also those two Pand Ionian maides, 

Calling on Itis, Itis! evermore. 

Whom, wretched boy, they slew with 

guiltie blades; 
For whome the Thracian king lamenting 

sore, 
Turn'd to a Lapwing, fowlie them up- 

braydes, 405 

And fluttering round about them still 

does sore: 
There now they all eternally complaine 
Of others wrong, and suffer endles paine. 



' But the two brethren borne of Cadmus 
blood, 

Wliilst each does for the Soveraignty 
contend, 410 

Blinde through ambition, and with ven- 
geance wood, 

Each doth against the others bodie bend 

His cursed Steele, of neither well with- 
stood. 

And with wide wounds their carcases doth 
rend ; 

That yet they both doe mortall foes re- 
maine, 415 

Sith each with brothers bloudie hand was 
slaine. 

' Ah (waladay !) there is no end of paine. 
Nor chaunge of labour may intreated bee ; 
Yet I beyond all these am carried fainc, 
Where other powers farre different I 
see, 420 

And must passe over to th' Elisian plaine : 
There grim Persephone, encountring mee. 
Doth urge her fellow Furies earnestlie 
With their bright firebronds me to terrific. 

' There chast Alceste lives inviolate, 425 
Free from all care, for that her husbands 

daies 
She did prolong by changing fate for fate. 
Lo ! there lives also the immortall praise 
Of womankinde, most faithfuU to her 

mate, 
Penelope ; and from her farre awayes 430 
A rulesse rout of yongmen which her 

woo'd. 
All slaine with darts, lie wallowed in their 

blood. 

' And sad Eurydice thence now no more 
Must turne to life, but there detained bee 
For looking back, behig forbid before : 435 
Yet was the guilt thereof, Orpheus, in 

thee. 
Bold sure he was, and worthie spirite bore. 
That durst those lowest shadowes goe to 

see. 
And could beleeve that anie thing could 

please 
Fell Cerberus, or Stygian powres ap- 
pease : 440 

' Ne feard the burning waves of Phlegeton, 
Nor those same mourufull kingdomes, 

compassed 
With rustic horrour and fowle fashion ; 
And deep digd vawtes ; and Tartar covered 
With bloodie night, and darke confu- 
sion ; 445 
And judgement seates, whose Judge is 
deadlie dred, 



630 



VIRGILS GNAT. 



[L. 447-518. 



A judge, that after death doth punish sore 
The faults which life hath trespassed be- 
fore. 

• But valiant fortune made Dan Orpheus 

bolde ; 
For the swift running rivers still did 

stand, 450 

And the wilde beasts their f urie did with- 
hold, 
To follow Orpheus musicke through the 

land: 
And th' Okes, deep grounded in the earthly 

molde, 
Did move, as if they could him understand ; 
And the shrill woods, which were of sense 

bereav'd, 455 

Through their hard barke his silver sound 

receav'd. 

' And eke the Moone her hastie steedes did 

stay, 
Drawing in teemes along the starrie skie ; 
And didst (O monthly Virgin !) thou delay 
Thy nightly course, to heare his melo- 
dic ? 460 
The same was able with like lovely lay 
The Queene of hell to move as easily, 
To yeeld Eurydice unto her fere 
Backe to be borne, though it unlawfull 
were. 

' She, (Ladie) having well before ap- 

prooved 465 

The feends to be too cruell and severe, 
Observ'd th' appointed way, as her 

behooved, 
Ne ever did her ey-sight turne arere, 
Ne ever spake, ne cause of speaking 

mooved ; 
But, cruell Orpheus, thou much crueller. 
Seeking to kisse her, brok'st the Gods 

decree, 471 

And thereby mad'st her ever damn'd 

to be. 

' Ah ! but sweete love of pardon worthie is. 
And doth deserve to have small faults 

remitted, 
If Hell at least things lightly done 
amis 475 

Knew how to pardon, when ought is 

omitted ; 
Yet are ye both received into blis, 
And to the seates of happie soules ad- 
mitted : 
And you beside the honourable band 
Of great Heroes doo in order stand. 480 

' There be the two stout sonnes of Aeacus, 
Fierce Peleus, and the bardie Telamon, 



Both seeming now full glad and joyeous 
Through their Syres dreadfull jurisdic- 
tion, 
Being the Judge of all that horrid 
hous : 485 

And both of them, by strange occasion, 
Renown 'd in choyce of happie marriage 
Through Venus grace, and vertues car- 
iage. 

' For th' one was ravisht of his owne 

bondmaide. 
The faire Ixione captiv'd from Troy ; 490 
But th' other was with Thetis love assaid. 
Great Nereus his daughter and his joy. 
On this side them there is a yongman 

layd, 
Their match in glorie, mightie, fierce, and 

coy; 
That from th' Argolick ships with furious 

yre 495 

Bett back the furie of the Trojan fyre. 

' O ! who would not recount the strong 

divorces 
Of that great warre, which Tro janes oft 

behelde ? 
And oft beheld the warlike Greekish 

forces. 
When Teucrian soyle with bloodie rivers 

swelde, 500 

And wide Sigaean shores were spred with 

corses. 
And Simois and Xanthus blood outwelde; 
Whilst Hector raged with outragious 

minde. 
Flames, weapons, wounds, in Greeks fleete 

to have tynde. 

'For Ida selfe, in ayde of that fierce 

fight, 505 

Out of her mountaines ministred supplies ; 
And, like a kindly nourse, did yeeld (for 

spight) 
Store of firebronds out of her nourseries 
Unto her foster children, that they might 
Inflame the Navie of their enemies, 510 
And all the Rhetsean shore to ashes 

turne. 
Where lay the ships which they did seeke 

to burne. 

' Gainst which the noble sonne of Telamon 
Oppos'd himselfe, and, thwarting his huge 

shield. 
Them battell bad, gainst whom appeard 

anon 515 

Hector, the glorie of the Trojan field : 
Both fierce and furious in contention 
Encountred, that their mightie strokes so 

shrild, 



L. 519-588.] 



VIRGILS GNAT. 



631 



As the great clap of thunder which doth 

ryve 
The ratling heavens, and cloudes asunder 

dryve. 520 

* So th' one with fire and weapons did con- 

tend 

To cut the ships from turning home againe 

To Argos ; th' other strove for to defend 

The force of Vulcane with his might and 
maine. 

Thus th' one Aeacide did his fame ex- 
tend ; 525 

But th' other joy'd, that, on the Phrygian 
playne 

Having the blood of vanquisht Hector 
shedd, 

He compast Troy thrice with his hodie 
dedd. 

' Againe great dole on either partie grewe, 
That him to death unfaithfull Paris 
sent ; 530 

And also him that false Ulysses slewe, 
Drawne into danger through close am- 
bush men t ; 
Therefore from him Laertes sonne his 

vewe 
Doth turne aside, and boasts his good 

event 
In working of Strymonian Ehsesus fall, 535 
And efte in Dolons subtile surprysall. 

* Againe the dreadfull Cycones him dis- 

may. 
And blacke Lsestrigones, a people stout : 
Then greedie Scilla, under whom there bay 
Manie great bandogs which her gird 

about : 540 

Then doo the Aetnean Cyclops him affray. 
And deep Charybdis gulphing in and out : 
Lastly the squalid lakes of Tartaric, 
And griesly Feeuds of hell him terrifie. 

' There also goodly Agamemnon hosts, 545 

The glorie of the stock of Tantalus, 

And famous light of all the Greekish 

hosts ; 
Under whose conduct most victorious. 
The Dorick flames consum'd the Iliack 

posts. 
All! but the Greekes themselves, more 

dolorous, 550 

To thee, O Troy ! paid penaunce for thy 

fall; 
In th' Hellespont being nigh drowned all. 

' Well may appeare by proofe of their mis- 

chaunce, 
The chaungfuU turning of mens slipperie 

state. 



That none whom fortune freely doth ad- 
vaunce 655 

Himselfe therefore to heaven should ele- 
vate; 
For loftie type of honour, through the 

glaunce 
Of envies dart, is downe in dust prostrate, 
And all that vaunts in worldly vanitie 
Shall fall through fortunes mutabilitie. 560 

' Th' Argolicke power returning home 

againe, 
Enricht with spoyles of th' Ericthonian 

towre. 
Did happie winde and weather entertaine, 
And with good speed the fomie billowes 

scowre ; 
No signe of storme, no feare of future 

paine, 565 

Which soone ensued them with heavie 

stowre. 
Nereis to the Seas a token gave. 
The whiles their crooked keeles the surges 

clave. 

' Suddenly, whether through the Gods 
decree. 

Or haplesse rising of some froward 
starre, 670 

The heavens on everie side enclowded bee : 

Black storm es and fogs are blowen up 
from farre. 

That now the Pylote can no loadstarre see, 

But skies and seas doo make most dread- 
full warre ; 

The billowes striving to the heavens to 
reach, 575 

And th' heavens striving them for to im- 
peach. 

' And in avengement of their bold attempt, 
Both Sun and starres and all the heavenly 

powres 
Conspire in one to wreake their rash con- 
tempt, 
And downe on them to fall from highest 
towres : 580 

The skie, in pieces seeming to be rent, 
Throwes lightning forth, and haile, and 

harmful showres, 
That death on everie side to them appeares 
In thousand formes, to worke more 
ghastly feares. 

* Some in the greedie flouds are sunke and 
drent ; 585 

Some on the rocks of Caphareus are 
throwne ; 

Some on th' Euboick Cliffs in pieces rent ; 

Some scattred on the Hercsean shores un- 
knowne; 



632 



VIRGILS GNAT. 



[l. 589-664. 



And manie lost, of whom no moniment 
Remaines, nor memorie is to be showne : 
Whilst all the purchase of the Phrigian 

pray, 591 

Tost on salt billowes, round about doth 

stray. 

' Here manie other like Heroes bee. 
Equall in honour to the former crue, 
Whom ye in goodly seates may placed 

see, 595 

Descended all from Rome by linage due ; 
From Rome, that holds the world in sove- 

reig-ntie, 
■ And doth all Nations unto her subdue : 
Here Fabii and Decii doo dwell , 
Horatii that in vertue did excell. 600 

* And here the antique fame of stout 

Camill 
Doth ever live ; and constant Curtius, 
Who, stifly bent his vowed life to spill 
For Countreyes health, a gulph most 

hideous 
Amidst the Towne with his owne corps 

did fill, 605 

T' appease the powers ; and prudent 

Mutius, 
Who in his flesh endur'd the scorching 

flame. 
To daunt his foe by ensample of the same. 

' And here wise Curius, companion 
Of noble vertues, lives in endles rest ; 610 
And stout Flaminius, whose devotion 
Taught him the fires scorn 'd furie to 

detest ; 
And here the praise of either Scipion 
Abides in highest place above the best. 
To whom the ruin'd walls of Carthage 

vow'd, 615 

Trembling their forces, sound their praises 

lowd. 

' Live they for ever through their lasting 

praise ! 
But I, poore wretch, am forced to retourne 
To the sad lakes that Phoebus suunie rayes 
Doo never see, where soules doo alwaies 

mourne ; 620 

And by the wayling shores to waste my 



Where Phlegeton with quenchles flames 

doth burne ; 
By which just Minos righteous soules doth 

sever 
From wicked ones, to live in blisse for 

ever. 

' Me therefore thus the cruell fiends of 
hell, . 625 



Girt with long snakes, and thousand yron 

chaynes. 
Through doome of that their cruell Judge 

compell 
With bitter torture, and impatient paines, 
Cause of my death and just complaint to 

tell : 
For thou art he whom my poore ghost 

complaines 630 

To be the author of her ill unwares. 
That careles hear'st my intollerable cares. 

* Them therefore as bequeathing to the 

winde, 
I now depart, returning to thee never, 
And leave this lamentable plaint behinde: 
But doo thou haunt he soft downe-rolling 

river, 636 

And wilde greene woods and fruitful 

pastures minde ; 
And let the flitting aire my vaine words 

sever.' 
Thus having said, he heavily departed 
With piteous crie, that anie would have 

smarted. 640 

Now, when the sloathfull fit of lifes 

sweete rest 
Had left the heavie Shepheard, wondrous 

cares 
His inly grieved minde full sore opprest ; 
That balefull sorrow he no longer beares 
For that Gnats death, which deeply was 

imprest, 645 

But bends what ever power his aged yeares 
Him lent, yet being such as through their 

might 
He lately slue his dreadfull foe in fight. 

By that same River lurking under greene, 
Eftsoones he gins to fashion forth a 

place ; 650 

And, squaring it incompasse wellbeseene. 
There plotteth out a tombe by measured 

space : 
His yron-headed spade the making cleene, 
To dig up sods out of the flowrie grasse. 
His worke he shortly to good purpose 

brought, 655 

Like as he had conceiv'd it in his thought. 

An heape of earth he hoorded up on hie. 
Enclosing it with banks on everie side, 
And thereupon did raise full busily 659 
A little mount, of greene turffs edifide ; 
And on the top of all, that passers by 
Might it behold, the toomb he did provide 
Of smoothest marble stone in order set, 
That never might his luckie scape forget. 



L. 665-688.] 



VIRGILS GNAT. 



^33 



And round about he taught sweete flowres 
to growe : 005 

The Rose eugrained iu pure scarlet die ; 

The Lilly fresh, aud Violet belowe ; 

The Marigolde, aud chereiull Rosemarie; 

The Spartan Mirtle, whence sweet gumb 
does flowe ; 

The purple Hyacinthe, and fresh Cost- 
marie ; 670 

And Saffron, sought for in Cilician soyle; 

And Lawrell, th' ornament of Phoebus 
toyle. 

Fresh. Rhododaphne, and the Sabine 

flowre. 
Matching the wealth of th' auncient 

Frankincence ; 674 

And pallid Yvie, biiildinghis ownebowre ; 
And Box, yet mindfull of his olde offence ; 
Red Amaranthus, lucklesse Paramour ; 



Oxeye still greene, and bitter Patieuce ; 
Ne wants there pale Navcisse, that, in a 

well 
Seeing his beautie, in love with it fell. 680 

And whatsoever other flowre of worth, 
And whatso other hearb of lovely hew. 
The joyous Spring out of the ground 

brings forth, 
To cloath "her selfe in colours fresh and 

new, 
He planted there, and reard a mount of 

earth, 685 

In whose high front was writ as doth 

ensue. 

To thee, small Gnat, in lieu of his life 

saved. 
The Shepheard hath thy deaths record 

engraved. 



PROSOPOPOIA: 

OB 

MOTHER HUBBERDS TALE. 

BY ED. SP. 

DEDICATED TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE, THE 

LADIE COMPTON AND MOUNTEGLE. 

TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE, THE 

LADIE COMPTON AND MOUNTEGLE. 



Most faire and vertuous Ladie; having 
often sought opportunitie by some good 
meanes to make knowen to your Ladiship 
the humble affection and faithfull duetie, 
which I have alwaies professed, and am 
bound to beare to that House, from whence 
yee spring, I have at length found occa- 
sion to remember the same, by making a 
simple present to you of these my idle 
labours ; which having long sithens com- 
posed in the raw conceipt of my youth, I 
lately amongst other papers lighted upon, 
and was by others, which liked the same, 
mooved to set them foorth. Simple is the 



device, and the composition meane, yet 
carrieth some delight, even the rather be- 
cause of the simplicitie and meannesse thus 
personated. The same I beseech your 
Ladishij) take in good part, as a pledge 
of that profession which I have made to 
you ; and keepe with you untill, with some 
other more worthie labour, I do redeeme 
it out of your hands, and discharge my 
utmost dutie. Till then, wishing your 
Ladiship all increase of honour and happi- 
nesse, I humblie take leave. 

Your La : ever humbly ; 
ED. SP. 



PEOSOPOPOIA: OE MOTHER HUBBEEDS TALE. 



It was the month in which the righteous 

Maide, 
That for disdaineof sinf nil worlds upbraide 
Fled back to heaven, whence she was first 

conceived. 
Into her silver bowre the Sunne received ; 
And the hot Syrian Dog on him awayting, 
After the chafed Lyons cruell bayting, 6 
Corrupted had th' ayre with his noysome 

breath. 
And powr'd on th' earth plague, pesti- 
lence, and death, 
Eraongst the rest a wicked maladie 
Raign'd emongst men, that manie did to 
die, 10 



Depriv'd of sense and ordinarie reason, 
That it to Leaches seemed strange and 

geason. 
My fortune was, mongst manie others moe, 
To be partaker of their common woe ; 
And my weake bodie, set on fire with 

griefe, 15 

Was rob'd of rest and naturall reliefe. 
In this ill plight there came to visite mee 
Some friends, who, sorie my sad case to 

see. 
Began to comfort me in chearfull wise, 
And meanes of gladsome solace to devise : 
But seeing kindly sleep refuse to doe 21 
His office^ and my feeble eyes forgoe. 



634 



L. 23-99.] 



MOTHER HUBBERDS TALE. 



635 



They sought my troubled sense how to 

deceave 
With talke, that might unquiet fancies 

reave ; 
And, sitting all in seates about me round, 
With pleasant tales (fit for that idle 

stound) 26 

They cast in course to waste the wearie 

howres. 
Some tolde of Ladies, and their Para- 

moures ; 
Some of brave Knights, and their re- 
nowned Squires; 
Some of the Faeries and their strange 

attires ; 30 

And some of Giaunts, hard to be beleeved ; 
That the delight thereof me much re- 

leeved. 
Amongst the rest a good old woman was, 
Bight Mother Hubberd, who did farre 

surpas 
The rest in honest mirth, that seem'd her 

well : 35 

She, when her turne was come her tale to 

tell, 
Tolde of a strange adventure, thatbetided 
Betwixt the Foxe and th' Ape by him mis- 
guided ; 
The which, for that my sense it greatly 

pleased. 
All were my spirite heavie and deseased, 
He write in termes as she the same did 

say, 41 

So well as I her words remember may. 
No Muses aide me needes heretoo to call ; 
Base is the style, and matter meane 

withall. 
Whilome (said she) before the world 

was civill, 45 

The Foxe and th' Ape, disliking of their 

evill 
And hard estate, determined to seeke 
Their fortunes farre abroad, lyeke with 

his lyeke, 
For both were craftie and unhappie 

witted ; 
Two fellowes might no where be better 

fitted. 50 

The Foxe, that first this cause of grief e 

did fiude, 
Gan first thus plaine his case with words 

unkinde. 
' Neighbour Ape, and my Gossip eke be- 
side, 
(Both two sure bands in friendship to be 

tide) 
To whom may I more trustely complaine 
The evill plight that doth me sore con- 

straine, 56 

And hope thereof to finde due remedie ? 
Heare, then, my paine and inward agonie. 



Thus manie yeares I now have spent and 

worne 
In meane regard, and basest fortunes 

scorne, 60 

Dooing my Coimtrey service as I might, 
No lesse, I dare sale, than the prowdest 

wight ; 
And still I hoped to be up advaunced, 
For my good parts ; but still it has mis- 

chaunced. 64 

Now therefore that no lenger hope I see. 
But froward fortune still to follow mee, 
And losels lifted up on high, where I did 

looke, 
I meane to turne the next leafe of the 

booke : 
Yet, ere that anie way I doo betake, 
I meane my Gossip privie first to make.' 
'Ah! my deare Gossip, (answer'd then 

the Ape) 71 

Deeply doo your sad words my wits 

awhape, 
Both for because your griefe doth great 

appeare. 
And eke because my selfe am touched 

neare : 
For I likewise have wasted much good 

time, 75 

Still wayting to preferment up to clime, 
Whilest others alwayes have before me 

stept, 
And from my beard the fat away have 

swept ; 
That now unto despaire I gin to growe. 
And meane for better winde about to 

thro we. 80 

Therefore to me, my trustie friend, aread 
Thy Councell: two is better than one 

head.' 
' Certes (said he) I meane me to disguize 
In some straunge habit, after uncouth 

wize; 
Or like a Pilgrim, or a Lymiter, 85 

Or like a Gipsen, or a Juggeler, 
And so to wander to the worldes ende, 
To seeke my fortune, where I may it 

mend: 
For worse than that I have I cannot mee te. 
Wide is the world I wote, and everie 

streete 90 

Is full of fortunes, and adventures 

straunge, 
Continuallie subject unto chaunge. 
Say, my faire brother now, if this device 
Doth like you, or may you to like entice.' 
' Surely (said th' Ape) it likes me won- 
drous well; 95 
And would ye not poore fellowship expell. 
My selfe would offer you t' accompanie 
In this adventures chauncefuU jeopardie : 
For to wexe olde at home in idlenesse 



636 



MOTHER HUBBERDS TALE. 



[l. 100-181. 



Is disadventrous, and quite fortunelesse ; 
Abroad, where change is, good may gotten 

bee.' 101 

The Foxe was glad, and quickly did 

agree : 
So both resolv'd, the morrow next ensu- 
ing, 
So soone as day appeard to peoples vew- 

ing, 
On their intended journey to proceede; 
And over night whatso theretoo did 

neede 106 

Each did prepare, in readines to bee. 
The morrow next, so soone as one might 

see 
Light out of heavens windowes forth to 

looke. 
Both their habiliments unto them tooke, 
And put themselves (a Gods name) on 

their way ; 111 

Whenas the Ape, beginning well to wey 
This hard adventure, thus began t' advise. 
' Now read, Sir Reynold, as ye be right 

wise, 
What course ye weene is best for us to 

take, 115 

That for our selves we may a living make. 
Whether shall we professe some trade or 

skill. 
Or shall we varie our device at will, 
Even as new occasion appeares ? 
Or shall we tie our selves for certaine 

yeares 120 

To anie service, or to anie place? 
For it behoves, ere that into the race 
We enter, to resolve lirst hereupon.' 
' Now surely brother (said the Foxe anon) 
Ye have this matter motioned in season ; 
For everie thing that is begun with reason 
Will come by readie meanes unto his 

end. 
But things miscounselled must needs mis- 
wend. 
Thus therefore I advize upon the case. 
That not to anie certaine trade or place, 
Nor anie man, we should our selves ap- 

plie ; 131 

For why should he that is at libertie 
Make himselfe bond? sith then we are 

free borne. 
Let us all servile base subjection scorne ; 
And as we bee sonnes of the world so wide, 
Let us our fathers heritage divide, 136 
And chalenge to our selves our portions 

dew 
Of all the patrimonie, which a few 
Now hold in hugger mugger in their hand. 
And all the rest doo rob of good and land. 
For now a few have all, and all have 

nought, 141 

Yet all be brethren ylike dearly bought : 



There is no right in this partition, 

Ne was it so by institution 

Ordained first, ne by the law of Nature, 

But that she gave like blessing to each 

creture, 146 

As well of worldly livelode as of life, 
That there might be no difference nor 

strife, 
Nor ought cald mine or thine: thrice 

happie then 
Was the condition of mortall men. 150 
That was the golden age of Saturne old, 
But this might better be the world of 

gold ; 
For without golde now nothing wilbegot. 
Therefore (if please you) this shalbe our 

plot: 
We will not be of anie occupation ; 155 
Let such vile vassals, borne to base voca- 
tion. 
Drudge in the world, and for their living 

droyle. 
Which have no wit to live withouteu toyle ; 
But we will walke about the world at 

pleasure 
Like two free men, and make our ease 

our treasure. 160 

Free men some beggers call, but they be 

free. 
And they which call them so more beggers 

bee; 
For they doo swinke and sweate to feed 

the other. 
Who live like Lords of that which they 

doo gather, 
And yet doo never thanke them for the 

same, 165 

But as their due by Nature doo it clame. 
Such will we fashion both our selves to 

bee. 
Lords of the world ; and so will wander 

free 
Wliere so us listeth, uncontrol'd of anie: 
Hard is our hap, if we (emongst so manie) 
Light not on some that may our state 

amend ; 171 

Sildome but some good commeth ere the 

end.' 
Well seemd the Ape to like this ordi- 

naunce ; 
Yet, well considering of the circum- 

stauuce, 
As pausing in great doubt, awhile he staid, 
And afterwards with grave advizement 

said: 176 

' I cannot, my lief brother, like but Avell 
The purpose of the complot which ye tell ; 
For well I wot (compar'd to all the rest 
Of each degree) that Beggers life is best ; 
And they, that thinke themselves the best 

of all, 181 



L. 182-261.] 



MOTHER HUBBERDS TALE. 



637 



Oft-times to begsjmg are content to fall. 
Bat this I wot withall, that we shall roune 
Into great daunger, like to bee undone, 
Thus wildly to wander in the worlds eye, 
AVithoutenpasportor good warranty e, 186 
For feare least we like rogues should be 

reputed. 
And for eare-marked beasts abroad be 

bruted. 
Therefore, I read that we our counsells 

call, 
How to prevent this mischiefe ere it fall, 
And how we may, with most securitie, 191 
Beg amongst those that beggers doo 

defie.' 
'Right well, deere Gossip, ye advized 

have, 
(Said then the Foxe) but I this doubt will 

save ; 
For ere we farther passe I will devise 195 
A pasport for us both in fittest wize. 
And by the names of Souldiers us protect : 
That now is thought a civile begging sect. 
Be you the Souldier, for you likest are 
For manly semblance, and small skill in 

warre : 200 

I will but wayte on you, and, as occasion 
Falls out, my selfe fit for the same will 

fashion.' 
The pasport ended, both they forward 

went; 
The Ape clad Soul dierlike, fit for th' intent. 
In a blew jacket with a crosse of redd 205 
And manie slits, as if that he had shedd 
Much blood throgh many wounds therein 

receaved. 
Which had the use of his right arme be- 
reaved. 
Upon his head an old Scotch cap he wore. 
With a plume feather all to peeces tore : 
His breeches were made after the new 

cut, 211 

Al Portugese, loose like an emptie gut; 
And ■ his hose broken high above the 

heeling. 
And his shooes beaten out with traveling. 
But neither sword nor dagger he did 

beare ; 215 

Seemes that no foes revengement he did 

feare : 
In stead of them a handsome bat he held. 
On which he leaned, as one farre in elde. 
Shame light on him, that through so false 

illusion. 
Doth turne the name of Souldiers to abu- 

sion, ■ 220 

And that, which is the noblest mysterie. 
Brings to reproach and common inf amie ! 
Long they thus travailed, yet never met 
Adventure which might them a working 

set; 



Yet manie waies they sought, and manie 

tryed, 225 

Yet for their purposes none fit espyed. 
At last they chaunst to meet upon the 

way 
A simple husbandman in garments gray ; 
Yet though his vesture were but meane 

and bace, 
A good yeoman he was of honest place, 230 
And more for thrift did care than for gay 

clothuig : 
Gay without good is good hearts greatest 

loathing. 
The Foxe him spying, bad the Ape him 

dight 
To play his part, for loe ! he was in sight 
That (if he er'd not,) should them enter- 

taine, 235 

And yeeld them timely profite for their 

paine. 
Eftsoones the Ape himselfe gan up to 

reare. 
And on his shoulders high his bat to beare. 
As if good service he were fit to doo ; 
But little thrift for him he did it too : 240 
And stoutly forward he his steps did 

straine, 
That like a handsome swaine it him be- 
came. 
When as they nigh approached, that 

good man. 
Seeing them wander loosly, first began 
T' enquire of custome, what and whence 

they were ? 245 

To whom the Ape, ' I am a Souldiere, 
That late in warres have spent my deerest 

blood. 
And in long service lost both limbs and 

good; 
And now, constrain'd that trade to over- 
give, 
I driven am to seeke some meanes to 

live : 250 

Which might it you in pitie please t' 

afford, 
I would be readie, both in deed and word, 
To doo you faithfull service all my dayes. 
This yron world (that same he w^eeping 

sayes) 
Brings downe the stowtest hearts to lowest 

state ; 255 

For miserie doth bravest mindes abate, 
And make them seeke for that they wont 

to scorne, 
Of fortune and of hope at once forlorne.' 
The honest man, that heard him thus 

complaine, 
Was griev'd as he had felt part of his 

paine ; 260 

And, well dispos'd him some relief e to 

showe. 



638 



MOTHER HUBBERDS TALE. 



[l. 262-342, 



Askt if in liusbandrie lie ought did kuowe, 
To plough, to plant, to reap, to rake, to 

so we, 
To hedge, to ditch, to thrash, to thetch, 

to mo we ? 264 

Or to what labour els he was prepar'd. 
For husbands life is labourous and hard ? 
Whenas the Ape him hard so much to 

talke 
Of labour, that did from his liking balke, 
He would have slipt the coller haudsomly, 
And to him said: * Good Sir, full glad 

am I, 270 

To take what paines may anie living 

wight ; 
But my late maymed limbs lack wonted 

might 
To doo their kindly services as needeth. 
Scarce this right hand the mouth with diet 

feedeth, 
So that it may no painfull worke endure, 
Ne to strong labour can it selfe enure : 276 
But if that anie other place you have, 
Which askes small paines, but thriftines 

to save, 
Or care to overlooke, or trust to gather, 
Ye may me trust as your owne ghostly 

father.' 280 

With that the husbandman gan him 

avize, 
That it for him were fittest exercise 
Cattell to keep, or grounds to oversee ; 
And asked him, if he could willing bee 
To keep his sheep, or to attend his swyne, 
Or watch his mares, or take his charge of 

kyne ? 286 

' Gladly (said he) what ever such like paine 
Ye put on me, I will the same sustaiue ; 
But gladliest I of your fleecie sheepe 
(Might it you please) would take on me 

the keep. 290 

For ere that unto armes I me betooke, 
Unto my fathers sheepe I usde to looke, 
That yet the skill thereof I have not loste : 
Thereto right well this Curdog, by my 

coste, 
(Meaning the Foxe) will serve my sheepe 

to gather, 295 

And drive to follow after their Bel wether.' 
The Husbandman was meanly well content 
Triall to make of his endevourment ; 
And, home him leading, lent to him the 

charge 299 

Of all his flocke, with libertie full large. 
Giving accompt of th' annuall increce 
Both of their lambes, and of their woolly 

fleece. 
Thus is this Ape become a shepheard 

swaine, 
And the false Foxe his dog (God give 

them paine !) 



For ere the yeare have halfe his course 

out-run, 305 

And doo returne from whence he first 

begun. 
They shall him make an ill accompt of 

thrift. 
Now whenas Time, flying with winges 

swift, 
Expired had the terme, that these two 

javels . 
Should render up a reckning of their 

travels 310 

Unto their master, which it of them sought. 
Exceedingly they troubled were in thought, 
Ne wist what answere unto him to frame, 
Ne how to scape great punishment, or 

shame. 
For their false treason and vile theeverie : 
For not a lambe of all their flockes 

supply 316 

Had they to shew ; but, ever as they bred, 
They slue them, and upon their fleshes fed ; 
For that disguised Dog lov'd blood to 

spill, 
And drew the wicked Shepheard to his 

will. 320 

So twixt them both they not a lambkin 

left. 
And when lambes fail'd the old sheepes 

lives they reft ; 
That how t' acquite themselves unto their 

Lord 
They were in doubt, and flatly set abord. 
The Foxe then counsel'd th' Ape for to 

require 325 

Respite till morrow t' answere his desire ; 
For times delay new hope of helpe still 

breeds. 
The goodman granted, doubting nought 

their deeds, 
And bad next day that all should readie be : 
But they more subtill meaning had than 

he; 330 

For the next morrowes meed they closely 

ment, 
For feare of afterclaps, for to prevent: 
And that same evening, when all shrowded 

were 
In careles sleep, they without care or feare 
Cruelly fell upon their flock in folde, 335 
And of them slew at pleasure what they 

wolde. 
Of which whenas they feasted had their 

fill, 
For a full complement of all their ill, 
Thej'- stole away, and tooke their hastie 

flight, 339 

Carried in clowdes of all-concealing night. 

So was the husbandman left to his losse, 

And they unto their fortunes change to 

tosse : 



L. 343-424-] 



MOTHER HUBBERDS TALE. 



639 



After which sort theywandered long while, 
Abusing manie through their cloaked 

guile, 344 

That at the last they gan to be descryed 
Of everie one, and all their sleights espyed. 
So as their begging now them failed 

quyte, 
For none would give, but all men would 

them wyte : 
Yet would they take no paines to get their 

living, 
But seeke some other way to gaine by 

giving, 350 

Much like to begging, but much better 

named. 
For manie beg which are thereof ashamed. 
And now the Foxe had gotten him a gowne. 
And th' Ape a cassocke sidelong hanging 

downe ; 354 

For they their occupation meant to change, 
And now in other state abroad to range : 
For, since their souldiers pas no better 

spedd. 
They forg'd another, as for Clerkes booke- 

redd. 
Who passing foorth, as their adventures 

fell, 
Through manie haps, which needs not 

here to tell, 360 

At length chaunst with a formall Priest 

to meete. 
Whom they in civill manner first did 

greete, 
And after askt an almes for Gods deare 

Jove. 
The man straightway his choler up did 

move, 
And with reproachfull tearmes gan them 

revile, 365 

For following that trade so base and vile ; 
And askt what license, or what Pas they 

had? 
'Ah! (said the Ape, as sighing wondrous 

sad) 
Its an hard case, when men of good de- 
serving 
Must either driven be perforce to sterv- 

ing. 370 

Or asked for their pas by everie squib. 
That list at will them to revile or snib : 
And yet (God wote) small oddes I often 

see 
Twixt them that aske, and them that 

asked bee. 
Natheles, because you shall not us mis- 

deeme, 375 

But that we are as honest as we seeme, 
Yee shall our pasport at your pleasure see, 
And then ye will (I hope) well moovedbee.' 
Which when the Priest beheld, he vew'd 

it nere, 



As if therein some text he studying were. 
But little els (God wote) could thereof 

skill ; 381 

For read he could not evidence, nor will, 
Ne tell a written word, ne write a letter, 
Ne make one title worse, ne make one 

better : 384 

Of such deep learning little had he neede, 
Ne yet of Latine, ne of Greeke. that breede 
Doubts mongst Divines, and difference of 

texts, 
From whence arise diversitie of sects. 
And hatefull heresies, of God abhor'd : 
But this good Sir did follow the plaine 

word, 390 

Ne medled with their controversies vaine ; 
All his care was, his service well to saine. 
And to read Homelies upon holidayes ; 
When that was done, he might attend his 

playes : 
An easielife, and fit high God to please. 395 
He, having overlookt their pas at ease, 
Gan at the length them to rebuke againe, 
That no good trade of life did entertains. 
But lost their time in wandring loose 

abroad ; 
Seeing the world, in which they booties 

boad, 400 

Had wayes enough for all therein to live ; 
Such grace did God unto his creatures give. 
Said then the Foxe : ' Who hath the 

world not tride. 
From the right way full eath may wander 

wide : 404 

AVe are but Novices, new come abroad, 
We have not yet the tract of anie troad, 
Nor on us taken anie state of life. 
But readie are of anie to make preife. 
Therefore might please j^ou, which the 

world have proved, 409 

Us to advise, which forth but lately moved. 
Of some good course that we might under- 
take ; 
Ye shall for ever lis your bondmen make.' 
The Priest gan wexe halfe proud to be so 

praide. 
And thereby willing to affoord them aide; 
' It seemes (said he) right well that ye be 

Clerks, 415 

Both by your wittie words, and by your 

werks. 
Is not that name enough to make a living 
To him that hath a whit of Natures giving ? 
How manie honest men see ye arize 
Daylie thereby, and grow to goodly prize ; 
ToDeanes, to Archdeacons, to Commis- 
saries, 421 
To Lords, to Principalis, to Prebendaries? 
All jolly Prelates, worthie rule to beare. 
Who ever them en vie: yet spite bites 

neare. 



640 



MOTHER HUBBERDS TALE. 



[l. 425-501. 



Why should ye doubt, then, but that ye 

likewise 425 

Might uuto some of those in time arise? 
In the meane-time to live in good estate, 
Loving that love, and hating those that 

hate; 
Being some honest Curate, or some Vicker 
Content with little in condition sicker.' 430 
' Ah ! but (said th' Ape) the charge is 

wondrous great. 
To feed mens soules, and hath an heavie 

threat.' 
' To f eede mens soules (quoth he) is not in 

man; 
For they must feed themselves, doo what 

we can. 434 

We are but charg'd to lay the meate before : 
Eate they that list, we need to doo no more. 
But God it is that feedes them with his 

grace, 
The bread of life powr'd downe from heav- 
enly place. 
Therefore said he, that with the budding 

rod 
Did rule the Jewes, All shalbe taught of 

God. 440 

That same hath Jesus Christ now to him 

raught. 
By whom the flock is rightly fed, and 

taught : 
He is the Shepheard, and the Priest is 

hee ; 
We but his shepheard swaines ordain' d 

to bee. 
Therefore herewith doo not your selfe 

dismay ; 445 

Ne is the paines so great, but beare ye 

may. 
For not so great, as it was wont of yore, 
It's now a dayes, ne halfe so streight and 

sore. 
They whilome used duly everie day 
Their service and their holie things to 

say, 450 

At morne and even, besides their An- 

themes sweete. 
Their penie Masses, and their Comply nes 

meete, 
Their Diriges, their Trentals, and their 

shrifts, 
Their memories, their singings, and their 

gifts. 
Now all those needlesse works are laid 

away ; 455 

Now once a weeke, upon the Sabbath 

day, 
It is enough to doo our small devotion. 
And then to follow any merrie motion. 
Ne are we tyde to fast, but when we list ; 
Ne to weare garments base of wollen 

twist, 460 



But with the finest silkes us to aray. 
That before God we may appeare more gay, 
Resembling Aarons glorie in his place : 
For farre unfit it is, that person bace 
Should with vile cloaths approach Gods 
majestic, 465 

Whom no uncleannes may approachen 

nie; 
Or that all men, which anie master serve. 
Good garments for their service should 

deserve ; 
But he that serves the Lord of boasts 

most high. 
And that in highest place, t' approach 
him nigh, 470 

And all the peoples prayers to present 
Before his throne, as on ambassage sent 
Both too and fro, should not deserve to 

weare 
A garment better than of wooll or hears. 
Beside, we may have lying by our sides - 
Our lovely Lasses, or bright shining 
Brides : 476 

We be not tyde to wilfull chastitie. 
But have the Gospell of free libertie.' 
By that he ended had his ghostly ser- 
mon. 
The Foxe was well induc'd to be a Parson, 
And of the Priest eftsoones gan to en- 
quire, 481 
How to a Benefice he might aspire ? 
' Marie, there (said the Priest) is arte 

indeed : 
Much good deep learning one thereout 

may reed; 
For that the ground-worke is, and end 
of all, 485 

How to obtaine a Beneficiall. 
First, therefore, when ye have in hand- 
some wise 
Your selfe attyred, as you can devise. 
Then to some Noble-man your selfe 

apply e. 
Or other great one in the worldes eye, 490 
That hath a zealous disposition 
To God, and so to his religion. 
There must thou fashion eke a godly 

zeale. 
Such as no carpers may contrayre reveal e ; 
For each thing fained ought more warie 
bee. 495 

There thou must walke in sober gravitee. 
And seeme as Saintlike as Saint Rade- 

gund : 
Fast much, pray oft, looke lowly on the 

ground. 
And unto everie one doo curtesie meeke : 
These lookes (nought saying) doo a bene- 
fice seeke, 500 
And be thou sure one not to lacke or 
long. 



L. 502-581.] 



MOTHER HUBBERDS TALE. 



641 



But if thee list unto the Court to throng, 
And there to hunt after the hoped pray, 
Then must thou thee dispose another way : 
For there thou needs must learns to 

laugh, to lie, 505 

To face, to forge, to scoffe, to companie, 
To crouche, to please, to be a beetle- 
stock 
Of thy great Masters will, to scorne, or 

mock. 
So maist thou chaunce mock out a Bene- 
fice, 
Unlesse thou canst one conjure by device, 
Or cast a figure for a Bishoprick ; 511 
And if one could, it were but a schoole 

trick. 
, These be the wayes by which without 

reward 
Livings in Court be gotten, though full 

hard ; 
For nothing there is done without a fee : 
The Courtier needes must recompenced 

bee 516 

With a Benevolence, or have in gage 
The Primitias of your Parsonage : 
Scarse can a Bishoprick forpas them by, 
But that it must be gelt in privitie. 520 
Doo not thou therefore seeke a living 

there, 
But of more private persons seeke els- 

where, 
"NVhereas thou maist compound a better 

penie, 
Ne let thy learning question'd be of anie. 
For some good Gentleman, that hath the 

right 525 

Unto his Church for to present a wight, 
Will cope with thee in reasonable wise; 
That if the living yerely doo arise 
To fortie pound, that then his yongest 

Sonne 
Shall twentie have, and twentie thou 

hast wonne : 530 

Thou hast it wonne, for it is of franke 

gift. 
And he will care for all the rest to shift, 
Both that the Bishop may admit of thee. 
And that therein thou maist maintained 

bee. 531 

This is the way for one that is unlern'd 
Living to get, and not to be disceru'd. 
But they, that are great Clerkes, have 

nearer wayes. 
For learning sake to living them to raise ; 
Yet manie eke of them (God wote) are 

driven 
T' accept a Benefice in peeces riven. 540 
How saist thou (friend) have I not well 

discourst 
Upon this Common-place, (though plaine, 

not wourst ?) 



Better a short tale than a bad long shriv- 
ing: 

Needes anie more to learne to get a 
living ? ' 
' Now sure, and by my hallidome, 
(quoth he) 545 

Ye a great master are in your degree : 

Great thankes I yeeld you for your dis- 
cipline. 

And doo not doubt but duly to encline 

My wits theretoo, as ye shall shortly 
heare.' 

The Priest him wisht good speed, and well 
to fare : 550 

So parted they, as cithers way them led. 

But th' Ape and Foxe ere long so well 
them sped. 

Through the Priests holesome counsell 
lately tought, 

And throgh their owne faire handling 
wisely wroght. 

That they a Benefice twixt them obtained ; 

And craftie Reynold was a Priest or- 
dained, 556 

And th' Ape his Parish Clarke procur'd 
to bee. 

Then made they revell route and goodly 
glee; 

But, ere long time had passed, they so ill 

Did order their affaires, tluit th' evill will 

Of all their Parishners they had con- 
straind ; 561 

Who to the Ordinarie of them complain'd, 

How fowlie they their offices abus'd, 

And them of crimes and heresies accus'd, 

That Pursivants he often for them sent; 

But they neglected his commaundement. 

So long persisted obstinate and bolde, 567 

Till atthe length he published to holde 

A Visitation, and them cyted thether: 

Then was high time their wits about to 
geather. 570 

What did they then, but made a com- 
position 

With their next neighbor Priest, for 
light condition, 

To whom their living they resigned quight 

For a few pence, and ran away by night. 
So passing through the Couutrey in 
disguize, 575 

They fled farre off, where none might 
them surprize; 

And after that long straied here and 
there. 

Through everie field and forrest farre 
and nere. 

Yet never found occasion for their tourne, 

But almost sterv'd did much lament and 
mourne. 580 

At last they chaunst to meete upon the 
way 



642 



MOTHER HUBBERDS TALE. 



[L. 582-653. 



The Mule all deckt in goodly rich aray, 
With bells and bosses that full lowdly 

rung, 
And costly trappings that to ground 

downe hung. 584 

Lowly they him saluted in meeke wise ; 
But he through pride and fatnes gan 

despise 
Their mean esse; scarce vouchsafte them 

to requite. 
Whereat the Foxe, deep groning in his 

sprite, 
Said ; ' Ah! sir Mule, now blessed be the 

day, 
That I see you so goodly and so gay 590 
In your attyres, and eke your silken 

hyde 
Fil'd with round flesh, that everie bone 

doth hide. 
Seemes that in fruitfull pastures ye doo 

live, 
Or fortune doth you secret favour give.' 
' Foolish Foxe (said the Mule) thy 

wretched need 595 

Praiseth the thing that doth thy sorrow 

breed : 
For well I weene, thou canst not but 

envie 
My wealth, compar'd to thine owne 

miserie. 
That art so leane and meagre waxen late, 
That scarse thy legs uphold thy feeble 

gate.' 600 

* Ay me ! (said then the Foxe) whom evill 

hap 
Unworthy in such wretchednes doth 

wrap. 
And makes the scorne of othfer beasts to 

bee: 
But read (faire Sir, of grace) from 

whence come yee ; 
Or what of tidings you abroad doo heare? 
Newes may perhaps some good unweet- 

ing beare.' 606 

'From royall Court I lately came (said 

he) 
Where all the braverie that eye may see. 
And all the happinesse that heart desire, 
Is to be found : he nothing can admire. 
That hath not scene that heavens por- 

tracture. 611 

But tidings there is none, I you assure, 
Save that which common is, and knowne 

to all, 
That Courtiers, as the tide, doo rise and 

fall.' 
' But tell us (said the Ape) we doo you 

pray, 615 

Who now in Court doth beare the greatest 

sway, 
That, if such fortune doo to us befall, 



We make seeke favour of the best of all ? ' 

* Marie, (said he) the highest now in 

grace 
Be the wilde beasts, that swiftest are in 

chase ; 620 

For in their speedie course and nimble 

flight 
The Lyon now doth take the most de- 
light; 
But chieflie joyes on foote them to be- 

holde, 
Enchastp with chaine and circulet of 

golde. 624 

So wilde a beast so tame ytaught to bee, 
And buxome to his bands, is joy to see; 
So well his golden Circlet him beseemeth. 
But his late chayne his Liege unmeete 

esteemeth ; 
For so brave beasts she loveth best to see 
In the wilde forrest raunging fresh and 

free. 630 

Therefore if fortune thee in Court to 

live, 
In case thou ever there wilt hope to 

thrive. 
To some of these thou must thy selfe 

apply ; 
Els as a thistle-downe in th' ayre doth 

flie. 
So vainly shalt thou too and fro be tost. 
And loose thy labour and thy fruitles 

cost. 636 

And yet full few which follow them, I 

see, 
For vertues bare regard advaunced bee, 
But either for some gain full benefit, 
Or that they may for their owne turnes 

be fit. 640 

Nath'les perhaps ye things may handle 

soe. 
That ye may better thrive than thou- 
sands moe.' 
' But (said the Ape) how shall we first 

come in, 
That after we may favour seeke to win ? ' 

* How els (said he) but with a good bold 

face, 645 

And with big words, and with a stately 

pace. 
That men may thinke of you in generall, 
That to be in you which is not at all : 
For not by that which is, the world now 

deemeth, 
(As it was wont) but by that same that 

seemeth. 650 

Ne do I doubt but that ye well can 

fashion 
Your selves theretoo, according to occa- 
sion. 
So fare ye well ; good Courtiers may ye 

bee! ' 



THE RUINES OF ROME. 



653 



Rome now of Rome is tli' ouely fuuerall, 
Aud onely Rome of Rome hath victorie ; 
Ne ought save Tyber hastniug to his fall 
Remaines of all. O worlds iiiconstancie! 

That which is lirme doth fiit aud fall 
away, 

And that is flitting doth abide and stay 



She, whose high top above the starres did 

sore, 
One foote on Thetis, th' other on the 

Morning, 
One hand ou Scythia, th' other on the 

More, 
Both heaven and earth in roundnesse com- 
passing ; 
Jove fearing, least if she should greater 

growe. 
The Giants old should once again uprise, 
Her whelm'd with hills, these seven hils, 

which be nowe 
Tombes of her greatues which did threate 

the skies : 
Upon her head he heapt Mount Saturnal, 
Upon her bellie th' antique Palatine, 
Upon her stomacke laid Monut Quirinal, 
On her left hand the noysome Esquiline, 
And Cselian on the right; but both her 

feete 
Mount Viminall and Aventine doo 

meete. 

V. 

Who lists to see what ever nature, arte, 
And heaven could doo, O Rome ! thee let 

him see. 
In case thy greatnes he can gesse in harte, 
By that which but the picture is of thee. 
Rome is no more : but if the shade of Rome 
May of the bodie yeekl a seeming sight. 
It's like a corse drawue forth out of the 

torn be 
By Magicke skill out of eternall night. 
The corpes of Rome in ashes is entombed. 
And her great spirite, rejoyned to the 

spirite 
Of this great masse, is in the same en- 

wombed ; 
But her brave writings, which her famous 

merite 
In spight of time out of the dust doth 

reare, 
Doo make her Idole through the world 

appeare. 

VI. 

Such as the Berecynthian Goddesse bright, 
In her swifte charret with high turrets 

crownde. 
Proud that so manie Gods she brought to 

light; 



Such was this Citie in her good daies 

fownd : 
This Citie, more than that great Phrygian 

mother 
Renowm'd for fruite of famous progenie, 
Whose greatnes by the greatnes of none 

other, 
But by her selfe, her equall match could 

see. 
Rome onely might to Rome compared 

bee. 
And onely Rome could make great Rome 

to tremble : 
So did the Gods by heavenly doome decree, 
That other earthlie power should not 

resemble 
Her that did match the whole earths 

puissaunce, 
And did her courage to the heavens ad- 

vaunee. 



Ye sacred mines, and ye tragick sights. 
Which onely doo the name of Rome retaine, 
Olde moniments, which of so famous 

sprights 
The honour yet in ashes doo maintaine ; 
Triumphant Arcks, spyres, neighbours to 

the skie, 
That you to see doth th' heaven it selfe 

appall ; 
Alas! by little ye to nothing flie, 
The peoples fable, and the spoyle of all : 
And though your frames do for a time 

make warre 
Gainst time, yet time in time shall ruinate 
Your workes and names, and your last 

reliques marre. 
My sad desires, rest therefore moderate; 
For if that time make ende of things so 

sure, 
It als will end the paine which I endure. 



Through armes and vassals Rome the 

world subdu'd. 
That one would weene that one sole Cities 

strength 
Both land and sea in roundnes had sur- 

vew'd. 
To be the measure of her bredth and 

length : 
This peoples vertue yet so fruitfull was 
Of vertuous nephewes, that posteritie. 
Striving in power their grandfathers to 

passe, 
The lowest earth join'd to the heaven hie ; 
To th' end that, having all parts in their 

power, 
Nought from the Romane Empire might 

be quight ; 



654 



THE RUINES OF ROME. 



And that though time doth Common- 
wealths devowre, 
Yet no time should so low emhase their 
hight, 
That her head, earth'd in her founda- 
tions deep, 
Should not her name and endles honour 
keep. 

IX. 

Ye cruellstarres, and ekeyeGodsunkinde, 
Heaven envious, and bitter stepdame 

Nature ! 
Be it by fortune, or by course of kinde, 
That ye doo weld th' affaires of earthlie 

creature ; 
Why have your hands long sithence tra- 
velled 
To frame this world that doth endure so 

long? 
Or why were not these Romane palaces 
Made of some matter no less firme and 

strong ? 
I say not, as the common voyce doth say. 
That all things which beneath the Moone 

have being 
Are temporall, and subject to decay : 
But I say rather, though not all agreeing 
With some that weeue the contrarie in 

thought, 
That all this whole shall one day come 

to nought. 

X. 

As that brave sonne of Aeson, which by 

charmes 
Atcheived the golden Fleece in Colchid 

land. 
Out of the earth engendred men of amies 
Of Dragons teeth, sowne in the sacred 

sand ; 
So this brave Towne, that in her youthlie 

dales 
An Hydra was of warriours glorious, 
Did fill with her renowmed nourslings 

praise 
The firie sunnes both one and other hous : 
But they at last, there being then not 

living 
An Hercules so ranke seed to represse, 
Emongst themselves with cruell f urie striv- 
ing, 
Mow'd downe themselves with slaughter 

mercilesse ; 
Renewing in themselves that rage un- 

kinde, 
Which whilom did those earthborn 

brethren blinde. 



Mars, shaming to have given so great head 
To his off-spring, that mortall puissaunce, 



Puft up with pride of Romane hardiehead, 
Seem'd above heavens powre it selfe to 

advaunce ; 
Cooling againe his former kindled heate. 
With which lie had those Romane spirits 

fild. 
Did blowe new fire, and with enflamed 

breath 
Into the Gothicke colde hot rage instil'd. 
Then gan that Nation, th' earths new 

Giant brood, 
To dart abroad the thunder bolts of warre. 
And, beating downe these walls with 

furious mood 
Into her mothers bosome, all did marre ; 
To th' end that none, all were it Jove 

his sire, 
Should boast himselfe of the Romane 

Empire, 

XII. 

Like as whilome the children of the earth 
Heapt hils on hils to scale the starrie skie. 
And fight against the Gods of heavenly 

berth, 
Whiles Jove at them his thunderbolts let 

flie, 
All suddenly with lightning overthrowne, 
The furious squadrons downe to ground 

did fall. 
That th' earth under her childrens weight 

did grone, 
And th' heavens in glorie triumpht over 

all: 
So did that haughtie front, which heaped 

was 
On these seven Romane hils, it selfe up- 

reare 
Over the world, and lift her loftie face 
Against the heaven, that gan her force 

to feare. 
But now these scorned fields bemone 

her fall, 
And Gods secure feare not her force at 

all. 

xin. 
Nor the swift f urie of the flames aspiring. 
Nor the deep wounds of victours raging 

blade, 
Nor ruthlesse spoyle of souldiers blood- 
desiring. 
The which so oft thee, (Rome) their con- 
quest made ; 
Ne stroke on stroke of fortune variable, 
Ne rust of age hating continuance, 
Nor wrath "of Gods, nor spight of men 

unstable. 
Nor thou oppos'd against thine owne 

puissance ; 
Nor th' horrible uprore of windes high 

blowing, 



THE RUINES OF ROME. 



6S5 



Nor swelling streames of that God suakie- 

paced, 
Which hath so often with his overflowing 
Thee drenched, have thy pride so much 
abaced, 
But that this nothing, which they have 

thee left, 
Makes the world wonder what they from 
thee reft. 

XIV. 

As men in Summer f carles passe the foord 
Which is in Winter lord of all the plaine, 
And with his tumbling streames doth beare 

aboord 
The ploughmans hope and shepheards 

labour vaine : 
And as the coward beasts use to despise 
The noble Lion after his lives end. 
Whetting their teeth, and with vaine fool- 

hardise 
Daring the foe that cannot him defend : 
And as at Troy most dastards of the 

Greekes 
Did brave about the corpes of Hector colde ; 
So those, which whilome wont with pallid 

cheekes 
The Romane triumphs glorie to behold, 
Now on these ashie tombes shew bold- 

nesse vaine, 
And, conquer 'd, dare the Conquerour 

disdaiue. 

XV. 

Ye pallid spirits, and ye ashie ghoasts. 
Which, joying in the brightnes of your 

day. 
Brought foorth those signes of your pre- 
sumptuous boasts 
Wliich now their dusty reliquesdo bewray ; 
Tell me, ye spirits, (sith the darksome 

river 
Of Styx, not passable to soules returning, 
Enclosing you in thrice three wards for 

ever, 
Doo not restraine your images still mourn- 
ing) 
Tell methen, (for perhaps some one of you 
Yet hei-e above him secretly doth hide) 
Doo ye not feele your torments to accrewe. 
When ye sometimes behold the ruin'd pride 
Of these old Romane works, built with 

your hands. 
Now to become nought els but heaped 
sands ? 

XVI. 

Like as ye see the wrathfull Sea from 

farre 
In a great mountaine heap't with hideous 

noyse, 
Eftsoones of thousand billowes shouldred 

narre. 



Against aRocke to breaks with dreadfull 

poyse ; 
Like as ye see fell Boreas with sharpe 

blast 
Tossing huge tempests through the 

troubleil skie, 
Eftsoones having his wide wings spent in 

wast, 
To stop his wearie cariere suddenly : 
And as ye see huge flames spred diverslio, 
Gathered in one up to the heavens to 

spy re, 
Eftsoones consuni'd to fall downefeebily, 
So whilom did this Monarchic aspyre, 
As waves, as winde, as fire, spred over all, 
Till it by fatall doome adowne did fall. 

XVII. 

So long as Joves great Bird did make his 

flight. 
Bearing the fire with which heaven doth 

us fray, 
Heaven had not feare of that presumptu- 
ous might. 
With which the Giaunts did the Gods 

assay ; 
But all so soone as scortching Sunue had 

brent 
His wings which wont the earth to over- 

spredd. 
The earth out of her massie wombe forth 

sent 
That antique horror, which made heaven 

ad redd. 
Then was the Germane Raven in disguise 
That Romane Eagle scene to cleave 

asunder. 
And towards heaven freshly to arise 
Out of these moamtaines, now consum'd 

to ponder ; 
In which the foule, that serves to beare 

the lightning. 
Is now no more seen flying, nor 

alighting. 

XVIII. 

These heapes of stones, these old wals, 
which ye see. 

Were first enclosures but of salvage 
soyle ; 

And these brave Pallaces, which maystred 
bee 

Of time, were shepheards cottages some- 
while. 

Then tooke the shepheards Kingly orna- 
ments. 

And the stout hynde arm'd his right hand 
with Steele : 

Eftsoones their rule of yearely Presidents 

Grew great, and sixe months greater a 
great deele ; 



656 



THE RUINES OF ROME. 



Which, made perpetuall, rose to so great 

might, 
That thence th' Imperiall Eagle rooting 

tooke. 
Till th' heaven it selfe, opposing gainst 

her might, 
Her power to Peters successor betooke ; 
Who, shephearcllike, (as fates the same 

foreseeing) 
Doth shew that all things turne to their 

first being. 

XIX. 

All that is perfect, which th' heaven 

beautefies ; 
All that's imperfect, borne belowe the 

Moone ; 
All that doth feede our spirits and our 

eies. 
And all that doth consume our pleasures 

soone ; 
All the mishap the which our dales out- 

weares. 
All the good hap of th' oldest times afore, 
Rome, in the time of her great ancesters, 
Like a Pandora, locked long in store. 
But destinie this huge Chaos turmoyling. 
In which all good and evill was enclosed. 
Their heavenly vertues from these woes 

assoyling, 
Caried to heaven, from sinfull bondage 

losed ; 
But their great sinnes, the causers of 

their paine, 
Under these antique mines yet remaine. 

XX. 

No otherwise than raynie cloud, first fed 
With earthly vapours gathered in the 

ay re, 
Eftsoones in compas arch't, to steepe his 

bed, 
Doth plonge himselfe in Tethys bosome 

f aire ; 
And, mounting up againe from whence he 

came, 
With his great bellie spreds the dimmed 

world. 
Till at the last, dissolving his moist frame. 
In raine, or snowe, or haile, he forth is 

horld ; 
This Citie, which was first but shepheards 

shade, 
Uprising by degrees, grewe to such height, 
That Queene of land and sea her selfe she 

made. 
At last, not able to beare so great weight. 
Her power, disperst through all the 

world did vade ; 
To shew that all in th' end to nought 

shall fade. 



The same, which Pyrrhus and the 

puissaunce 
Of Afrike could not tame, that same brave 

Citie, 
Which, with stout courage arm'd against 

mischauuce, 
Sustein'd the shocke of common enmitie; 
Long as her ship, tost with so manie 

freakes, . 
Had all the world in armes against her 

bent. 
Was never scene, that anie fortunes 

wreakes 
Could breake her course begun with brave 

intent. 
But, when the object of hervertue failed, 
Her power it selfe against it selfe did 

arme ; 
As he that having long in tempest sailed, 
Faine would arive, but cannot for the 

storme. 
If too great winde against the port him 

drive. 
Doth in the port it selfe his vessell rive. 

XXII. 

When that brave honour of the Latine 

name, 
Which mear'd her rule with Africa, and 

Byze, 
With Thames inhabitants of noble fame, 
And they which see the dawning day arize ; 
Her nourslings did with mutinous uprore 
Harten against her selfe her conquer'd 

spoile. 
Which she had wonne from all the world 

afore. 
Of all the world was spoyl'd within a 

while : 
So, when the compast course of the 

universe 
In sixe and thirtie thousand yeares is 

ronne, 
The bands of th' elements shall backe 

reverse 
To their first discord, and be quite 

undonne : 
The seedes, of which all things at first 

were bred. 
Shall in great Chaos wombe againe be 

hid. 

xxni. 

O! warie wisedome of the man, that 

would 
That Carthage towres from spoile should 

be forborne. 
To th' end that his victorious people 

should 
With cancring laisure not be overworne : 



THE RUINES OF ROME. 



657 



He well foresaw how that the Romane 

courage, 
Impatient of pleasures faint desires, 
Through idleues would turne to civill 

rage, 
And be her selfe the matter of her fires ; 
For, in a people given all to ease, 
Ambition is engendred easily; 
As, in a vicious bodie, grose disease 
Sooue growes through humours super- 

tluitie. 
That came to passe, when, swolne with 

plenties pride. 
Nor prince, nor peere, nor kin, they 

would abide. 

XXIV. 

If the blinde f urie, which warres breedeth 

oft, 
Worits not t' enrage the hearts of equall 

beasts. 
Whether they fare on foote, or flie aloft. 
Or armed be with clawes, or scalie creasts, 
"What fell Erynnis, with hot burning tongs, 
Did grype your hearts with uoysome rage 

imbew'd. 
That, each to other working cruell wrongs, 
Your blades in your owne bowels you 

embrew'd ? 
Was this (ye Romanes) j^our hard 

destinie. 
Or some old sinne, whose unappeased guilt 
Powr'd vengeance forth on you eternallie? 
Or brothers" blood, the which at first was 

spilt 
Upon your walls, that God might not 

endure 
Upon the same to set foundation sure ? 



that I had the Thracian Poets harpe. 
For to awake out of th' infernall sliade 
Those antique Caesars, sleeping long in 

darke, 
The which this auncient Citie whilome 

made ! 
Or that I had Amphions instrument, 
To quicken, with his vitall notes accord. 
The stonie joynts of these old walls now 

rent. 
By which th' Ausonian light might be 

restor'd ! 
Or that at least I could, with pencill 

fine. 
Fashion the pourtraicts of these Palacis, 
By paterne of great Virgils spirit divine! 

1 would assay with that which in me is, 
To builde, with levell of my loftie style, 
That which no hands can evermore 

compyle. 



XXVI. 

Who list the Romane greatnes forth to 

figure. 
Him needeth not to seeke for usage right 
Of line, or lead, or rule, or squaire, to 

measure 
Her length, her breadth, her deepues, or 

her hight ; 
But him behooves to vew in compasse 

round 
All that the Ocean graspes in his long 

armes ; 
Be it where the yerely starre doth scortch 

the ground, 
Or where' colde Boreas blowes his bitter 

stormcs. 
Rome was th' whole world, and al the 

world was Rome ; 
And if things nam'd their names doo 

equalize, 
When land and sea ye name, then name 

ye Rome ; 
And, naming Rome, ye land and sea 

comprize : 
For th' auncient Plot of Rome, displayed 

plaine. 
The map of all the wide world doth 

containe. 

XXVII. 

Thou that at Rome astonisht dost behold 
The antique pride which menaced the skie. 
These haughtie heapcs, these palaces of 

olde, 
These wals, these arcks, these baths, these 

temples hie ; 
Judge, by these ample ruines vew, the 

rest 
The which injurious time hath quite out- 
worn e, 
Since of all workmen helde in reckning 

best; 
Yet these olde fragments arc for paternes 

borne : 
Then also marke how Rome, from day to 

day. 
Repay ring her decayed fashion, 
Reuewes herselfe with buildings rich and 

gay; 
That one would judge, that the Romaine 

Diemon 
Doth yet himselfe with fatall hand 

enforce, 
Againe on foote to reare her pouldred 

corse. 

XXVIII. 

He that hath seene a great Oke drie and 

dead. 
Yet clad with reliqucs of some Trophees 

olde, 



658 



THE RUINES OF ROME. 



Lifting to heaven her aged hoario head, 
Whose foote in ground hath left but feeble 

holde, 
But halfe disbowel'd lies above the ground, 
Shewing her wreathed rootes, aud naked 

armes, 
And on her trunke, all rotten and unsound, 
Onely supports herselfe for meate of 

worraes ; 
And, though she owe her fall to the first 

winde, 
Yet of the devout people is ador'd, 
And manie yong plants spring out of her 

rinde : 
Who such an Oke hath seene, let him 

record 
That such this Cities honour was of yore, 
And mongst all Cities florished much 

more. 



All that which Aegypt whilome did devise, 
All that which Greece their temples to 

embrave 
After th' lonicke, Atticke, Doricke guise ; 
Or Corinth skil'd in curious workes to 

grave ; 
All that Lysippus practike arte could 

forme, 
Apelles wit, or Phidias his skill, 
Was wont this auncient Citie to adorne, 
And the heaven it selfe with her wide 

wonders fill. 
All that which Athens ever brought forth 

wise ; 
All that which Afrike ever brought forth 

strange ; 
All that which Asie ever had of prise, 
Was here to see. O mervelous great 

change ! 
Rome, living, was the worlds sole 

ornament. 
And, dead, is now the worlds sole 

moniment. 

XXX. 

Like as the seeded field greene grasse first 

showes, 
Then from greene grasse into a stalke doth 

spring. 
And from a stalke into an eare forth- 

growes, 
.Which eare the frutefull grain e doth 

shortly bring ; 
And as in season due the husband mowes 
The waving lockes of those faire yeallow 

heares, 
Which, bound in sheaves, and layd in 

comely rowes. 
Upon the naked fields in stackes he 

reares : 
So grew the Romane Empire by degree. 



Till that Barbarian hands it quite did spill, 
And left of it but these olde markes to 

see, 
Of which all passers by doo somewhat 
pill : 
As they which gleane, the reliques use 

to gather, 
Which th' husbandman behind him 
chanst to scater. 



That same is now nought but a champian 
wide, 

Where all this worlds pride once was 
situate. 

No blame to thee, whosoever dost abide 

By Nyle, or Gauge, or Tygre, or Euphrate ; 

Ne Afrike thereof guiltie is, nor Spaine, 

Nor the bolde people by the Thamis 
brincks. 

Nor the brave warlicke brood of Ale- 
maine. 

Nor the borne Souldier which Rhine run- 
ning drinks : 

Thou onely cause, O Civill furie ! art. 

Which, sowing in th' Aemathiau fields 
thy spight. 

Didst arme thy hand against thy proper 
hart; 

To th' end that when thou wast in great- 
est hight, 
To greatnes growne, through long 

prosperitie. 
Thou then adowne might'st fall more 
horriblie. 

XXXII. 

Hope ye, ray verses, that posteritie 
Of age ensuing shall you ever read ? 
Hope ye, that ever immortalitie 
So meane Harpes worke may chalenge for 

her meed ? 
If under heaven anie endurance were. 
These moniments, which not in paper 

writ. 
But in Porphyre and Marble doo appeare, 
Might well have hop'd to have obtained it. 
Nath'les my Lute, whom Phoebus deignd 

to give. 
Cease not to sound these olde antiquities ; 
For if that time doo let thy glorie live, 
Well maist thou boast, how ever base 

thou bee, 
That thou art first, which of thy Nation 

song 
Th' olde honour of the people gowned 

long. 

V Envoy. 

Bellay, first garland of free Poesie 
That France brought forth, though fruit- 
full of brave wits, 



L. 1-7.] 



MUIOPOTMOS. 



659 



Well worthie thou of immortalitie, 
That lonoj hast traveld, by thy learned 

writs, 
Olde Rome out of her ashes to revive, 
And give a second life to dead decayes ! 
Needes must he all eternitie survive. 
That can to other give eternall dayes : 
Thy dayes therefore are endles, and thy 

prayse 



Excelling all that ever went before. 
And, after thee, gins Bartas hie to 

rayse 
His heavenly Muse, th' Almightie to 
adore. 
Live, happie spirits, th' honour of your 

name, 
And fill the world with never dying 
fame ! 



MUIOPOTMOS, 

OK THE 

FATE OF THE BUTTERFLIE. 

BY ED. SP. 

DEDICATED TO THE MOST FAIRE AND VERTUOUS LADIE, 

THE LADIE CAREY. 

TO THE BIGHT WORTHY AND VERTUOUS LADIE, 

THE LA: CAREY. 



Most brave and bountifull La : for so ex- 
cellent favours as I have received at your 
sweet handes, to offer these fewe leaves, 
as in recompence, should be as to offer 
flowers to the Gods for their divine bene- 
fites. Therefore I have determined to give 
my selfe wholy to you, as quite abandoned 
from my selfe, and absolutely vowed to 
your services : which in all right is ever 
held for full recompence of debt or dam- 
age, to have the person yeelded. My 
person I wot wel how little worth it is. 
But the faithfull minde and humble zeale 
which I beare unto your La: may per- 
haps be more of price, as may please you 
to account and use the poore service 
thereof; which taketh glory to advance 
your excellent partes and noble vertues, 



and to spend it selfe in honouring you: 
not so much for your great bounty to my 
self, which yet may not be unminded ; 
nor for name or kindreds sake by you 
vouchsafed, being also regardable ; as for 
that honourable name, which yee have by 
your brave deserts purchast to your self, 
and spred in the mouths of al men : with 
which I have also presumed to grace my 
verses, and under your name to commend 
to the world this small Poeme, the which 
beseeching your La: to take in worth, 
and of all things therein according to 
your wonted graciousnes to make a milde 
construction, I humbly pray for your 
happines. 

Your La : ever humbly ; 

E. S. 



MUIOPOTMOS: OR THE FATE OF THE BUTTERFLIE. 



I SING of deadly dolorous debate, 

Stir'd up through wrathfull Nemesis 

despight. 
Betwixt two mightie ones of great estate, 
Drawne into armes, and proofe of mortal! 

fight, 



Through prowd ambition and hart-swell- 
ing hate, 5 

Whilest neither could the others greater 
might 

And sdeignf ull scorne endure ; that from 
small Jarre 



66o 



MUIOPOTMOS. 



[l. 8-84. 



Their wraths at length broke into open 
warre. 

The roote whereof and tragicall effect, 
Vouchsafe, O thou the mournfulst Muse 

of nyne ! 10 

That wontst the tragick stage for to 

direct, 
In funeral! complaints and waylfull tyne, 
Reveale to me, and all the meanes detect, 
Through which sad Clarion did at last 

decline 14 

To lowest wretchednes : And is there then 
Such rancour in the harts of mightie men ? 

Of all the race of silver-winged Flies 
Which doo possesse the Empire of the aire, 
Betwixt the centred earth and azure skies. 
Was none more favourable, nor more 
faire, 20 

Whilst heaven did favour his felicities, 
Then Clarion, the eldest sonne and haire 
Of Muscaroll ; and in his fathers sight 
Of all alive did seeme the fairest wight. 

With fruitfull hope his aged breast he fed 
Of future good, which his yong toward 

yeares, 26 

Full of brave courage and bold hardyhed, 
Above th' ensample of his equall peares, 
Did largely promise, and to him fore-red, 
(Whilst oft his heart did melt in tender 

teares) 30 

That he in time would sure prove such an 

one, 
As should be worthie of his fathers throne. 

The fresh yong flie, in whom the kindly 

fire 
Of lustfull yongth began to kindle fast, 
Did much disdaine to subject his desire 35 
To loathsome sloth, or houres in ease to 

wast, 
But joy'd to range abroad in fresh attire, 
Through the wide compas of the ayrie 

coast ; 
And, with unwearied wings, each part t' 

inquire 
Of the wide rule of his renowmed sire. 40 

For he so swift and nimble was of flight. 

That from this lower tract he dared to 
stie 

Up to the clowdes, and thence with pin- 
eons light 

To mount aloft unto the Cristall skie. 

To view the workmanship of heavens 
hight : 45 

Whence, down descending, he along would 
flie 

Upon the streaming rivers, sport to finde ; 



And oft would dare to tempt the troub- 
lous wiude. 

So on a Summers day, when season milde 
With gentle calme the world had quieted, 
And high in heaven Hyperions fierie 

childe 51 

Ascending did his beames abroad dis- 

pred. 
Whiles all the heavens on lower creatures 

smilde, 
Yong Clarion, with vauntfuU lustie- 

head, 
After his guize did cast abroad to fare : 55 
And theretoo gan his furnitures prepare. 

His breastplate first, that was of sub- 
stance pure. 

Before his noble heart he tirmely bound, 

That mought his life from yron death 
assure. 

And ward his gentle corpes from cruell 
wound ; 60 

For it by arte was framed to endure 

The bit of balefuU Steele and bitter 
stownd. 

No lesse than that which Vulcane made 
to sheild 

Achilles life from fate of Troyan field. 

And then about his shoulders broad he 

threw 65 

An hairie hide of some wilde beast, whom 

bee 
In salvage forrest by adventure slew, 
And reft the spoyle his ornament to bee ; 
Which, spredding all his backe, with 

dreadfull view 
Made all that him so horrible did see 70 
Thinke him Alcides with the Lyons skin. 
When the Nsemean Conquest he did win. 

Upon his head his glistering Burganet, 
The which was wrought by wondrous 

device 
And curiously engraven, he did set : 75 
The metall was of rare and passing price ; 
Not Bilbo Steele, nor brasse from Corinth 

fet. 
Nor costly Oricalche from strange 

Phcenice, 
But such as could both Phoebus arrowes 

ward. 
And th' hayling darts of heaven beating 

hard. 80 

Therein two deadly weapons fixt he bore, 
Strongly outlaunced towards either side, 
Like two sharpe speares his enemies to 

gore: 
Like as a warlike Brigandine, applyde 



L. 85-158.] 



MUIOPOTMOS. 



661 



To fight, layes forth her threatfull pikes 
afore 85 

The engines which in them sad death doo 
hyde : 

So did this flie outstretch his fearefull 
liornes, 

Yet so as him their terrour more adornes. 

Lastly his shiuie wings as silver bright, 
Painted with thousand colours, passing 

farre 90 

All Painters skill, he did about him dight : 
Not halfe so manie sundrie colours arre 
In Iris bowe; ne heaven doth shine so 

bright, 
Distinguished with manie a twinckling 

starre ; 
Nor Junoes Bird in her ey-spotted traine 95 
So many goodly colours doth containe. 

Ne (may it be withouten perill spoken ?) 
The Archer God, the sonne of Cytheree, 
That joyes on wretched lovers to be 

wroken. 
And heaped spoyles of bleeding 'harts to 

see, 100 

Beares in his wings so manie a changefull 

token. 
Ah, my liege Lord! forgive it unto mee, 
If ought against thine honour I have tolde ; 
Yet sure those wings were fairer mani- 

folde. 

Full many a Ladie faire, in Court full 

oft 105 

Beholding them, him secretly en vide, 
And wisht that two such fannes, so silken 

soft 
And golden faire, her Love would her 

provide ; 
Or that, when them the gorgeous Flie had 

doft, 
Some one, that would with grace be grati- 

fide, 110 

From him would steale them privily away. 
And bring to her so precious a pray. 

Report is, that dame Venus, on a day 
In spring, when flowres doo clothe the 

fruitful ground, 
"Walking abroad with all her Nymphes to 

play, 115 

Bad her faire damzels, flocking her 

arownd, 
To gather flowres her forhead to array : 
Emongst the rest a gentle Nymph was 

found , 
Hight Astery, excelling all the crewe 
In curteous usage and unstained hewe ; 120 

Who, beeing nimbler joynted than the 
rest, 



And more industrious, gathered more 

store 
Of the fields honour than the others best ; 
Which they in secret harts envying sore, 
Tolde Venus, when her as the worthiest 
She praisd, that Cupide (as they heard 

before) 126 

Did lend her secret aide, in gathering 
Into her lap the children of the spring. 

Whereof the Goddesse gathering jealous 

feare. 
Not yet unmindf uU how not long agoe 130 
Her sonne to Psyche secrete love did 

beare. 
And long it close conceal'd, till mickle 

woe 
Thereof arose, and manie a rufull teare, 
Reason with sudden rage did overgoe ; 
And, giving hastie credit to tli' accuser, 135 
Was led away of them that did abuse her. 

Eftsoones that Damzell, by her heavenly 

might. 
She turn'd into a winged Butterflie, 
In the wide aire to make her wandring 

flight ; 
And all those flowres, with which so 

plenteouslie 140 

Her lap she filled had, that bred her 

spight, 
She placed in her wings, for memorie 
Of her pretended crime, though crime none 

were : 
Since which that flie them in her wings 

doth beare. 

Thus the fresh Clarion, being readie 
dight, 145 

Unto his journey did himselfe addresse. 
And with good speed began to take his 

flight. 
Over the fields, in his franke lustinesse. 
And all the champain o're he soared light ; 
And all the countrey wide he did possesse. 
Feeding upon their pleasures bounteous- 
lie, 151 
That none gainsaid, nor none did him 
envie. 

The woods, the rivers, and the medowes 

green, 
With his aire-cutting wings he measured 

wide, 
Ne did he leave the mountaines bare un- 

seene, _ 155 

Nor the ranke grassie fennes delights 

untride. 
But none of these, how ever sweete they 

beene. 
Mote please his fancie, nor him cause 

t' abide: 



662 



MUIOPOTMOS. 



[L. 159-234. 



His choicefull sense with every chauge 

doth flit: 
No common things may please a wavering 

wit. 160 

To the gay gardius his unstaid desire 
Him wholly caried, to refresh his sprights : 
There lavish Nature, in her hest attire, 
Powres forth sweete odors and alluring 

sights ; 
And Arte, with her contending, doth 

aspire 165 

T' excell the naturall with made delights ; 
And all, that faire or pleasant may be 

found, 
In riotous excesse doth there abound. 

There he arriving round about doth flie, 
From bed to bed, from one to other bor- 
der, 170 
And takes survey, with curious busie eye. 
Of every flowre and herbe there set in 

order : 
Now this, now that, he tasteth tenderly, 
Yet none of them he rudely doth disorder, 
Ne with his feete their silken leaves de- 
face, 175 
But pastures on the pleasures of each place. 

And evermore, with most varietie 

And chauge of sweetnesse, (for all change 

is sweete) 
He casts his glutton sense to satisfie. 
Now sucking of the sap of herbe most 

meete, 180 

Or of the deaw which yet on them does lie. 
Now in the same bathing his tender feete ; 
And then he pearcheth on some braunch 

thereby. 
To weather him, and his moyst wings to 

dry. 

And then againe he turneth to his play, 185 
To spoyle the pleasures of that Paradise ; 
The wholesome Saulge, and Lavender still 

gray, 
Ranke-smelling Rue, and Cummin good 

for eyes. 
The Roses raigning in the pride of May, 
Sharpe Isope, good for greene w^ounds 

remedies, 190 

Faire Marigoldes, and Bees-alluring 

Thime 
Sweet Marjoram, and Daysies decking 

prime : 

Coole Violets, and Orpine growing still, 
Embathed Balrae, and chearf ull Galingale, 
Fresh Costmarie, and breathfuU Camo- 
mill, 195 

DullPoppie, and drink-quickning Setuale, 



Veyne-healing Verven, and hed-purging 

Dill, 
Sound Savorie, and Bazil hartie-hale. 
Fat Colworts, and comforting Perseline, 
Colde Lettuce, and refreshhig Rosmarine. 

And whatso else of vertue good or ill 201 
Grewe in this Gardin, fetcht from farre 

away. 
Of everie one he takes, and tastes at will. 
And on their pleasures greedily doth pray. 
Then, when he hath both plaid and fed his 
fill, 205 

In the warme Sunne he doth himselfe em- 
bay, 
And there him rests in riotous suf&saunce 
Of all his gladf nines, and kingly joyaunce. 

What more felicitie can fall to creature 

Then to enjoy delight with libertie, 210 

And to be Lord of all the workes of Na- 
ture, 

To raine in th' aire from th' earth to high- 
est skie. 

To feed on flowres and weeds of glorious 
feature. 

To take what ever thing doth please the 
eie? 

Who rests not pleased with such happi- 
nes, • 215 

Well worthy he to taste of wretchednes. 

But what on earth can long abide in state, 
Or who can him assure of happie day, 
Sith morning faire may bring fowle even- 
ing late, 
And least mishap the most blisse alter 



may 



220 



For thousand perills lie in close awaite 
About us daylie, to worke our decay; 
That none, except a God, or God him 

guide. 
May them avoyde, or remedie provide. 

And whatso heavens in their secret 

doome 225 

Ordained have, how can fraile fleshly 

wight 
Forecast, but it must needs to issue come ? 
The sea, the aire, the fire, the day, the 

night, 
And th' "armies of their creatures all and 

some 
Do serve to them, and with importune 

might 230 

Warre against us, the vassals of their will. 
Who then can save what they dispose to 

spill? 

Not thou, O Clarion ! though fairest thou 
Of all thy kinde, unhappie happie Flie, 



L. 235-306.] 



MUIOPOTMOS. 



667, 



Whose cruell fate is woven even novr 235 
Of Joves owne hand, to vrorke thy miserie. 
Ne may thee help the manie hartie vow, 
Which thy old Sire with sacred pietie 
Hath powred forth for thee, and th' altars 

sprent : 
Nought may thee save from heavens 

avengement. 240 

It fortuned (as heavens had behight) 
That in this gardin, where yong Clarion 
Was wont to solace him, a wicked wight, 
The foe of faire things, th' author of con- 
fusion. 
The shame of Nature, the bondslave of 
spight, 245 

Had lately built his hatefull mansion ; 
And, lurking closely, in awayte now lay. 
How he might anie in his trap betray. 

But when he spide the joyous Butterfiie 
In this faire plot dispacing too and fro, 250 
Feareles of foes and hidden jeopardie, 
Lord ! how he gau for to bestirre him 

tho, 
And to his wicked worke each part applie. 
His heart did earne against his hated 

foe, 
And bowels so with ranckling poyson 

swelde, 255 

That scarce the skin the strong contagion 

helde. 

The cause why he this Flie so raaliced 
Was (as in stories it is written found) 
For that his mother, which him bore and 

bred , 
The most fine-fingred workwoman on 
ground, 260 

Arachne, by his means was vanquished 
Of Pallas, and in her owne skill con- 
found. 
When she with her for excellence con- 
tended. 
That wrought her shame, and sorrow 
never ended. 

For the Tritouian goddesse, having hard 
Her blazed fame which all the world had 

fil'd, 266 

Came downe to prove the truth, and due 

reward 
For her prais-worthie workmanship to 

yeild ; 
But the presumptuous Damzell rashly 

dar'd 
The Goddesse selfe to chalenge to the 

field, 270 

And to compare with her in curious skill 
Of workes with loome, with needle, and 

with quill. 



Minerva did the chalenge not refuse. 
But deign 'd with her the paragon to 

make : 
So to their worke they sit, and each doth 

chuse 275 

What storie she will for her tapet take. 
Arachne figur'd how Jove did abuse 
Europa like a Bull, and on his backe 
Her through the sea did beare ; so lively 

scene. 
That it true Sea, and true Bull, ye would 

weene. 280 

She seem'd still backe unto the land to 

looke. 
And her play-fellowes aide to call, and 

feare 
The dashing of the waves, that up she 

tooke 
Her daintie feete, and garments gathered 

neare ; 
But (Lord!) how she in everie member 

shooke, 285 

When as the land she saw no more 

appeare. 
But a wilde wildernes of waters deepe : 
Then gan she greatly to lament and weepe. 

Before the Bull she pictur'd winged Love, 
With his yong brother Sport, light 

fluttering 290 

Upon the waves, as each had been a 

Dove; 
The one his bowe and shafts, the other 

Spring 
A burning Teade about his head did 

move. 
As in their Syres new love both triumph- 
ing: 
And manie Nymphes about them flocking 

round, 295 

And manie Tritons which their homes did 

sound. 

And round about her worke she did 
empale 

With a faire border wrought of sundrie 
flowres, 

Enwoven with an Yvie-winding trayle : 

A goodly worke, full fit for kingly 
bowres ; 300 

Such as Dame Pallas, such as Envie pale, 

That al good things with venemous tooth 
devowres, 

Could not accuse. Then gan the God- 
desse bright 

Her selfe likewise unto her worke to dight. 

She made the storie of the olde debate 305 
Which she with Neptune did for Athens 
trie : 



664 



MUIOPOTMOS. 



[L. 307-376. 



Twelve Gods doo sit around in royall 

state, 
And Jove in midst with awfull Majestic, 
To judge the strife betweene tliem stirred 

late: 
Each of the Gods, by his like vis- 

nomie 310 

Eathe to be knowen ; but Jove above 

them all. 
By his great lookes and power Imperiall. 

Before them stands the God of Seas in 
place, 

Clayming that sea-coast Citieas his right. 

And strikes the rockes with his three- 
forked mace ; 315 

Whenceforth issues a warlike steed in 
sight, 

The signe by which he chalengeth the 
place ; 

That all the Gods, which saw his won- 
drous might, 

Did surely deeme the victorie his due : 

But seldome seene, fore judgment proveth 
true. 320 

Then to her selfe she gives her Aegide 

shield, 
And steelhed speare, and morion on her 

hedd. 
Such as she oft is seene in warlicke field : 
Then sets she forth, how with her weapon 

dredd 
She smote the ground, the which streight 

foorth did yield 325 

A fruitf uU Olyve tree, with berries spredd. 
That all the Gods admir'd : then, all the 

storie 
She compast with a wreathe of Olyves 

hoarie. 

Emongst these leaves she made a Butter- 

flie, 
With excellent device and wondrous 

slight, 330 

Fluttring among the Olives wantonly. 
That seem'd to live, so like it was in 

sight : 
The velvet nap which on his wings doth 

lie. 
The silken downe with which his backs 

is dight, 
His broad outstretched homes, his hayrie 

thies, 335 

His glorious colours, and his glistering 



Which when Arachne saw, as overlaid 
And mastered with workmanship so rare, 
She stood astonied long, ne ought gaine- 
said; 



And with fast fixed eyes on her did 
stare, 340 

And by her silence, sigue of one dismaid. 
The victorie did yeeld her as her share : 
Yet did she inly fret and felly burne. 
And all her blood to poysonous rancor 
turne : 

That shortly from the shape of woman- 
hed, 345 

Such as she was when Pallas she 
attempted. 

She grew to hideous shape of dryrihed. 

Pined with grief e of folly late repented : 

Eftsoones her white streight legs were 
altered 

To crooked crawling shankes, of marrowe 
empted ; 350 

And her faire face to fowle and loath- 
some hewe, 

And her fine corpes to a bag of venim grewe. 

This cursed creature, mindfull of that 

olde 
Enfested grudge, the which his mother 

felt. 
So soone as Clarion he did beholde, 355 
His heart with vengefull malice inly 

swelt ; 
And weaving straight a net with manie a 

fold 
About the cave in which he lurking 

dwelt, 
With fine small cords about it stretched 

wide. 
So finely sponne that scarce they could be 

spide. 360 

Not anie damzell, which her vaunteth most 
In skilfull knitting of soft silken twyne, 
Nor anie weaver, which his worke doth 

boast 
In dieper, in damaske, or in lyne, 
Nor anie skil'd in workmanship em- 

bost, 365 

Nor anie skil'd in loupes of fingring fine, 
Might in their divers cunning ever dare 
With this so curious net worke to compare. 

Ne doo I thinke, that that same subtil gin. 
The which the Lemnian God framde 

craftily, 370 

Mars sleeping with his wife to compasse 

in, 
That all the Grods with common mockerie 
Might laugh at them, and scorne their 

shamefull sin. 
Was like to this. This same he did applie 
For to entrap the careles Clarion, 375 

That rang'd each where without sus- 

pition. 



L. 377-440.] 



MUIOPOTMOS. 



665 



Suspition of friend, nor feare of foe 
That hazarded his health, had he at all, 
But walkt at will, and wandred too and 

fro. 
In the pride of his freedome princi- 
pal! : 380 
Little wist he his fatall future woe. 
But was secure ; the liker he to fall. 
He likest is to fall into mischaunce, 
That is regardles of his governaunce. 

Yet still Aragnoll (so his foe was 
hight) 385 

Lay lurking covertly him to surprise ; 
And all his gins, that him entangle might 
Drest in good order as he could devise. 
At length, the foolish Flie, without fore- 
sight, 389 
As he that did all daunger quite despise. 
Toward those parts came flying carelesslie, 
Where hidden was his hatefull enemie. 

Who, seeing him, with secret joy therefore 
Did tickle inwardly in everie vaine ; 
And his false hart, fraught with all 

treasons store, 395 

Was fil'd with hope his purpose to 

obtaine : 
Himselfe he close upgathered more and 

more 
Into his den, that his deceitfull traine 
By his there being might not be bewraid, 
Ne anie noyse, ne anie motion made. 400 

Like as a wily Foxe, that having spide 
Where on a sunnie banke the Lambes doo 

play, 
Full closely creeping by the hinder side. 
Lyes in ambushment of his hoped pray, 
Ne stirreth limbe; till, seeing readie 

tide, 405 

He rusheth forth , and snatcheth quite away 
One of the litle yonglings unawares : 
So to his worke Aragnoll him prepares. 

Who now shall give unto my heavie eyes 



A well of teares, that all may over- 
flow? 410 

Or where shall I finde lamentable cryes. 

And mournful! tunes enough my griefe to 
show? 

Helpe, O thou Tragick Muse ! me to devise 

Notes sad enough t' expresse this bitter 
throw : 

For loe! the drerie stownd is now 
arrived, 415 

That of all happines hath us deprived. 

The luckles Clarion, whether cruel! Fate 
Or wicked Fortune faultles him misled. 
Or some ungracious blast, out of the gate 
Of Aeoles raine, perforce him drove on 
bed, 420 

Was (O sad hap, and howre unfortunate !) 
With violent swift flight forth caried 
Into the cursed cobweb, which his foe 
Had framed for his final! overthroe. 

There the fond Flie, entangled, strugled 

long, 425 

Himselfe to free thereout ; but all in vaine : 
For striving more, the more in laces 

strong 
Himselfe he tide, and wrapt his winges 

twaine 
In lymie snares the subtil! loupes among ; 
That in the ende he breathlesse did 

remaine, 430 

And, all his yongthly forces idly spent, 
Him to the mercy of th' avenger lent. 

Which when the greisly tyrant did espie, 
Like a grimme Lyon rushing with fierce 

might 
Out of his den, he seized greedelie 435 
On the resistles pray; and, with fell 

spight, 
Under the left wing stroke his weapon slie 
Into his heart, that his deepe-groning 

spright 
In bloodie streames f oorth fled into the aire. 
His bodie left the spectacle of care. 440 



VISIONS OF THE WORLDS VANITIE. 



One day, whiles that my daylie cares did 

sleepe, 
My spirit shaking off her earthly prison. 
Began to enter into meditation deepe 
Of things exceeding reach of common 

reason ; 
Such as this age, in which all good is 

geason, 



And all that humble is, andmeane debaced, 
Hath brought forth in her last declining 

season, 
Griefe of good mindes, to see goodnesse 



On which when as my thought was 

throghly placed. 
Unto my eyes strange showes presented 

were. 



666 



VISIONS OF THE WORLDS VANITIE. 



Picturing that wliicli I iu miude em- 
braced, 
That yet those sights empassion me full 
iiere 
Such as they were (faire Ladie!) take iu 

\14prth, 
That wheu time serves may briug thiugs 
better forth. 

II. 

In summers day, wheu Phoebus fairly 

shone, 
I saw a Bull as white as driven suowe, 
With gilden homes embowed like the 

Moone, 
In a fresh flo wring meadow lying lowe : 
Up to his eares the verdant grasse did 

growe, 
And the gay floures did offer to be eaten ; 
But he witli fatnes so did overflowe, 
That he all wallowed in the weedes downe 

beaten, 
Ne car'd with them his daintie lips to 

sweeten : 
Till that a Brize, a scorned little creature, 
Through his faire hide his augrie sting 

did threaten. 
And vext so sore, that all his goodly 

feature 
And all his plenteous pasture nought 

him pleased: 
So by the small the great is oft diseased. 



Beside the fruitfull shore of muddie Nile, 
Upon a sunnie banke outstretched lay, 
In monstrous length, a mightie Crocodile, 
That, cram'd with guiltles blood and 

greedie praj-- 
Of wretched people travailing that way, 
Thought all thiugs lesse than his disdain- 
ful pride. 
I saw a little Bird cal'd Tedula, 
The least of thousands which on earth 

abide. 
That f orst this hideous beast to open wide 
The griesly gates of his devouring hell, 
And let him feede, as Nature did provide, 
Upon his Jawes, that with blacke venime 
swell. 
Why then should greatest things the 

least disdain e, 
Sith that so small so mightie can con- 
straine ? 

IV. 

The kingly Bird, that beares Joves thun- 
derclap. 
One day did scorne the simple Scarabee, 
Proud of his highest service, and good 
hap. 



That made all other Foules his thralls to 

bee: 
The silly Flie, that no redresse did see, 
Spide where the Eagle built his towriug 

nest. 
And, kindling fire within the hollow tree, 
Burnt up his yoiig ones, and himselfe dis- 

trest ; 
Ne suffred him in anie place to rest, 
But drove in Joves owne lap his egs to 

lay ; 
Where gathering also filth him to infest, 
Forst with tlie filth his egs to fling away : 
For which when as the Foule was wroth, 

said Jove, 
' Lo ! how the least the greatest may 

reprove.' 

V. 

Toward the sea turning my troubled ej^e, 
I saw the fish (if fish I may it cleepe) 
That makes the sea before his face to flye. 
And with his flaggie finnes doth seeme to 

sweepe 
The fomie waves out of the dreadfull 

deep, 
The huge Leviathan, dame Natures won- 
der, 
Making his sport, that mauie makes to 

weep : 
A sword-fish small him from the rest did 

suuder, 
That, in his throat him pricking softly 

under. 
His wide Abysse him forced forth to 

spewe. 
That all the sea did roare like heavens 

thunder. 
And all the waves were stain'd with filthie 

hewe. 
Hereby I learned have not to despise 
Whatever thing seems small in common 

eyes. 

VI. 

An hideous Dragon, dreadfull to behold. 
Whose backe was armM against the dint 

of speare 
With shields of brasse that shone like 

burnisht golde, 
And forkhed sting that death in it did 

beare, 
Strove with a Spider his unequall 

peare ; 
And bad defiance to his enemie. 
The subtill vermin, creeping closely neare. 
Did in his drinke shed poyson privilie ; 
Which, through his entrailes spredding 

diver sly, 
Made him to swell, that nigh his bowells 

brust, 
And him euforst to yeeld the victorie, 



VISIONS OF THE WORLDS VANITIE. 



667 



That did so much iu his owne greatnesse 

trust. 
0! how great vaiuuesse is it theu to 

scorue 
The weake, that hath the strong so oft 

forlorne ! 

VII. 

High on a hill a goodly Cedar grewe, 
01" wondrous length, and streight propor- 
tion, 
That farre abroad her daiutie odours 

threwe ; 
Mougst all the daughters of proud Liba- 

non, 
Her match in beautie was not anie one. 
Shortly within her inmost pith there bred 
A litle wicked worme, perceiv'd of none, 
That on her sap and vital I moysture fed : 
Thenceforth her garland so much hon- 
oured 
Began to die, (O great ruth for the same !) 
And her faire lockes fell from her loftie 

head, 
That shortly balde and bared she became. 
I, which this sight beheld, was much 

dismayed 
To see so goodly thing so soone decayed. 



Soone after this I saw an Elephant, 
Adorn'd with bells and bosses gorgeouslie 
That on his backe did beare (as bat- 

teilant) 
A gilden towre, which shone exceeding-lie ; 
That he himselfe through foolish vanitie. 
Both for his rich attire audgoodlj^ forme, 
Was puffed up with passing surquedrie, 
And shortly gan all other beasts to scorue. 
Till that a little Ant, a silly worme. 
Into his nosthrils creeping, so him pained, 
That, casting downe his towres, he did 

deforme 
Both borrowed pride, and native beautie 

stained. 
Let therefore nought, that great is, 

therein glorie, 
Sith so small thing his happines may 

varie. 

rx. 

Looking far foorth into the Ocean wide, 
A goodly ship with banners bravely dight, 
And flag iu her top-gallant, I espide 
Through the maine sea making her merry 

"flight 
Faire blew the winde into her bosome 

right ; 
And th' heavens looked lovely all the 

while, 
That she did seeme to daunce, as in de- 
light, 



And at her owne felicitie did smile. 
All sodainely there clove unto her keele 
A little fish, that men called Remora, 
Which stopt her course, and held her by 

the heele. 
That winde nor tide could move her 

thence away. 
Straunge thing, me seemeth, that so 

small a thing- 
Should able be so great an one to wring. 



A mighty Lyon, Lord of all the wood. 
Having his hunger throughly satisfide 
With pray of beasts and spoyle of living 

blood. 
Safe in his dreadles den him thought to 

hide : 
His sternesse was his prayse, his strength 

his pride. 
And all his glory in his cruell clawes. 
I saw a wasp, that fiercely him defide. 
And bade him battaile even to his jawes: 
Sore he him stong, that it the blood forth 

drawes. 
And his proude heart is fild with fretting 

ire : 
In vaine he threats his teeth, his tayle, 

his pawes. 
And from his bloodie eyes doth sparkle 

fire : 
That dead himselfe he wisheth for de- 

spight- 
So weakest may anoy the most of 

might ! 

XI. 

What time the Romaine Empire bore the 

raine 
Of all the world and florisht most in 

might, 
The nations gan their soveraigntie dis- 

daine, 
And cast to quitt them from their bond- 
age quight: 
So, when all shrouded were in silent 

night, 
The Galles were, by corrupting of a 

raaj'de. 
Possest nigh of the Capitol through 

slight. 
Had not a Goose the treachery bewraydo ; 
If then a Goose great Rome from ruiue 

stayde, 
And Jove himselfe, the patron of the 

place. 
Preserved from being to his foes betrayde ; 
Why do vaine men mean things so much 

deface. 
And in their might repose their most 

assurance, 



668 



VISIONS OF THE WORLDS VANITIE. 



Sith nought on earth can chalenge long 
endurance ? 



When these sad sights were overpast and 

gone, 
My spright was greatly moved in her rest, 
With inward ruth and deare affection, 
To see so great things by so small distrest, 
Thenceforth I gan in my eugrieved brest 
To scorne all difference of great and 

small, 



Sith that the greatest often are opprest, 
And unawares doe into daunger fall. 
And ye, that read these mines tragicall, 
Learne by their losse to love the low 

degree ; 
And, if that fortune chaunce you up to 

call 
To honours seat, forget not what you be : 
For he, that of himself e is most secure. 
Shall finde his state most fickle and 

unsure. 



THE VISIONS OF BELLAY. 



It was the time, when rest, soft sliding 

downe 
From heavens bight into mens heavy eyes. 
In the forgetfulnes of sleepe doth drowne 
The caref ull thoughts of mortall miseries ; 
Then did a Ghost before mine eyes ap- 

peare, 
On that great rivers banck, that runnes 

by Rome ; 
Which, calling me by name, bad me to 

reare 
My lookes to heaven whence all good gifts 

do come. 
And crying lowd, Loe! now beholde 

(quoth hee) 
What under this great temple placed is : 
Lo, all is nought but flying vanitee ! 
So I, that know this worlds inconstancies, 
Sith onely God surmounts all times 

decay. 
In God alone my confidence do stay. 

II. 

On high hills top I saw a stately frame, 
An hundred cubits high by just assize. 
With hundreth pillours fronting faire the 

same. 
All wrought with Diamond after Dorick 

wize : 
Nor brick nor marble was the wall in view. 
But shining Christall, which from top to 

base 
Out of her womb a thousand rayons threw 
On hundred steps of Af rike golds enchase : 
Golde was the parget; and the seeling 

bright 
Did shine all scaly with great plates of 

golde ; 
The floore of Jasp and Emeraude was 

dight. 
O worlds vainesse! Whiles thus I did 

behold, 



An earthquake shooke the hill from 

lowest seat. 
And overthrew this frame with mine 

great. 



Then did a sharped spyre of Diamond 

bright. 
Ten feete each way in square appeare to 

mee. 
Justly proportion'd up unto his hight, 
So far as Archer might his level see : 
The top thereof a pot did seeme to beare. 
Made of the mettall, which we most do 

honour ; 
And in this golden vessel couched weare 
The ashes of a mightie Emperour : 
Upon f oure corners of the base were pight, 
To beare the frame, foure great Lyons of 

gold; 
A worthy tombe for such a worthy wight. 
Alas, this world doth nought but grievance 

hold! 
I saw a tempest from the heaven 

descend. 
Which this brave monument with flash 

did rend. 



I saw raysde up on yvorie pillowes tall, 
Whose bases were of richest mettalls 

warke. 
The chapters Alablaster, the fryses 

christall. 
The double front of a triumphall Arke : 
On each side purtraid was a Victorie, 
Clad like a Nimph, that wings of silver 

weares, 
And in triumphant chayre was set on hie. 
The auncient glory of the Romaine peares. 
No worke it seem'd of earthly craftsmans 

wit. 
But rather wrought by his owne industry, 



THE VISIONS OF BELLAY. 



669 



That thunder-dartes for Jove his syre 

doth fit. 
Let me no more see faire thing under sky, 
Sith that mine eyes have seene so faire 

a sight 
With sodain fall to dust consumed 
quight. 

V. 

Then was the faire Dodonian tree far 

seene, 
Upon seaven hills to spread his gladsome 

gleame, 
And conquerours bedecked with his greene, 
Along the bancks of the Ausonian 

streame : 
There many an auncient Trophee was 

addrest, 
And many a spoyle, and many a goodly 

show. 
Which that brave races greatnes did attest. 
That whilom e from the Troyan blood did 

flow. 
Ravisht I was so rare a thing to vew ; 
When lo ! a barbarous troupe of clownish 

fone 
The honour of these noble boughs down 

threw : 
Under the wedge I heard the tronck to 

grone ; 
And, since, I saw the roote in great 

disdaine 
A twinne of forked trees sent forth 

againe. 

VI. 

I saw a Wolfe under a rockie cave 
Noursing two whelpes ; I saw her litle ones 
In wanton dalliance the teate to crave. 
While she her neck wreath'd from them 

for the nones: 
I saw her raunge abroad to seekeher food, 
And roming through the field with greedie 

rage 
T'embrew her teeth and clawes with luke- 
warm blood 
Of the small beards, her thirst for to 

ass wage. 
I saw a thousand huntsmen, which 

descended 
Downe from the mountaines bordring 

Lom bardie, 
That with an hundred speares her flank 

wide rended. 
I saw her on the plaine outstretched lie, 
Throwing out thousand throbs in her 

owne soyle ; 
Soone on a tree uphang'd I saw her 

spoyle. 

VII. 

I saw the Bird that can the sun endure, 
With feeble wings assay to mount on bight ; 



By more and more she gan her wings 

t'assure, 
Following th' ensample of her mothers 

sight : 
I saw her rise, and with a larger flight 
To pierce the cloudes, and with wide 

pinneons 
To measure the most haughtie mountaines 

bight, 
Untill she raught the Gods owne mansions : 
There was she lost; when suddaine I 

behelde. 
Where, tumbling through the ayre in firie 

fold. 
All flaming downe she on the plaine was 

felde. 
And soone her bodie turn'd to ashes colde. 
I saw the foule, that doth the light 

dispise, 
Out of her dust like to a worm arise. 



I saw a river swift, whose fomybillowes 
Did wash the ground-work of an old great 

wall; 
I saw it cover'd all with griesly shadowes, 
That with black horror did the ayre appall : 
Thereout a strange beast with seven heads 

arose, 
That townes and castles under her brest 

did coure. 
And seem'd both milder beasts and fiercer 

foes 
Alike with equall ravine to devoure. 
Much was I mazde, to see this monsters 

kinde 
In hundred formes to change his fearefuU 

hew; 
When as at length I saw the wrathfull 

winde. 
Which blows cold storms, burst out of 

Scithian mew. 
That sperst these cloudes ; and, in so 

short as thought. 
This dreadfull shape was vanished to 

nought. 

IX. 

Then all astonied with this mighty ghoast, 
An hideous bodie big and strong I sawe. 
With side-long beard, and locks down 

hanging loast, 
Sterne face, and front full of Saturnlike 

awe 
Who, leaning on the belly of a pot, 
Pourd foorth a water, whose out gushing 

flood 
Ran bathing all the creakie shore aflot. 
Whereon the Troyan prince spilt Turnus 

blood 
And at his feete a bitch wolfe suck did 

yeeld 



670 



THE VISIONS OF BELLAY. 



To two young babes: His left the palme 

tree stout, 
His right hand did the peacefull olive 

wield ; 
And head with Lawrell garnisht was 
about. 
Sudden both Palme and Olive fell away, 
And faire greene Lawrell branch did 
quite decay. 

X. 

Hard by a rivers side a virgin faire, 
Folding her armes to Heaven with thou- 
sand throbs, 
And outraging her cheekes and golden 

haire, 
To falling rivers sound thus tun'd her 

sobs. 
' Where is (quoth she) this whilom 

honoured face ? 
Where the great glorie and the auncient 

praise, 
In which all worlds felicitie had place, 
When Gods and men my honour up did 

raise ? 
Suffisd it not that civill warres me made 
The whole worlds spoile, but that this 

hydra new, 
Of hundred Hercules to be assaide, 
With seven heads, budding monstrous 

crimes anew, 
So many Neroes and Caligulaes 
Out of these crooked shores must dayly 

rayse ? ' 

XI. 

Upon an hill a bright flame I did see 
Waving aloft with triple point to skie, 
Which, like incense of precious Cedar tree. 
With balmie odours hl'd th' ayre farre 

and nie. 
A Bird all white, well feathered on each 

wing. 
Hereout up to the throne of Gods did flie. 
And all the way most pleasant notes did 

sing. 
Whilst in the smoake she unto heaven did 

stie. 
Of this faire fire the scattered rayes forth 

threw 
On everie side a thousand shining beames : 
When sudden dropping of a silver dew 
(O grievous chance ! ) gan quench those 

precious flames ; 
That it, which earst so pleasant sent 

did yeld. 
Of nothing now but noyous sulphure 

smeld. 

XII. 

I saw a spring out of a rocke forth rayle, 
As cleare as Christall gainst the Sunnie 
beames, 



The bottome yeallow, like the golden 

grayle 
That bright Pactolus washeth with his 

streames ; 
It seem'd that Art and Nature had 

assembled 
All pleasure there, for which mans hart 

could long ; 
And there a noyse alluring sleepe soft 

trembled. 
Of manie accords more sweete than 

Mermaids song : 
The seates and benches shone as yvorie, 
And hundred Nymphes sate side by side 

about ; 
When from nigh hills, with hideous outcrie, 
A troupe of Satyres in the place did rout, 
Which with their villeine feete the 

streame did ray 
Threw down the seats, and drove the 

Nymphes away. 



Much richer then that vesseU seem'd to 

bee. 
Which did to that sad Florentine appeare, 
Casting mine eyes farre off, I chaunst to 

see 
Upon the Latine Coast herselfe to reare : 
But suddenly arose a tempest great. 
Bearing close euAde to these riches rare. 
Which gan assaile this ship with dreadfull 

threat. 
This ship to which none other might 

compare: 
And finally the storme impetuous 
Sunke up these riches, second unto none. 
Within the gulfe of greedie Nereus. 
I saw both ship and mariners each one, 
And all that treasure, drowned in the 

maine : 
But I the ship saw after raisd againe. 



Long having deeply gron'd these Visions 

sad, 
I saw a Citie like unto that same. 
Which saw the messenger of tidings glad ; 
But that on sand was built the goodly 

frame : 
It seem'd her top the firmament did rayse, 
And, no lesse rich than faire, right worthie 

sure 
(If ought here worthie) of immortall 

dayes. 
Or if auglit under heaven might firme 

endure. 
Much wondred I to see so faire a wall : 
When from the Northerne coast a storme 

arose. 



THE VISIONS OF BELLAY. 



671 



Which, breathing furie from his inward 

gall 
On all which did against his course oppose, 
Into a clowde of dust sperst in the 

aire 
The weake foundations of this citie 
faire. 

XV. 

At length, even at the time, when 

Morpheus 
Most trulie doth unto our eyes appeare, 
Wearie to see the heavens still wavering 

thus, 
I saw Typhosus sister comming neare ; 
Whose head, full bravely with a morion 

hidd, 



Did seeme to match the Gods in Majestie. 
She, by a rivers bancke that swift downe 

slidd, 
Over all the world did raise a Trophee hie, 
An hundred vanquisht Kings under her 

lay. 
With armes bound at their backs in 

shamefull wize. 
Whilst I thus mazed was with great 

affray, 
I saw the heavens in warre against her 

rize ; 
Then downe she stricken fell with clap 

of thonder. 
That with great noyse I wakte in sudden 

wonder. 



THE VISIONS OF PETRARCH, 



FORMERLY TRANSLATED. 



Being one day at my window all alone, 
So manie strange things happened me to 

see. 
As much it grieveth me to thinke thereon. 
At my right hand a Hynde appear'd to 

mee. 
So faire as mote the greatest god delite ; 
Two eager dogs did her pursue in chace. 
Of which the one was blacke, the other 

white : 
With deadly force so in their cruell race 
They pincht the haunches of that gentle 

beast, 
That at the last, and in short time, I 

spide. 
Under a Rocke, where she, alas, opprest. 
Fell to the ground, and there untimely 

dide. 
Cruoll death vanquishing so noble 

beautie. 
Oft makes me wayle so hard a destenie. 

II. 

After, at sea a tall ship did appeare, 
Made all of Heben and white Yvorie ; 
The sailes of golde, of silke the tackle 

were : 
Milde was the winde, calme seem'd the 

sea to bee, 
The skie eachwhere did show full bright 

and faire: 
With rich treasures this gay ship f raighted 

was: 



But sudden storme did so turmoyle the 

aire, 
And tumbled up the sea, that she (alas) 
Strake on a rock, that under water lay, 
And perished past all recoverie. 
O, how great ruth, and sorrowfull 
Doth vex my spirite with perplexitie, 

Thus in a moment to see lost and 
drown 'd, 

So great riches as like cannot be found ! 

III. 

The heavenly branches did I see arise 
Out of tiie fresh and lustie Lawrell tree, 
Amidst the yong greene wood; of Para- 
dise 
Some noble plant I thought myselfe to 

see: 
Such store of birds therein yshrowded 

were, 
Chaunting in shade their sundrie melodic, 
That with their sweetnes I was ravish't 

nere. 
While on this Laurell fixed was mine 

eie, 
The skie gan everie where to overcast, 
And darkned was the welkin all about. 
When sudden flash of heavens fire out 

brast, 
A]id rent this royall tree quite by the 

roote ; 
Which makes me much and ever to 

complaine : 
For no such shadow shalbe had againe. 



672 



THE VISIONS OF PETRARCH. 



"Within this wood, out of a rocke did rise 
A springof water, mildly rumbling downe, 
Wherto approched not iu anie wise 
The homely shepheard, nor the ruder 

clown e ; 
But manie Muses, and the Nymphes with- 

all. 
That sweetly in accord did tune their 

voyce 
To the soft sounding of the waters fall : 
That my glad hart thereat did much re- 

joyce. 
But, while herein I tooke my chiefe 

delight, 
I saw (alas) the gaping earth devoure 
The spring, the place, and all cleane out 

of sight; 
Which yet aggreeves my hart even to this 

houre. 
And wounds my soule with rufull 

memorie. 
To see such pleasures gon so suddenly. 



I saw a Phoenix in the wood alone, 

With purple wings, and crest of golden 

hewe; 
Strange bird he was, whereby I thought 

anone. 
That of some heavenly wight I had the 

vewe; 
Untill he came unto the broken tree. 
And to the spring, that late devoured 

was. 
What say I more ? each thing at last we 

see 
Doth passe away : the Phoenix there alas. 
Spying the tree destroid, the water dride, 
Himselfe smote with his beake, as in dis- 

daine, 
And so foorthwith in great despight he 

dide ; 
That yet my heart burnes in exceeding 

paine. 
For ruth and pitie of so haples plight : 



O let mine eyes no more see such a 

sight ! 

VI. 

At last so faire a Ladie did I spie. 

That thinking yet on her I burne and 
quake ; 

On hearbs and flowres she walked pen- 
sively, 

Milde , but yet Love she proudly did forsake : 

White seem'd her robes, yet woven so 
they were, 

As snowe and golde together had been 
wrought : 

Above the wast a darke clowde shrouded 
her, 

A stinging serpent by the heele her caught ; 

Wherewith she languisht as the gathered 
floure ; 

And, well assur'd, she mounted up to joy. 

Alas, on earth so nothing doth endure. 

But bitter griefe and sorrowf ull annoy : 
Which make this life wretched and 

miserable. 
Tossed with stormes of fortune vari- 
able! 

VII. 

When I behold this tickle trusties state 
Of vaine worlds glorie, flitting too and fro. 
And mortall men tossed by troublous fate 
In restles seas of wretchednes and woe; 
I wish I might this wearie life forgoe. 
And shortly turne unto my happie rest. 
Where my free spirite might not anie moe 
Be vext with sights, that doo her peace 

molest. 
And ye, faire Ladie, in whose bounteous 

brest 
All heavenly grace and vertue shrined is, 
When ye, these rythmes doo read, and 

vew the rest. 
Loath this base world, and thinke of 

heavens blis: 
And though ye be the fairest of Gods 

creatures. 
Yet thinke, that death shall spoyle your 

goodly features. 



DAPHNAIDA: 



AN ELEGIE 



TIPON THE DEATH OF THE NOBLE AND VERTTJ0U8 

DOUGLAS HOWAED, 

DAUGHTER AND HEIRE OF HENRY LORD HOWARD, VISCOTTNT BYNDON, 
AND WIFE OF ARTHURS GORGES, ESQUIER. 



DEDICATED TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE THE LADT 

HELENA, MARQUESSE OF J^ORTHAMPTON. 
BY ED. SP. 

TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE AND VKRTU0U8 LADY 

HELENA, MARQUESSE OF NORTH-HAMPTON. 



I HAVE the rather presumed humhly to 
offer unto your Honour the dedication of 
this little Poeme, for that the noble and 
vertuous Gentlewoman of whom it is writ- 
ten, was by match neere alied, and in 
affection greatly devoted, unto your Ladi- 
ship. The occasion why I wrote the same, 
was as well the great good fame which I 
heard of her deceassed, as the particular 
goodwill which I bear unto her husband 
Slaster Arthur Gorges, a lover of learning 
and vertue, whose house, as your Ladiship 
by mariage hath honoured, so doe I find 
the name of them, by many notable rec- 
ords, to be of great antiquitie in this 
Real me, and such as have ever borne them- 
selves with honourable reputation to the 
world, and unspotted loyaltie to their 



Prince and Countrey : besides, so lineally 
are they descended from the Howards, as 
that the Lady Anne Howard , eldest daugh- 
ter to John Duke of Norfolke, was wife to 
Sir Edmund, mother to Sir Edward, and 
grandmother to Sir William and Sir 
Thomas Gorges, knightes : and therefore 
I doe assure my selfe that no due honour 
done to the White Lyon, but will be most 
gratefull to your Ladiship, whose husband 
and children do so neerely participate with 
the bloud of that noble family. So in all 
dutie I recommende this Pamphlet, and the 
good acceptance thereof, to your honour- 
able favour and protection. London, this 
first of Januarie, 1591. 

Your Honours humbly ever. 

ED. SP. 



DAPHNAIDA. 



What-ever man be he whose heavie 

minde. 
With grief e of mourn efull great mishap 

opprest. 
Fit matter for his cares increase would 

finde. 
Let reade the rufull plaint herein exprest, 
Of one, (I weene), the wofulst man alive, 5 
Even sad Alcyon, whose empierced brest 
Sharpe sorrowe did in thousand peeces 

rive. 



But whoso else in pleasure findeth sense. 

Or in this wretched life dooth take de- 
light, 

Let him be banisht farre away from 
hence ; 10 

Ne let the sacred Sisters here be hight, 

Though they of sorrowe heavilie can sing ; 

For even their heavie song would breed e 
delight ; 

But here no tunes, save sobs and grones, 
shall ring. 



673 



674 



DAPHNAIDA. 



[L. 15-82. 



In stead of them, and their sweet har- 

mouie, 15 

Let those three fatall Sisters, whose sad 

hands 
Doc weave the direfull threds of destinie, 
And in their wrath breake off the vitall 

bands, 
Approach hereto; and let the dreadfull 

Queene 
Of Darkenes deepe come from the Stygian 

strands, 20 

And grisly Ghosts, to heaxe the dolefull 

teeue. 

In gloomie evening, when the wearie Sun, 
After his dayes long labour drew to rest, 
And sweatie steeds, now having overrun 
The compast skie, gan water in the 

west, 25 

I walkt abroade to breath the freshing 

ayre 
In open fields, whose fiowring pride, 

opprest 
"With early frosts, had lost their beautie 

faire. 

There came unto my minde a troublous 
thought, 

Which dayly dooth my weaker wit pos- 
sesse, 30 

Ne lets it rest untill it forth have brought 

Her long borne Infant, fruit of heavinesse, 

Which she conceived hath through medi- 
tation 

Of this worlds vainnesse and lifes wretch- 
ednesse, 

That yet my soule it deepely doth empas- 
sion. 35 

So as I muzed on the miserie 
In which men live, and I of many most 
Most miserable man ; I did espie 
Where towards me a sory wight did cost, 
Clad all in black, that mourning did be- 
wray, 40 
And Jaakob staffe in hand devoutlie 

crost. 
Like to some Pilgrim come from farre 
away. 

His carelesse locks uncombed and un- 

shorne. 
Hong long adowne, and beard all over- 

growne. 
That well he seemd to be sum wight for- 

lorne ; 45 

Downe to the earth his heavie eyes were 

throwne. 
As loathing light ; and ever as he went 
He sighed soft, and inly deepe did grone, 
As if his heart in peeces would have rent. 



Approaching nigh, his face I vewed 
nere, 50 

And by the semblant of his counte- 
naunce 

Me seemd I had his person scene else- 
where. 

Most like Alcyon seeming at a glaunce ; 

Alcyon he, the jollie Shepheard swaine 

That wont full merrilie to pipe and 
daunce, 55 

And fill with pleasance every wood and 
plaine. 

Yet halfe in doubt, because of his dis- 
guize, 
I softlie sayd, Alcyon ! There-with-all 
He lookt aside as in disdainefull wise, 
Yet stayed not, till I againe did call : 60 
Then, turning back, he saide, with hol- 
low sound, 

* Who is it that dooth name me, wofull 

thrall. 
The wretchedst man that treades this 
day on ground?' 

' One, whome like wofulnesse, impressed 

deepe. 
Hath made fit mate thy wretched case to 

heare, 65 

And given like cause with thee to waile 

and weepe ; 
Griefe findes some ease by him that like 

does beare. 
Then stay, Alcyon, gentle shepheard! 

stay, 
(Quoth I) till thou have to my trustie 

eare 69 

Committed what thee dooth so ill apay.' 

' Cease, foolish man ! ' (saide he, halfe 
wrothfully) 

' To seeke to heare that which cannot be 
tolde. 

For the huge anguish, which dooth mul- 
tiple 

My dying paines, no tongue can well 
unfold ; 

Ne doo I care that any should bemone 75 

My hard mishap, or any weepe that 
would. 

But seeke alone to weepe, and dye alone.' 

* Then be it so, ' (quoth I) ' that thou are 

bent 

To die alone, unpitied, unplained ; 

Yet, ere thou die, it were convenient 80 

To tell the cause which thee theretoo con- 
strained. 

Least that the world thee dead accuse of 
guilt, 



L. 83-149.] 



DAPHNAIDA. 



675 



Aud say, when thou of uoue shalt be 

maintained, 
That thou for secret crime thy blood liast 

spilt.' 

' Who life dooes loath, and longs to bee 
unbound 85 

From the strong shackles of fraile flesh,' 
quoth he, 

• Nought cares at all what they, that live 

on ground, 
Deem the occasion of his death to bee ; 
Rather desires to be forgotten quight. 
Than question made of his calamitie ; 90 
For harts deep sorrow hates both life and 

light. 

' Yet since so much thou seemst to rue 

. my grief e. 
And carest for one that for himselfe 

cares nought, 
(Signe of thy love, though nought for my 

reliefe, 
For my reliefe exceedeth living thought ;) 
I will to thee this heavie case relate : 96 
Then barken well till it to ende bee 

brought, 
For never didst thou heare more hap- 

lesse fate. 

' Whilorae I usde (as thou right well doest 

know) 
My little flocke on westerne downes to 

keepe, 100 

Not far from whence Sabrinaes streame 

doth flow. 
And flowrie bancks with silver liqu^or 

steepe ; 
Nought carde I then for worldly change 

or chaunce. 
For all my joy was on my gentle sheepe, 
And to my pype to caroll aud to daunce. 

* It there befell, as I the fields did range 
Fearelesse and free, a faire young Lion- 

esse, 107 

White as the native Eose before the 

chaunge 
Which Venus blood did in her leaves im- 

presse, 
I spied playing on the grassie playne 110 
Her youthfull sports and kindlie wanton- 

nesse, 
That did all other Beasts in beawtie 

staine. 

' Much was I moved at so goodly sight, 
Whose like before mine eye had seldome 

scene, 
And gan to cast how I her compasse 

might, 115 



And bring to hand that yet had never 

beene ; 
So well I wrought with mildnes and with 

paine, 
That I her caught disporting on the 

greene, 
Aud brought away fast bound with silver 

chaine. 119 

* And afterwards I handled her so fayre. 
That though by kind shee stout and sal- 
vage were, 

For being borne an auncient Lions haire, 
And of the race that all wild beastes do 

feare. 
Yet I her fram'd, and wan so to my bent, 
That shee became so meeke and milde of 

cheare, 125 

As the least lamb in all my flock that 

went : 

' For shee in field, where-ever I did wend. 
Would wend with me, and waite by me 

all day ; 
And all the night that I in watch did spend, 
If cause requir'd, or els in sleepe, if nay, 
Shee would all night by mee or watch or 

sleepe 131 

And evermore when I did sleepe or play, 
She of my flock would take full warie 

keepe. 

' Safe then, and safest were my sillie 

sheepe, 
Ne fear'd the Wolfe, ne fear'd the wildest 

beast, 135 

All were I drown'd in carelesse quiet 

deepe ; 
My lovelie Lionesse without beheast 
So carefull was for them, and for my 

good, 
That when I waked, neither most nor 

least 
I found miscaried or in plaine or wood. 

' Oft did the Shepeheards, which my hap 
did heare, 141 

And oft their lasses, which my luck en- 
vide, 

Daylie resort to me from farre and neare, 

To see my Lyonesse, whose praises wide 

Were spred abroad ; and when her worthi- 
nesse 145 

Much greater than the rude report they 
tride, 

They her did praise, and my good fortune 
blesse. 

* Long thus I joyed in my happinesse. 
And well did hope my joy would have no 

end; 



676 



DAPHNAIDA. 



[l. 150-220. 



But oh, fond man ! that in worlds fickle- 
nesse 150 

Reposedst hope, or weeuedst her thy frend 
That glories most in mortall miseries, 
And daylie doth her chaugefull counsels 

heud 
To make new matter fit for Tragedies ; 

' For whilest I was thus without dread 
or dout, 155 

A cruell Satyre with his raurdrous dart, 
Greedie of mischiefe, ranging all about. 
Gave her the fatall wound of deadlie 

smart, 
And reft fro me my sweete companion, 
And reft fro me my love, my life, my 
hart : 160 

My Lyonesse (ah, woe is mee !) is gon ! 

' Out of the world thus was she reft awaie, 
Out of the world, unworthie such a spoyle, 
And borne to heaven, for heaven a fitter 

pray ; 
Much fitter than the Lyon, w^hich with 

toyle 165 

Alcides slew, and fixt in firmament ; 
Her now I seek throughout this earthlie 

soyle. 
And seeking misse, and missing doe 

lament.' 

Therewith he gan afresh to waile and 

weepe. 
That I for pittie of his heavie plight 170 
Could not abstaine mine eyes with teares 

to steepe ; 
But, when I saw the anguish of his 

spright 
Some deale alaid, I him bespake againe ; 
• Certes, Alcyon, painfull is thy plight. 
That it in me breeds almost equall paine. 

' Yet doth not my dull wit well under- 
stand 176 
The riddle of thy loved Lionesse ; 
For rare it seemes in reason to be skand, 
That man, who doth the whole worlds 

rule possesse. 
Should to a beast his noble hart embase, 
And be the vassall of his vassalesse ; 181 
Therefore more plaine areade this doubt- 
full case.' 

Then sighing sore, ' Daphne thou knewest, ' 
quoth he, 

' She now is dead ; ' ne more endured to 
say, 184 

But fell to ground for great extreamitie ; 

That I, beholding it, with deepe dismay 

Was much appald, and, lightlie him up- 
rearing, 



Revoked life, that would have fled away, 

All were my self, through grief e, in 

deadly drearing. 189 

Tlieu gan- I him to comfort all my best, 
And with milde counsaile strove to miti- 
gate 
The stormie passion of his troubled brest, 
But he thereby was more empassionate ; 
As stubborue steed, that is with curb 

restrained. 
Becomes more fierce and fervent in his 

gate ; 195 

And, breaking foorth at last, thus dearne- 

lie plained : 

I. 
' What man henceforth that breatheth 

vitall ayre 
Will honour heaven, or heavenlie powers 

adore, 
Which so unjustlie doe their judgments 

share 
Mongst earthlie wightes, as to afflict so 

sore 200 

The innocent, as those which do trans- 

gresse, 
And do not spare the best or f ayrest, more 
Than worst or fowlest, but doe both 

oppresse ? 

'If this be right, why did they then 
create 

The world so fay re, sith fairenesse is 
neglected ? 205 

Or whie be they themselves immaculate, 

If purest things be not by them 
respected ? 

She faire, shee pure, most faire, most 
pure shee was. 

Yet was by them as thing impure re- 
jected ; 

Yet shee in purenesse heaven it selfe did 
pas. 210 

' In purenesse and in all celestiall grace. 
That men admire in goodlie womankinde. 
She did excell, and seem'd of Angels 

race. 
Living on earth like Angell new divinde, 
Adorn'd with wisedome and with chas- 

titie, 215 

And all the dowries of a noble mind. 
Which did her beautie much more 

beautifie. 

'No age hath bred (since fayre Astraea 

left 
The sinfull world) more vertue in a 

wight ; 
And, when she parted hence, with her 

she reft 220 



L. 221-290.] 



DAPHNAIDA. 



677 



Great hope, and robd her race of bountie 

quight. 
Well may the shepheard lasses now 

lament ; 
For dubble losse by her hath on them 

light, 
To loose both her and bounties ornament. 

' Ne let Elisa, royall Shepheardesse, 225 
The praises of my parted love envy. 
For she hath praises in all plenteousnesse 
Powr'd upon her, like showers of Castaly, 
By her own Shepheard, Colin, her owne 

Shepherd, 
That her with heavenly hymnes doth 

deifie, 230 

Of rustick muse full hardly to be betterd. 

* She is the Rose, the glorie of the day, 
And mine the Primrose in the lowly 

shade : 
Mine, ah! not mine; amisse I mine did 

say: 
Not mine, but His, which mine awhile 

her made ; 235 

Mine to be His, with him to live for ay. 

that so faire a flower so soone should 

fade. 
And through untimely tempest fall away ! 

* She fell away in her first ages spring, 
Whil'st yet her leafe was greene, and 

fresh her rinde, 240 

And whilst her braunch faire blossomes 

foorth did bring, 
She fell away against all course of kinde. 
For age to dye is right, but youth is wrong ; 
She fel away like fruit blowne downe 

with winde. 
Weepe, Shepheard! weepe, to make my 

undersong. 245 

n. 

' What hart so stony hard but that would 

weepe. 
And poure foorth fountaines of incessant 

teares ? 
What Tim on but would let compassion 

creepe 
Into his brest, and pierce his f rosen eares ? 
In stead of teares, whose brackish bitter 

well, 250 

1 wasted have, my heart-blood dropping 

weares, 
To thinke to ground how that faire blos- 
some fell. 

' Yet fell she not as one enforst to dye, 
Ne dyde with dread and grudging dis- 
content, 
But as one toyld with travaile downe doth 
lye, 255 



So lay she downe, as if to sleepe she 

went. 
And closde her eyes with carelesse 

quietnesse ; 
The whiles soft death away her spirit 

hent, 
And soule assoyld from sinfull fleshlinesse. 

' Yet ere that life her lodging did for- 
sake, 260 

She, all resolv'd, and ready to remove, 

Calling to me (ay me !) thiswise bespake ; 

" Alcyon ! ah, my first and latest love ! 

Ah ! why does my Alcyon weepe and 
mourne. 

And grieve my ghost, that ill mote him 
behove, 265 

As if to me had chanst some evill tourne ! 

' " I, since the messenger is come for mee, 
That summons soules unto the bridale 

feast 
Of his great Lord, must needes depart 

from thee, 
And straight obay his soveraine be- 
heast ; 270 

Why should Alcyon then so sore lament 
That I from miserie shall be releast. 
And freed from wretched long imprison- 
ment! 

* " Our dales are full of dolor and dis- 
ease, 

Our life afflicted with incessant paine, 275 

That nought on earth may lessen or 
appease ; 

Why then should I desire here to re- 
maine ! 

Or why should he, that loves me, sorie 
bee 

For my deliverance, or at all complains 

My good to heare, and toward joyes to 
see ! 280 

* " I goe, and long desired have to goe ; 
I goe with gladnesse to my wished rest, 
Whereas no worlds sad care nor wasting 

woe 
May come their happie quiet to molest ; 
But Saints and Angels in celestiall 

thrones 285 

Eternally Him praise that hath them 

blest ; 
There shall I be amongst those blessed 

ones. 

' "Yet, ere I goe, a pledge I leave with 

thee 
Of the late love the which betwixt us 

past. 
My yong Ambrosia ; in lieu of mee, 290 



678 



DAPHNAIDA. 



[L. 291-353. 



Love her; so shall our love for ever 

last. 
Thus, deare! adieu, whom I expect ere 

long." — 
So having said, away she rioftly past: 
Weep, Shepheard! weep, to make mine 

undersong. 

III. 

' So oft as I record those piercing 
words, 295 

Which yet are deepe engraven in my 
hrest, 

And those last deadly accents, which 
like swords 

Did wound my heart, and rend my bleed- 
ing chest, 

With those sweet sugred speaches doo 
compare, 

The which my soule first conquerd and 
possest, 300 

The first beginners of my eudles care : 

' And when those pallid cheekes and 
ashy hew, 

In which sad Death his pourtraicture had 
writ, 

And when those hollow eyes and deadly 
view. 

On which the clowde of ghastly night did 
sit, 305 

I match with that sweet smile and cheer- 
full brow. 

Which all the world subdued unto it, 

How happie was I then, and wretched 



* How happie was I when I saw her leade 
The Shepheards daughters dauncing 

iu a rownd ! 310 

How trimly would she trace and softly 

tread 
The tender grasse, with rosie garland 

crownd! 
And when she list advance her heavenly 

voyce. 
Both Nymphes and Muses nigh she made 

astownd, 
And flocks and Shepheards caused to 

rejoyce. 315 

* But now, ye Shepheard lasses ! who shall 

lead 
Your wandring troupes, or sing your 

virelayes ? 
Or who shall dight your bowres, sith she 

is dead 
That was the Lady of your holy-dayes ? 
Let now your blisse be turned into 

bale, 320 

And into plaints convert your joyous 

playes, 



And with the same fill every hill and 
dale. 

' Let Bagpipe never more be heard to 

shrill. 
That may allure the senses to delight, 
Ne ever Shepheard sound his Oaten 
quill 325 

Unto the many that provoke them might 
To idle pleasance ; but let ghastlinesse 
And drery horror dim the chearfull 

light. 
To make the image of true heavinesse : 

' Let birds be silent on the naked 
spray, 330 

And shady woods resound with dreadfull 
yells ; 

Let streaming floods their hastie courses 
stay. 

And parching drougth drie up the christall 
wells ; 

Let th' earth be barren, and bring foorth 
no flowres. 

And th' ayre be filled with noyse of dole- 
full knells, 335 

And wandring spirits walke untimely 
howres. 

' And Nature, nurse of every living thing, 
Let rest her selfe from her long weari- 

nesse. 
And cease henceforth things kindly forth 

to bring, 
But hideous monsters full of ugli- 

nesse ; 340 

For she it is that hath me done this 

wrong. 
No nurse, but Stepdame, cruell, merci- 

lesse. 
Weepe, Shepheard! weepe, to make my 

undersong. 

rv. 
' My little flocke, whom earst I lov'd so 

well, 
And wont to feede with finest grasse that 

grew, 345 

Feede ye hencefoorth on bitter Astrofell, 
And stinking Smallage, and unsaverie 

Rew; 
And, when your mawes are with those 

weeds corrupted. 
Be ye the pray of Wolves ; ne will I rew 
That -with your carkasses wild beasts be 

glutted. 350 

' Ne worse to you, my sillie sheepe ! I 

pray, 
Ne sorer vengeance wish on you to fall 
Than to my selfe, for whose confusde 

decay 



L. 354-429-] 



DAPHNAIDA. 



679 



To carelesse heavens I doo daylie call ; 
But heavens refuse to heare a wretches 

cry ; 355 

And cruell Death doth scorne to come at 

call, 
Or graunt his hoone that most desires to 

dye. 

* The good and righteous he away doth 

take, 
To plague th' unrighteous which alive 

remaine ; 
But the ungodly ones he doth forsake, 360 
By living long to multiplie their paine ; 
Els surely death should be no punish- 
ment, 
As the Great Judge at first did it ordaine. 
But rather riddance from long languish- 
- ment. 

' Therefore, my Daphue they have tane 
away ; 365 

For worthie of a better place was she : 
But me unworthie willed here to stay, 
That with her lacke I might tormented be. 
Sith then they so have ordred, I will pay 
Penance to her, according their decree, 370 
And to her ghost doo service day by day. 

' For I will walke this wandring pilgrim- 
age. 

Throughout the world from one to other 
end, 

And in affliction wast my better age : 

My bread shall be the anguish of my 
mind, 375 

My drink the teares which fro mine eyes 
do raine. 

My bed the ground that hardest I may 
finde; 

So will I wilfully increase my paine. 

* And she, my love that was, my Saint that 

is 
When she beholds from her celestiall 

throne 380 

(In which shee joyeth in etemall blis) 
My bitter penance, will my case bemone, 
And pitie me that living thus doo die ; 
For heavenly spirits have compassion 
On mortall men, and rue their miserie. 385 

* So when I have with sorowe satisfide 
Th' importune fates, which vengeance on 

me seeke, 
And th' heavens with long languor paci- 

fide. 
She, for pure pitie of my sufferance meeke, 
Will send for me; for which I daylie 

long ; 390 

And will till then my painful penance eeke. 



Weep, Shepheard ! weep, to make my un- 
dersong. 

V. 

'Hencefoorth I hate what ever Nature 

made, 
And in her workmanship no pleasure 

finde. 
For they be all but vaine, and quickly 

fade ; 395 

So soone as on them blowes the Northern 

winde, 
They tarrie not, but flit and fall away. 
Leaving behind them nought but griefe 

of minde, 
And mocking such as thinke they long 

will stay. 

' I hate the heaven, because it doth with- 
hold 400 

Me from my love, and eke my love from 
me; 

I hate the earth, because it is the mold 

Of fleshly slime and fraile mortalitie ; 

I hate the fire, because to nought it flyes ; 

I hate the Ayre, because sighes of it be ; 405 

I hate the Sea, because it teares supplyes. 

* I hate the day, because it lendeth light 
To see all things, and not my love to see ; 
I hate the darknesse and the drery night. 
Because they breed sad balefulnesse in 

mee ; 410 

I hate all times, because, all times doo flye 
So fast away, and may not stayed bee, 
But as a speedie post that passeth by. 

* I hate to speake, my voyce is spent with 

crying ; 
I hate to heare, lowd plaints have duld 

mine eares ; 415 

I hate to tast, for food withholds my 

dying ; 
I hate to see, mine eyes are dimd with 

teares ; 
I hate to smell, no sweet on earth is left ; 
I hate to feele, my flesh is numbd with 

f eares : 
So all my senses from me are bereft. 420 

* I hate all men, and shun all womankinde ; 
The one, because as I they wretched are ; 
The other, for because I doo not finde 
My love with them, that wont to be their 

Starre : 
And life I hate, because it will not last ; 425 
And death I hate, because it life doth 

marre ; 
And all I hate that is to come or past. 

' So all the world, and all in it I hate. 
Because it changeth ever too and fro. 



68o 



DAPHNAIDA. 



[L. 430-504. 



And never standeth in one certaine 

state, 430 

But still uustedfast, round about doth 

goe 
Like a Mill-wlieele in midst of miserie, 
Driven with streames of wretchednesse 

and woe, 
That dying lives, and living still does 

dye. 

* So doo I live, so doo I daylie die, 435 
And pine away in selfe-consumiug paine ! 
Sith she that did my vitall powres supplie. 
And feeble spirits in their force main- 

taiue. 
Is fetcht fro me, why seeke I to prolong 
My wearie dales in dolor and disdaine ! 440 
Weep, Shepheard ! weep, to make my un- 
dersong. 

VI. 

* Why doo I longer live in lifes despight. 
And doo not dye then in despight of 

death ; 
Why doo I longer see this loathsome light 
And doo in darknesse not abridge my 

breath, 445 

Sith all my sorrow should have end 

thereby, 
And cares finde quiet ! Is it so uneath 
To leave this life, or dolorous to dye ? 

* To live I finde it deadly dolorous. 

For life drawes care, and care coutinuall 

woe ; 450 

Therefore to dye must needes be joye- 

ous, 
And wishf nil thing this sad life to forgoe : 
But I must stay ; I may it not amend. 
My Daphne hence departing bad me so ; 
She bad me stay, till she for me did 
send, 455 

' Yet, whilest I in this wretched vale doo 

stay 
My wearie feete shall ever wandring be, 
That still I may be readie on my way 
AVhen as her messenger doth come for me ; 
Ne will I rest my feete for feeblenesse, 460 
Ne will I rest my limmes for frailtie, 
Ne will I rest mine eyes for heavinesse. 

'But, as the mother of the Gods, that 

sought 
For faire Eurydice, her daughter deere, 
Throughout the world, with wofull heavie 

thought ; 465 

So will I travell whilest I tarrie heere, 
Ne will I lodge, ne will I ever lin, 
Ne, when as drouping Titan draweth 

neere 
To loose his teeme, will I take up my Inne. 



' Ne sleepe (the harbenger of wearie 
wights) 470 

Shall ever lodge upon mine ey-lids more ; 

Ne shall with rest refresh my fainting 
sprights. 

Nor failing force to former strength 
restore : 

But I will wake and sorrow all the night 

With Philumene, my fortune to de- 
plore ; 475 

With Philumene, the partner of my 
plight. 

* And ever as I see the starres to fall, 
And under ground to goe to give them 

light 
Which dwell in darknes, I to minde will 

call 
How my fair Starre (that shinde on me 

so bright) 480 

Fell sodainly and faded under ground ; 
Since whose departure, day is turnd to 

night. 
And night without a Venus starre is found. 

'But soone as day doth shew his deawie 
face, 

And calls foorth men unto their toylsome 
trade, 485 

I will withdraw me to some darksome 
place, 

Or some deepe cave, or solitarie shade ; 

There will I sigh, and sorrow all day 
long. 

And the huge burden of my cares unlade. 

Weep, Shepheard ! weep, to make my un- 
dersong. 490 

VII. 

* Hencefoorth mine eyes shall never more 

behold 
Faire thing on earth, ne feed on false 

delight 
Of ought tiiat framed is of mortall moulde, 
Sith that my fairest flower is faded quight ; 
For all I see is value and transitorie, 495 
Ne will be helde in anie stedfast plight. 
But in a moment loose their grace and 

glorie. 

'And ye fond men! on fortunes wheele 
that ride. 

Or in ought under heaven repose assur- 
ance. 

Be it riches, beautie, or honors pride, 500 

Be sure that they shall have no long en- 
durance. 

But ere ye be aware will flit away ; 

For nought of them is yours, but th' onely 
usance 

Of a small time, which none ascertaine 
may. 



L- 505-567-] 



DAPHNAIDA. 



681 



' And ye, true Lovers ! whom desastrous 

chaunce 505 

Hath farre exiled from your Ladies 

grace, 
To mourne in sorrow and sad sufferaunce. 
When ye doo heare me in that desert 

place 
Lamenting lowde my Daphnes Elegie, 
Help me to wayle my miserable case, 510 
And when life parts vouchsafe to close 

mine eye. 

'And ye, more happie Lovers! which en- 
joy 

The presence of your dearest loves delight, 

When ye doo heare my sorrowfull an- 
noy, 

Yet pittie me in your empassiond 
spright, 515 

And thinke that such mishap, as chaunst 
to me. 

May happen unto the most happiest wight ; 

For all mens states alike unstedfast be. 

'And ye, my fellow Shepheards! which 

do feed 
Your carelesse flocks on hils and open 

plaiues, 520 

With better fortune than did me succeed, 
Remember yet my undeserved paines ; 
And, when ye heare that I am dead or 

slaine, 
Lament my lot, and tell your fellow- 

swaines 
That sad Alcyon dyde in lifes disdaine. 525 

* And ye, faire Damsels ! Shepheards dere 

delights, 
That with your loves do their rude hearts 

possesse, 
When as my hearse shall happen to your 

sightes, 
Vouchsafe to deck the same with Cypar- 

esse; 
And ever sprinckle brackish teares 

among, 530 

In pitie of my undeserv'd distresse, 
The which, I, wretch, endured have thus 

long. 

' And ye, poore Pilgrimes! that with rest- 

lesse toyle 
Wearie your ' selves in wandring desert 

wayes. 
Till that you come where ye your vowes 

assoyle, " 535 



When passing by ye read these wofull 

layes, 
On my grave written, rue my Daphnes 

wrong, 
And mourne for me that languish out my 

dayes. 
Cease, Shepheard! cease, and end thy 

undersong.' 

Thus when he ended had his heavie 

plaint, 540 

The heaviest plaint that ever I heard 

sound, 
His cheekes wext pale, and sprights began 

to faint, 
As if againe he would have fallen to 

ground ; 
Which when I saw, I (stepping to him 

light) 
Amooved him out of his stonie swound, 545 
And gan him to recomfort as I might. 

But he no waie recomforted would be, 
Nor suffer solace to approach him nie. 
But casting up a sdeinfull eie at me. 
That in his traunce I would not let him 

lie, 550 

Did rend his haire, and beat his blubbred 

face. 
As one disposed wilfullie to die. 
That I sore griev'd to see his wretched 

case. 

Tho when the pang was somewhat over- 
past, 

And the outragious passion nigh ap- 
peased, 555 

I him desirde sith dale was overcast. 

And darke night fast approched, to be 
pleased 

To turne aside unto my Cabinet, 

And stale with me, till he were better 
eased 

Of that strong stownd which him so sore 
beset. 560 

But by no meanes I could him win thereto, 
Ne longer him intreate with me to stale, 
But without taking leave he foorth did 

goe 
With staggring pace and dismall lookes 

dismay. 
As if that death he in the face had 

seene, 565 

Or hellish hags had met upon the way ; 
But what of him became I cannot weene. 



COLIN CLOUTS COME HOME AGAINE. 

BY ED. SPENCER. 

TO THE RIGHT WORTHY AND NOBLE KNIGHT 

SIR WALTER RALEIGH, 

CAPTAINB OF HER MAJESTIES GUARD, LORD WARDEIN OF THE STANNBRIES, 
AND LIEUTENANT OF THE COUNTIE OF CORNWALL. 



Sir, 
That you may see that I am not alwaies 
ydle as yee thinke, though not greatly 
well occupied, nor altogither undutifull, 
though not precisely officious, I make you 
present of this simple pastorall, unworthie 
of your higher conceipt for the meanesse 
of the stile, but agreeing with the truth 
in circumstance and matter. The which 
I humbly beseech you to accept in part of 
paiment of the infinite debt in which I 
acknowledge my selfe bounden unto you, 



for your singular favours and sundrie 
good turnes, shewed to me at my late 
being in England, and with your good 
countenance protect against the malice of 
evill mouthes, which are alwaies wide 
open to carpe at and misconstrue my 
simple meaning. I pray continually for 
your happinesse. From my house of Kil- 
colman, the 27. of December, 1591. 
Yours very humbly. 

Ed. Sp. 



COLIN CLOUTS COME HOME AGAINE. 



The shepheards boy (best knowen by 

that name) 
That after Tityrus first sung his lay, 
Laies of sweet love, without rebuke or 

blame, 
Sate (as his customs was) upon a day, 
Charming his oaten pipe unto his peres, 5 
The shepheard swaines that did about 

him play: 
Who all the while, with greedie listfull 

eares, 
Did stand astonisht at his curious skill. 
Like hartlesse deare, dismayd with thun- 
ders sound. 
At last, when as he piped had his fill, 10 
He rested him: and, sitting then around, 
One of those groomes (a jolly groome was 

he, 
As ever piped on an oaten reed, 
And lov'd this shepheard dearest in 

degree, 
Hight Hobbinol ;) gan thus to him areed. 
' Colin, my liefe, my life, how great a 

losse 16 

Had all the shepheards nation by thy 

lacke : 
And I, poore swaine, of many, greatest 

crosse ! 



That, sith thy Muse first since thy turn- 
ing backe 
Was heard to sound as she was wont on 

hye, 20 

Hast made us all so blessed and so blythe. 
Whilest thou wast hence, all dead in dole 

did lie : 
The woods were heard to waile full many 

a sythe, 
And all their birds with silence to com- 

plaine : 
The fields with faded flowers did seem to 

mourne, 25 

And all their flocks from feeding to re- 

f raine : 
The running waters wept for thy returne, 
And all their fish with languor did 

lament : 
But now both woods and fields and floods 

revive, 
Sith thou art come, their cause of meri- 

ment, 30 

That US; late dead, has made againe 

alive : 
But were it not too painfull to repeat 
The passed fortunes, which to thee befell 
In thy late voyage, we thee would entreat, 
Now at thy leisure them to us to tell.' 35 



682 



L. 36-115-] 



COLIN CLOUTS COME HOME AGAINE. 



683 



To whom the shepheard gently answered 

thus ; 
*Hohbiu, thou temptest me to that I 

covet : 
For of good passed newly to discus, 
By dubble usurie doth twise renew it. 
And since I saw that Angels blessed eie, 
Her worlds bright sun, her heavens fairest 

light, 41 

My mind, full of my thoughts satietie, 
Doth feed on sweet contentment of that 

sight : 
Since that same day in nought I take 

delight, 
Ne feeling have in any earthly pleasure, 
But in remembrance of that glorious 

bright, 46 

My lifes sole blisse, my hearts eternall 

threasure. 
Wake then, my pipe; my sleepie Muse, 

awake ; 
Till I have told her praises lasting long: 
Hobbin desires, thou maist it not for- 
sake ; — 50 
Harke then, ye jolly shepheards, to my 

song,' 
With that they all gan throng about 

him neare, 
With hungrie eares to heare his harmonic : 
ThcM'^hiles their flocks, devoyd of dangers 

feare, 
Did round about them feed at libertie. 55 
' One day (quoth he) I sat (as was my 

trade) 
Under the foote of Mole, that mountaine 

hore, 
Keeping my sheepe amongst the cooly 

shade" 
Of the greene alders by the Mullaes shore ; 
There a straunge shepheard chaunst to 

find me out, 60 

Whether allured with my pipes delight, 
Whose pleasing sound yshriiled far about. 
Or thither led by chaunce, I know not 

right : 
Whom when I asked from what place he 

came, 
And how he hight, himself e he did ycleepe 
The Shepheard of the Ocean by name, 66 
And said he came far from the main-sea 

deepe. 
He, sitting me beside in that same shade. 
Provoked me to plaie some pleasant fit ; 
And, when he heard the musicke which I 

made, 70 

He found himselfe full greatly pleasd at 

it: 
Yet, semuling my pipe, he tooke in hond 
My pipe, before that semuled of many. 
And plaid thereon ; (for well that skill he 

cond ;) 



Himselfe as skilf ull in that art as any. 75 
He pip'd, I sung; and, when he sung, I 

piped ; 
By chaunge of turnes, each making other 

mery; 
Neither envying other, nor envied, 
So piped we, until we both were weary.' 

There interrupting him, abonie swaine, 
That Cuddy hight, him thus atweene be- 
spake : 81 
' And, should it not thy readie course re- 

straine, 
I would request thee, Colin, for my sake. 
To tell what thou didst sing, when he did 

plaie ; 
For well I weene it worth recounting was, 
Whether it were some hymne, or morall 

laie, 86 

Or carol made to praise thy loved lasse.' 
' Nor of my love, nor of my lasse (quoth 

he,) 
I then did sing, as then occasion fell : 
For love had me forlorne, forlorne of me, 
That made me in that desart chose to 

dwell. 91 

But of my river Bregogs love I soong, 
Which to the shiny Mulla he did beare, 
And yet doth beare, and ever will, so 

long 
As water doth within his ban cksappeare.' 
' Of fellowship (said then that bony 

Boy) 96 

Record to us that lovely lay againe : 
The stale whereof shall nought these 

eares annoy. 
Who all that Colin makes do covet faine.* 
' Heare then (quoth he) the tenor of my 

tale, 100 

In sort as I it to that shepheard told : 
No leasing new, nor Grandams fable 

stale, 
But auncient truth confirm'd with cre- 
dence old. 
' Old father Mole, (Mole hight that 

mountain gray 104 

That walls the Northside of Armulla dale) 
He had a daughter fresh as floure of May, 
Which gave that name unto that pleasant 

vale; 
Mulla, the daughter of old Mole, so hight 
The Nimph, which of that water course 

has charge, 
That, springing out of Mole, doth run 

downe right 110 

To Buttevant, where, spreading forth at 

large. 
It giveth name unto that auncient Cittie, 
Which Kilnemullah cleped is of old ; 
Whose ragged mines breed great ruth 

and pittie 
To travailers, which it from far behold. 115 



684 



COLIN CLOUTS COME HOME AGAINE. [l. i 16-194. 



Full faine she lov'd, and was belov'd full 

faiue 
Of her owne brother river, Bregog hight, 
So hight because of this deceitfull traine, 
Which he with MuUa wrought to win 

delight. 119 

But her old sire more caref uU of her good, 
And meaning her much better to preferre, 
Did thinke to match her with the neigh- 
bour flood, 
Which Alio hight, Broad-water called 

f arre ; 
And wrought so well with his continuall 

paine, . 
That he that river for his daughter wonne : 
The dowre agreed, the day assigned 

plaine, 126 

The place appointed where it should be 

doone. 
Nath-lesse the Nymph her former liking 

held; 
For love will not be drawne, but must be 

ledde ; 
And Bregog did so well her fancie weld, 
That her good will he got her first to 

wedde. 131 

But for her father, sitting still on hie, 
Did warily still watch which way she 

went, 
And eke from far observ'd, with jealous 

eie, 
Which way his course the wanton Bregog 

bent ; 135 

Him to deceive, for all his watchfull 

ward, 
The wily lover did devise this slight : 
First into many parts his streame he 

shar'd. 
That, whilest the one was watcht, the 

other might 
Passe unespide to meete her by the way ; 
And then, besides, those little streames so 

broken 141 

He under ground so closely did convay, 
That of their passage doth appeare no 

token. 
Till they into the Mullaes water slide. 
So secretly did he his love enjoy 145 

Yet not so secret, but it was descride. 
And told her father by a shepheards boy. 
Who, wondrous wroth, for that so foule 

despight. 
In great avenge did roll downe from his 

hill 
Huge mightie stones, the which encomber 

might 150 

His passage, and his water-courses spill. 
So of a River, which he was of old, 
He none was made, but scattred all to 

nought ; 
And. lost emong those rocks into him rold, 



Did lose his name : so deare his love he 

bought.' 155 

Which having said, him Thestylis 

bespake ; 
' Now by my life this was a mery lay, 
Worthie of Colin selfe, that did it make. 
But read now eke, of friendship I thee 

pray. 
What dittie did that other shepheard 

smg : 160 

For I do covet most the same to heare. 
As men use most to covet forreine thing.' 

* That shall I eke (quoth he) to you de- 

clare : 
His song was all a lamentable lay 
Of great unkindnesse, and of usage hard. 
Of Cynthia the Ladie of the Sea, 166 

Which from her presence faultlesse him 

debard. 
And ever and anon, with singults rife, 
He cryed out, to make his undersong ; 
Ah ! my loves queene, and goddesse of my 

life, 170 

Who shall me pittie, when thou doest me 

wrong ? ' 
Then gan a gentle bonylasse to speake, 
That Marin hight; 'Right well be sure 

did plaine. 
That could great Cynthiaes sore dis- 
pleasure breake, 174 
And move to take him to her grace againe. 
But tell on further, Colin, as befell 
Twixt him and thee, that thee did hence 

dissuade.' 

* When thus our pipes we both had 

wearied well, 
(Quoth he) and each an end of singing 

made 179 

He gan to cast great lyking to my lore. 
And great dislyking to my lucklesse lot. 
That banisht had my selfe, like wight 

forlore, 
Into that waste, where I was quite forgot. 
The which to leave, thenceforth he coun- 

seld mee. 
Unmeet for man, in whom was ought 

regardfuU 185 

And wend with him, his Cynthia to see; 
AVhose grace was great, and bounty most 

rewardfull. 
Besides her peerlesse skill in making 

well, 
And all the ornaments of wondrous wit, 
Such as all womankynd did far excell ; 
Such as the world admyr'd, and praised 

it : 191 

So what with hope of good, and hate of 

ill, 
He me perswaded forth with him to fare. 
Nought tooke I with me, but mine oaten 

quill : 



L. 195-269.] 



COLIN CLOUTS COME HOME AGAINE. 



685 



Small needments else need shepheard to 

prepare. 195 

So to the sea we came ; the sea, that is 
A world of waters heaped up on hie, 
Rolling like mountaines in wide wilder- 

nesse. 
Horrible, hideous, roaring with hoarse 

crie.' 
'And is the sea (quoth Coridon) so 

fearfull?' 200 

* Fearful much more (quoth he) then 

hart can fear : 
Thousand wyld beasts with deep mouthes 

gaping direfull 
Therin stil wait poore passengers toteare. 
Who life doth loath, and longs death to 

behold. 
Before he die, alreadie dead with feare. 
And yet would live with heart halfe stonie 
- cold, 206 

Let him to sea, and he shall see it there. 
And yet as ghastly dreadfull, as it 

seemes, 
Bold men, presuming life forgaine to sell. 
Dare tempt that gulf, and in those wander- 
ing stremes 210 
Seek wales unknowne, waies leading 

down to hell. 
For, as we stood there waiting on the 

strond. 
Behold ! an huge great vessell to us came, 
Dauncing upon the waters back to lond, 
As if it scornd the daunger of the same ; 
Yet was it but a wooden frame and fraile, 
Glewed togither with some subtile matter. 
Yet had it armes and wings, and head and 

taile, 
And life to move it selfe upon the water. 
Strange thing! how bold and swift the 

monster was, 220 

That neither car'd for wynd, nor haile, 

nor raine, 
Nor swelling waves, but thorough them did 

passe 
So proudly, that she made them roare 

againe. 
The same aboord us gently did receave, 
And without harme us farre away did 

beare, 225 

So farre that land, our mother, us did leave, 
And nought but sea and heaven to us 

appeare. 
Then hartlesse quite, and full of inward 

feare. 
That shepheard I besought to me to tell, 
Under what skie, or in what world we 

were, 230 

In which I saw no living people dwell. 
Who, me recomforting all that he might, 
Told me that that same was the Regi- 
ment 



Of a great shepheardesse, that Cynthia 

hight, 
His liege, his Ladie, and his lifes 

Regent. — 235 

* If then (quoth I) a shepheardesse she 

bee. 
Where be the fiockes and beards, which 

she doth keep ? 
And where may I the hills and pastures 

see. 
On which she useth for to feed her sheepe ? ' 
' These be the hills (quoth he) the 

surges hie, 240 

On which faire Cynthia her beards doth 

feed : 
Her beards be thousand j&shes with their 

frie. 
Which in the bosome of the billowes 

breed. 
Of them the shepheard which hath charge 

in chief, 
Is Triton, blowing loud his wreathed 

borne : 245 

At sound whereof, they all for their 

relief 
Wend too and fro at evening and at 

morne. 
And Proteus eke with him does drive his 

heard 
Of stinking Scales and Porcpisces together, 
With hoary head and deawy dropping 

beard, 250 

Compelling them which way he list, and 

whether. 
And, I among the rest, of many least. 
Have in the Ocean charge to me assignd ; 
Where I will live or die at her beheast, 
And serve and honour her with faithfull 

mind. 255 

Besides an hundred Nymphs all heavenly 

borne. 
And of immortall race, doo still attend 
To wash faire Cynthiaes sheep, when they 

be shorne. 
And fold them up, when they have made 

an end. 
Those be the shepheards which my 

Cynthia serve 260 

At sea, beside a thousand moe at land : 
For land and sea my Cynthia doth deserve 
To have in her commandement at hand.' 
Thereat I wondred much, till, wondring 

more 
And more, at length we land far off des- 

cryde: 265 

Which sight much gladed me ; for much 

afore 
I feard, least land we never should have 

eyde: 
Thereto our ship her course directly bent. 
As if the way she perfectly had knowne. 



6S6 



COLIN CLOUTS COME HOME AGAINE. 



[l. 270-346. 



We Lunday passe ; by that same name is 

ment 270 

An island, which the first to west was 

showne. 
From thence another world of land we 

keud, 
Floting amid the sea in jeopardie, 
And round about with mightie white 

rocks hemd, 
Against the seas encroching crueltie. 275 
Those same, the shepheard told me, were 

the fields 
In which dame Cynthia her landheards 

fed; 
Faire goodly fields, then which Armulla 

yields 
None fairer, nor more fruitfull to be red : 
The first, to which we nigh approched, 

was 280 

An high headland thrust far into the sea. 
Like to an home, whereof the name it 

has. 
Yet seemed to be a goodly pleasant lea : 
There did a loftie mount at first us greet. 
Which did a stately heape of stones 

upreare, 285 

That seemd amid the surges for to fleet. 
Much greater then that frame, which us 

did beare ; 
There did our ship her fruitfull wombe 

unlade. 
And put us all ashore on Cynthias land. 
' What land is that thou meant, (then 

Cuddy sayd) 290 

And is there other then whereon we 

stand ? ' 
'Ah! Cuddy (then quoth Colin) thous 

a fon, 
That hast not scene least part of natures 

worke : 
Much more there is unkend then thou 

doest kon, 
And much more that does from mens 

kn o wled ge lurke . 295 

For that same land much larger is then 

this, 
And other men and beasts and birds doth 

feed: 
There fruitfull corne, faire trees, fresh 

herbage is. 
And all things else that living creatures 

need. 299 

Besides most goodly rivers there appeare, 
No whit inferiour to thy Fanchins praise. 
Or unto Alio, or to Mulla cleare : 
Nought hast thou, foolish boy, scene in 

thy dales.' 
' But if that land be there (quoth he) 

as here, 
And is theyr heaven likewise there all 

one? SCd 



And, if like heaven, be heavenly graces 

there. 
Like as in this same world where we do 

wone ? ' 
' Both heaven and heavenly graces do 

much more 
(Quoth he) abound in that same land then 

this : 
For there all happie peace and plenteous 

store 310 

Conspire in one to make contented blisse. 
No wayling there nor wretchednesse is 

heard, 
No bloodie issues nor no leprosies. 
No griesly famine, nor no raging sweard, 
No nightly bordrags, nor no hue and cries ; 
The shepheards there abroad may safely lie. 
On hills and downes, withouten dread or 

daunger : 317 

No ravenous wolves the good mans hope 

destroy 
Nor outlawes fell affray the forest raunger. 
There learned arts do florish in great 

honor, 320 

And Poets wits are had in peerlesse price : 
Religion hath lay powre to rest upon her, 
Advancing vertue and suppressing vice. 
For end, all good, all grace there freely 

growes. 
Had people grace it gratefully to use : 325 
For God his gifts there plenteously be- 

stowes, 
But gracelesse men them greatly do 

abuse.' 
' But say on further (then said Corylas) 
The rest of thine adventures , that betyded. ' 
' Foorth on our voyage we by land did 

passe, 330 

(Quoth he) as that same shepheard still 

us guyded, 
Untill that we to Cynthiaes presence 

came : 
Whose glorie greater then my simple 

thought, 
I found much greater then the former 

fame, 334 

Such greatnes I cannot compare to ought : 
But if I her like ought on earth might 

read, 
I would her lyken to acrowne of lillies, 
Upon a virgin brydes adorned head. 
With Roses dight and Goolds and Daffa- 

dillies ; 
Or like the circlet of a Turtle true, 340 
In which all colours of the rainbow bee ; 
Or like faire Phebes garlond shining new, 
In which all pure perfection one may see. 
But vaine it is to thinke, by paragone 
Of earthly things, to judge of things 

divine : 345 

Her power, her mercy, her wisdome, none 



L. 347-423.] COLIN CLOUTS COME HOME AGAINE. 



687 



Can deeme, but who the Godhead can 

define. 
Why then do I, base shepheard, bold and 

blind, 
Presume the things so sacred to prophane? 
More fit it is t' adore, with humble mind, 
The image of the heavens in shape 

humane.' 351 

"With that Alexis broke his tale asunder, 

Saying ; ' By wondring at thy Cynthiaes 

praise, 
Colin, thy selfe thou mak'st us more to 

wonder, 
And her upraising doest thy selfe upraise. 
But let us heare what grace she shewed 

thee, 356 

And how that shepheard strange thy 

cause advanced.' 
* The Shepheard of the Ocean (quoth 

he) 
Unto that Goddesse grace me first en- 
hanced, 
And to mine oaten pipe enclin'd her eare, 
That she thenceforth therein gan take 

delight ; 361 

And it desir'd at timely houres to heare. 
All were my notes but rude and roughly 

dight ; 
For not by measure of her owne great 

mynd. 
And wondrous worth, she mott my simple 

song, 365 

But joyd that country shepheard ought 

could fynd 
Worth barkening to, emongst the learned 

throng.' 
'Why? (said Alexis then) what need- 

eth shee 
That is so great a shepheardesse her selfe. 
And hath so many shepheards in her fee, 
To heare thee sing, a simple silly Elfe ? 
Or be the .shepheards which do serve her 

laesie, 372 

That they list not their mery pipes ap- 

plie? 
Or be their pipes untunable and craesie, 
That they cannot her honour worthylie ? ' 
'Ah! nay (said Colin) neither so, nor 

so : 376 

For better shepheards be not under side. 
Nor better bable, when they list to blow 
Their pipes aloud, her name to glorifie. 
Their is good Harpalus, now woxen aged 
In faithfull service of faire Cynthia : 381 
And there is Corydon though meanly 

waged, 
Yet hablest wit of most I know this day. 
And there is sad Alcyon bent to mourne, 
Though fit to frame an everlasting dittie, 
Whose gentle spright for Daphnes death 

doth tourn 386 



Sweet layes of love to endlesse plaints of 

pittie. 
Ah! pensive boy, pursue that brave 

conceipt 
In thy sweete Eglantine of Meriflure ; 
Lift up thy notes unto their wonted 

height, 390 

That may thy Muse and mates to mirth 

allure. 
There eke is Palin worthie of great 

praise, 
Albe he envie at my rustick quill : 
And there is pleasing Alcon, could he 

raise 
His tunes from laies to matter of more 

skill. 395 

And there is old Palemon free from 

spight 
Whose carefull pipe may make the 

hearer rew: 
Yet he himselfe may rewed be more 

right. 
That sung so long untill quite hoarse he 

grew. 
And there is Alabaster throughly taught 
In all this skill, though knowen yet to 

few ; 401 

Yet, were he knowne to Cynthia as he 

ought. 
His Elise'is would be redde anew. 
Who lives that can match that heroick 

song, 
Which he hath of that mightie Princesse 

made ? 405 

O dreaded Dread, do not thy selfe that 

wrong, 
To let thy fame lie so in hidden shade : 
But call it forth, O call him forth to thee, 
To end thy glorie which he hath begun : 
That, when he finisht hath as it should be. 
No braver Poeme can be under Sun. 411 
Nor Po nor Tyburs swans so much re- 
nowned, 
Nor all the brood of Greece so highly 

praised. 
Can match that Muse when it with bayes 

is crowned, 
And to the pitch of her perfection raised. 
And there is a new shepheard late up 

sprong, 416 

The which doth all afore him far sur- 

passe ; 
Appearing well in that well tuned song, 
Which late he sung unto a scornfull lasse. 
Yet doth his trembling Muse but lowly 

flie, 420 

As daring not too rashly mount on bight, 
And doth her tender plumes as yet but 

trie 
In loves soft laies and looser thoughts 

delight. 



688 



COLIN CLOUTS COME HOME AGAINE. [l. 424-504. 



Then rouze thy feathers quickly, Daniell, 
And to what course thou please thy selfe 
advance : 425 

But most, me seemes, thy accent will ex- 
cell 
In Tragick plaints and passionate mis- 
chance. 
And there that Shepheard of the Ocean 

is. 
That spends his wit in loves consuming 
smart : 429 

Full sweetly tempred is that Muse of his. 
That can empierce a Princes mightie hart. 
There also is (ah no, he is not now!) 
But since I said he is, he quite is gone, 
Amyntas quite is gone, and lies full low, 
Having his Amaryllis left to mone. 435 
Helpe, O ye shepheards, helpe ye all in 

this, 
Helpe Amaryllis this her losse to mourne : 
Her losse is yours, your losse Amyntas 

is, 
Amyntas, floure of shepheards pride for- 

lorne : 
He whilest he lived was the noblest 
swaine, 440 

That ever piped in an oaten quill : 
Both did he other, which could pipe, 

maintain e, 
And eke could pipe himselfe with passing 

skill. 
And there, though last not least, is 

Action, 
A gentler shepheard may no where be 
found : 445 

Whose Muse, full of high thoughts inven- 
tion, 
Doth like himselfe Heroically sound. 
All these, and many others mo remaine, 
Now, after Astrofell is dead and gone : 
But, while as Astrofell did live and raine. 
Amongst all these was none his para- 
gone. 451 
All these do florish in their sundry kynd, 
And do their Cynthia immortall make : 
Yet found I lyking in her royall myud, 
Not for my skill, but for that shepheards 
. sake.' 455 
Then spake a lovely lasse, hight Lucida : 
' Shepheard, enough of shepheards thou 

hast told, 
AVliich favour thee, and honour Cynthia : 
But of so many Nymphs, which she doth 

hold 
In her retinew, thou hast nothing sayd ; 
That seems, with none of them thou favor 
foundest, 461 

Or art ingratefull to each gentle mayd, 
That none of all their due deserts re- 
soundest.' 
' Ah far be it (quoth Colin Clout) fro me, 



That I of gentle Mayds should ill deserve ! 
For that my selfe I do professe to be 466 
Vassall to one, whom all my dayes I 

serve ; 
The beame of beautie sparkled from 

above. 
The floure of vertue and pure chastitie. 
The blossome of sweet joy and perfect 

love, 470 

The pearle of peerlesse grace and mod- 

estie : 
To her my thoughts I daily dedicate, 
To her my heart I nightly martyrize : 
To her my love I lowly do prostrate, 
To her my life I wholly sacrifice : 475 

My thought, my heart, my love, my life 

is shee, 
And I hers ever onely, ever one: 
One ever I all vowed hers to bee, 
One ever I, and others never none.' 
Then thus Melissa said ; ' Thrise hap- 

pie Mayd, 480 

Whom thou doest so enforce to deifie : 
That woods, and hills, and valleyes thou 

hast made 
Her name to eccho unto heaven hie. 
But say, who else vouchsafed thee of 

grace ? ' 
* They all (quoth he) me graced goodly 

well, 485 

That all I praise; but in the highest 

place, 
Urania, sister unto Astrofell, 
In whose brave mynd, as in a golden 

cofer. 
All heavenly gifts and riches locked are ; 
More rich then pearles of Ynde, or gold 

of Opher, 490 

And in her sex more wonderfull and rare. 
Ne lesse praise-worthie I Theana read, 
Whose goodly beames though they be 

overdight 
With mourning stole of carefull wydow- 

head, 
Yet through that darksome vale do 

glister bright; 495 

She is the well of bountie and brave 

mynd, 
Excelling most in glorie and great light: 
She is the ornament of womankind, 
And courts chief garlond with all virtues 

dight. 
Therefore great Cynthia her in chiefest 

grace 500 

Doth hold, and next unto her selfe ad- 
vance. 
Well worthie of so honourable place. 
For her great worth and noble gover- 
nance ; 
Ne lesse praise-worthie is her sister 

deare, 



L. 505-592.] COLIN CLOUTS COME HOME AGAINE. 



689 



Faire Marian, the Muses onely darling : 505 
Whose beautie shyneth as the morning 

cleare, 
With silver deaw upon the roses pearl- 
ing. 
Ne lesse praise-worthie is Mansilia, 
Best knowne by bearing up great Cyn- 

thiaes traine : 
That same is she to whom Daphnaida 510 
Upon her neeces death I did complaine : 
She is the paterne of true womanhead, 
And onely mirrhor of feminitie : 
Worthie next after Cynthia to tread, 
As she is next her in nobilitie. 515 

Ne lesse praise-worthie Galathea seemes, 
Then best of all that honourable crew, 
Faire Galathea with bright shining 

beames, 
Inflaming feeble eyes that her do view. 
She there then waited upon Cynthia, 520 
Yet there is not her won : but here with 

us 
About the borders of our rich Coshma, 
Now made of Maa, the Nymph delitious. 
Ne lesse praise-worthie faire Nesera is, 
Neaera ours, not theirs, though there she 
be ; 525 

For of the famous Shure, the Nymph she 

is, 
For high desert, advaunst to that de- 
gree. 
She is the blosome of grace and curtesie, 
Adorned with all honourable parts : 
She is the braunch of true nobilitie, 530 
Belov'd of high and low with faithfull 

harts. 
Ne lesse praise-worthie Stella do I read, 
Though nought my praises of her needed 

arre, 
Whom verse of noblest shepheard lately 

dead 
Hath prais'd and rais'd above each other 
starre. 535 

Ne lesse praisworthie are the sisters three, 
The honor of the noble familie : 
Of which I meanest boast my selfe to be, 
And most that unto them I am so nie ; 539 
Phyllis, Charillis, and sweet Amaryllis. 
Phyllis, the faire, is eldest of the three : 
The next to her is bountifull Charillis: 
But th' youngest is the highest in degree. 
Phyllis, the floure of rare perfection, 
Faire spreading forth her leaves with 
fresh delight, 545 

That, with their beauties amorous re- 
flexion. 
Bereave of sence each rash beholders 

sight. 
But sweet Charillis is the Paragone 
Of peerlesse price, and ornament of 
praise, 



Admyr'd of all, yet envied of none, 550 
Through the myld temperance of her 

goodly raies. 
Thrise happie do I hold thee, noble 

swaine, 
The which art of so rich a spoile possest, 
And, it embracing deare without disdaine. 
Hast sole possession hi so chaste a brest! 
Of all the shepheards daughters which 
there bee, 556 

And yet there be the fairest under skie. 
Or that elsewhere I ever yet did see, 
A fairer Nymph yet never saw mine eie : 
She is the pride and primrose of the rest. 
Made by the Maker selfe to be admired ; 
And like a goodly beacon high addrest, 562 
That is with sparks of hevenlie beautie 

fired. 
But Amaryllis, whether fortunate 
Or else unfortunate may I aread, 565 

That freed is from Cupids yoke by fate, 
Since which she doth new bands adven- 
ture dread ; — 
Shepheard, what ever thou hast heard 

to be 
In this or that praysd diversly apart, 569 
In her thou maist them all assembled see. 
And seald up in the threasure of her hart. 
Ne thee lesse worthie, gentle Flavia, 
For thy chaste life and vertue I esteeme : 
Ne thee lesse worthie, curteous Candida, 
For thy true love and loyaltie I deeme. 575 
Besides yet many mo that Cynthia serve. 
Right noble Nymphs, and high to be com- 
mended : 
But, if I all should praise as they de- 
serve, 
This sun would faile me ere I halfe had 

ended : 
Therefore, in closure of a thankfull 
mynd, 580 

I deeme it best to hold eternally 
Their bounteous deeds and noble favours 

shrynd. 
Then by discourse them to indignifie.' 

So having said, Aglaura him bespake: 
* Colin, well worthie were those goodly 
favours 585 

Bestowd on thee, that so of them doest 

make, 
And them requitest with thy thankfull 

labours. 
But of great Cynthiaes goolilnesse, and 

high grace, 
Finish the storie which thou hast be- 
gun ne.' 
'More eath (quoth he) it is in such a 
case 590 

How to begin, then know how to have 

donne. 
For everie gift, and everie goodly meed, 



690 



COLIN CLOUTS COME HOME AGAINE. [l. 593-670. 



Which she on me bestowd, demaunds a 

day; 
And everie day, in which she did a deed, 
Demaunds a yeare it duly to display. 595 
Her words were like a streame of honny 

fleeting, 
The which doth softly trickle from the 

hive, 
Hable to melt the hearers heart unweeting, 
And eke to make the dead againe alive. 
Her deeds were like great clusters of ripe 

grapes, 600 

Which load the braunches of the fruitfull 

vine; 
Offring to fall into each mouth that gapes, 
And fill the same with store of timely 

wine. 
Her lookes were like beames of the morn- 
ing Sun, 
Forth looking through the windowes of 

the East, 605 

When first the fleecie cattell have begun 
Upon the perled grasse to make their 

feast. 
Her thoughts are like the fume of Franck- 

incence. 
Which from a golden Censer forth doth 

rise, 
And throwing forth sweet odours mounts 

fro thence 610 

In rolling globes up to the vauted skies. 
There she beholds, with high aspiring 

thought. 
The cradle of her owne creation, 
Emongst the seats of Angels heavenly 

wrought. 
Much like an Angell in all forme and 

fashion.' 615 

' Colin, (said Cuddy then) thou hast 

forgot 
Thy selfe, me seemes, too much, to mount 

so hie : 
Such loftie flight base shepheard seemeth 

not. 
From flocks and fields, to angels and to 

skie.' 
* True (answered he) but her great 

excellence 620 

Ijifts me above the measure of my might : 
That, being fild with furious insolence, 
I feele my selfe like one yrapt in spright. 
For when I thinke of her, as oft I ought, 
Then want ^words to speake it fitly forth : 
And, when I speake of her what I have 

thought, 626 

I cannot thinke according to her worth : 
Yet will I thinke of her, yet will I speake, 
So long as life my limbs doth hold to- 
gether ; 
And, when as death these vitall bands 

shall breake, 630 



Her name recorded I will leave for ever. 
Her name in every tree I will endosse. 
That, as the trees do grow, her name may 

grow ; 
And in the ground each where will it en- 

grosse. 
And fill with stones, that all men may it 

know. 635 

The speaking woods, and murmuring 

waters fall, 
Her name He teach in knowen terms to 

frame : 
And eke my lambs, when for their dams 

they call, 
He teach to call for Cynthia by name. 
And, long while after I am dead and 

rotten, 640 

Amongst the shepheards daughters danc- 
ing rownd, 
My layes made of her shall not be for- 
gotten, 
But sung by them with flowry gyrlonds 

crownd. 
And ye, who so ye be, that still survive, 
When as ye heare her memory renewed. 
Be witnesse of her bountie here alive, 646 
Which she to Colin her poore shepheard 

shewed.' 
Much was the whole assembly of those 

beards 
Moov'd at his speech, so feelingly he 

spake : 649 

And stood awhile astonisht at his words. 
Till Thestylis at last their silence brake, 
Saying : * Why Colin, since thou foundst 

such grace 
With Cynthia and all her noble crew ; 
Why didst thou ever leave that happie 

place, 
In which such wealth might unto thee 

accrew; 655 

And back returnedst to this barrein soyle, 
Where cold and care and penury do 

dwell. 
Here to keep sheepe, with hunger and with 

toyle ? 
Most wretched he, that is and cannot tell.' 
' Happie indeed (said Colin) I him hold, 
That may that blessed presence still enjoy, 
Of fortune and of envy uncomptrold, 662 
Which still are wont most happie states t' 

annoy : 
But I, by that which little while I prooved, 
Some part of those enormities did see, 665 
The which in Court continually hooved, 
And followd those which happie seemd 

to bee. 
Therefore I, silly man, whose former dayes 
Had in rude fields bene altogether spent. 
Durst not adventure such unknowen 

wayes, 670 



L. 671-746.] COLIN CLOUTS COME HOME AGAINE. 



691 



Nor trust the guile of fortunes blandish- 
ment ; 
But rather chose back to my sheep to 

tourne, 
Whose utmost hardnesse I before had 

tryde, 
Then, having learnd repentance late, to 

mourne 
Emongst those wretches which I there 

descryde.' 675 

'Shepheard, (said Thestylis) it seemes 

of spight 
Thou speakest thus gainst their felicitie, 
Which thou enviest, rather then of 

right 
That ought in them blameworthie thou 

doest spie.' 
'Cause have I none (quoth he) of can- 

cred will 680 

To quite them ill, that me demeand so 

well: 
But selfe-regard of private good or ill 
Moves me of each, so as I found, to tell 
And eke to warne yong shepheards wan- 

dring wit. 
Which, through report of that lives painted 

blisse, 685 

Abandon quiet home to seeke for it, 
And leave their lambes to losse, misled 

amisse. 
For, sooth to say, it is no sort of life, 
For shepheard fit to lead in that same 

place, 
Where each one seeks with malice, and 

with strife, 690 

To thrust downe other into foule disgrace, 
Himselfe to raise: and he doth soonest 

rise 
That best can handle his deceitfuU 

wit 
In subtil shifts, and finest sleights devise. 
Either by slaundring his well-deemed 

name, 695 

Through leasings lewd, and fained forg- 

erie; 
Or else by breeding him some blot of 

blame. 
By creeping close into his secrecie ; 
To which him needs a guilefull hollow 

hart, 
Masked with faire dissembling curtesie, 
A filed toung, furnisht with tearmes of 

art, 701 

No art of schoole, but Courtiers schoolery. 
For arts of schoole have there small coun- 
tenance. 
Counted but toyes to busie ydle braines ; 
And there professours find small main- 
tenance, 705 
But to be instruments of others gaines. 
Ne is there place for any gentle wit. 



Unlesse to please it selfe it can applie ; 
But shouldred is, or out of doore quite 

shit, 
As base, or blunt, unmeet for melodie. 710 
For each mans worth is measured by his 

weed, 
As harts by homes, or asses by their 

eares : 
Yet asses been not all whose eares ex- 
ceed, 
Nor yet all harts that homes the highest 

beares ; 
For highest lookes have not the highest 

mynd, 715 

Nor haughtie words most full of highest 

thoughts : 
But are like bladders blowen up with 

wynd. 
That being prickt do vanish into noughts. 
Even such is all their vaunted vanitie. 
Nought else but smoke, and fumeth 

soone away; 720 

Such is their giorie that in simple eie 
Seeme greatest, when their garments are 

most gay. 
So they themselves for praise of fooles do 

sell, 
And all their wealth for painting op a 

wall; 
With price whereof they buy a golden 

bell, 725 

And purchace highest rowmes in bowre 

and hall: 
Whiles single Truth and simple Honestie 
Do wander up and downe despys'd of all ; 
Their plaine attire such glorious gallantry 
Disdaines so much, that none them in doth 

call.' 730 

' Ah ! Colin, (then said Hobbinol) the 

blame 
Which thou imputest, is too generall. 
As if not any gentle wit of name 
Nor honest mynd might there be found 

at all. 
For well I wot, sith I my selfe was there, 
To wait on Lobbin, (Lobbin well thou 

knewest,) 736 

Full many worthie ones then waiting 

were. 
As ever else in Princes Court thou vewest. 
Of which among you many yet reraaine. 
Whose names I cannot readily now ghesse : 
Those thatpoore Sutors papers do retaine, 
And those that skill of medicine pro- 

fesse, 742 

And those that do to Cynthia expound 
The ledden of straunge languages in 

charge : 
For Cyiithia doth in sciences abound, 745 
And gives to their professors stipends 

large. 



692 



COLIN CLOUTS COME HOME AGAINE. [l. 747-829. 



Therefore uu justly thou doest wyte them 

all, 
For that which thou niislikedst hi a few.' 
' Blame is (quoth he) more hlamelesse 

geuerall, 
Theu that which private errours doth 

pursew ; 750 

For well I wot, that there amongst them 

bee 
Full many persons of right worthie parts, 
Both for report of spotlesse honestie, 
And for profession of all learned arts, 
Whose praise hereby no whit impaired is, 
Though blame do light on those that 

f aultie bee ; 756 

For all the rest do most-what fare amis. 
And yet their owne misfaring will not 

see: 
For either they be puffed up with pride, 
Or fraught with envie that their galls do 

swell, 760 

Or they their dayes to ydlenesse divide, 
Or drownded lie in pleasures wastefull 

well. 
In which like Moldwarps nousling still 

they lurke, 
Unmindf ull of chiefe parts of manlinesse ; 
And do themselves, for want of other 

worke, 765 

Vaine votaries of laesie Love prof esse. 
Whose service high so basely they ensew. 
That Cupid selfe of them ashamed is, 
And, mustring all his men in Venus vew, 
Denies them quite for servitors of his.' 770 
'Aud is Love then (said Corylas) ouce 

knowne 
In Court, and his sweet lore professed 

there ? 
I weened sure he was our God alone. 
And only wooud in fields and forests 

here : ' 
' Not so, (quoth he) Love most abound- 

eth there. 775 

For all the walls and windows there are 

wiit, 
All full of love, and love, and love my 

deare, 
And all their talke and studie is of it. 
Ne any there doth brave or valiant seeme, 
Unlesse that some gay Mistresse badge 

he beares : 780 

Ne any one himselfe doth ought esteeme, 
Unlesse he swim in love up to the eares. 
But they of love, and of his sacred lere, 
(As it should be) all otherwise devise, 
Then we poore shepheards are accustomd 

here, 785 

And him do sue and serve all otherwise : 
For with lewd speeches, and licentious 

deeds. 
His mightie mysteries they do prophane, 



And use his ydle name to other needs, 789 
But as a complement for courting vaine. 
So him they do not serve as they prof esse, 
But make him serve to them for sordid 

uses: 
Ah! my dread Lord, that doest liege 

hearts possesse. 
Avenge thy selfe on them for their abuses. 
But we poore shepheards whether rightly 

so, 795 

Or through our rudenesse into errour led, 
Do make religion how we rashly go 
To serve that God, that is so greatly 

dred ; 
For him the greatest of the Gods we 

deeme, 
Borne without Syre or couples of one 

kynd ; 800 

For Venus selfe doth soly couples seeme, 
Both male and female through commix- 
ture joynd : 
So pure and spotlesse Cupid forth she 

brought, 
And in the gardens of Adonis nurst : 
Where growing he his owne perfection 

wrought, 805 

And shortly was of all the Gods the first. 
Then got he bow and shafts of gold and 

lead, 
In which so fell and puissant he grew, 
That Jove himselfe his powre began to 

dread. 
And, taking up to heaven, him godded 

new. 
From thence he shootes his arrowes every 

where 811 

Into the world, at randon as he will. 
On us fraile men, his wretched vassals 

here. 
Like as himselfe us pleaseth save or spill. 
So we him worship, so we him adore 815 
With humble hearts to heaven uplifted 

hie, 
That to true loves he may us evermore 
Preferre, and of their grace us dignifie : 
Ne is there shepheard, ne yet shepheards 

swaine. 
What ever feeds in forest or in field, 820 
That dare with evil deed or leasing vaine 
Blaspheme his powre, or termes unworthie 

yield.' 
* Shepheard, it seemes that some celes- 

tiall rage 
Of Love (quoth Cuddy) is breath'd into 

thy brest, 
That powreth forth these oracles so sage 
Of that high powre, wherewith thou art 

possest. 826 

But never wist I till this present day, 
Albe of love I alwayes humbly deemed, 
That he was such an one as thou doest say, 



L. 830-909.] COLIN CLOUTS COME HOME AGAINE 



693 



And so religiously to be esteemed. 830 
Well may it seeme, by this thy deep in- 
sight, 
That of that God the Priest thou should est 

bee, 
So well thou wot'st the mysterie of his 

might. 
As if his godhead thou didst present see.' 
' Of loves perfectiou perfectly to speake. 
Or of his nature rightly to deliue, 836 

Indeed (said Colin) passeth reasons reach, 
And needs his priest t' expresse his powre 

divine : 
For long before the world he was ybore. 
And bred above in Venus bosome deare : 
For by his powre the world was made of 
yore, 841 

And all that therein wondrous doth ap- 

peare. 
For how should else things so far from 

attone, 
And so great enemies as of them bee, 
Be ever drawne together into one 845 

And taught in such accordance to agree ? 
Through him the cold began to covet 

heat. 
And water fire ; the light to mount on hie, 
And th' heavie downe to peize ; the hun- 
gry t' eat, 
And voydnesse to seeke full satietie. 850 
So, being former foes, they wexed friends. 
And gan by litle learne to love each 

other : 
So, being knit, they brought forth other 

kynds 
Out of the fruitfull wombe of their great 

mother. 
Then first gan heaven out of darknesse 
dread 855 

For to appeare, and brought forth chear- 

full day : 
Next gan the earth to shew her naked 

head, 
Out of deep waters which her drownd 

alway : 
And, shortly after, everie living wight 
Crept forth'like wormes out of" her slimie 
nature. 860 

Soone as on them the Suns life-giving- 
light 
Had powred kindly heat and formall 

feature, 
Thenceforth they gan each one his like to 

love, 
And like himselfe desire for to beget : 
The Lyon chose his mate, the Turtle Dove 
Her deare, the Dolphin his owne Dol- 
phin et; 866 
But man, that had the sparke of reasons 

might 
More then the rest to rule his passion, 



Chose for his love the fairest in his sight. 
Like as himselfe was fairest by creation : 
For beautie is the bayt which with de- 
light 871 
Doth man allure for to enlarge his kynd ; 
Beautie, the burning lamp of heavens 

light, 
Darting her beames into each feeble 

mynd : 
Against whose powre, nor God nor man 

can fynd 875 

Defence, ne ward the daunger of the 

wound ; 
But, being hurt, seeke to be medicynd 
Of her that first did stir that mortall 

stownd. 
Then do they cry and call to love apace. 
With praiers lowd importuning the skie. 
Whence he them heares; and, when he 

list shew grace, 881 

Does graunt them grace that otherwise 

would die. 
So love is Lord of all the world by right. 
And rifles the creatures by his powrfull 

saw: 
All being made the vassalls of his might, 
Through secret sence which thereto doth 

them draw. 886 

Thus ought all lovers of their lord to 

deeme, 
And with chaste heart to honor him 

alway : 
But who so else doth otherwise esteeme. 
Are outlawes, and his lore do disobay. 
For their desire is base, and doth not 

merit 891 

The name of love, but of disloyall lust : 
Ne mongst true lovers they shall place 

inherit. 
But as Exuls out of his court be thrust.' 
So having said, Melissa spake at will ; 
* Colin, thou now full deeply hast divynd 
Of Love and beautie ; and, with wondrous 

skill, 897 

Hast Cupid selfe depainted in his kynd. 
To thee are all true lovers greatly bound. 
That doest their cause so mightily defend : 
But most, all wemen are thy debtors 

found, 901 

That doest their bountie still so much 

commend. 
' That ill (said Hobbinol) they him re- 
quite. 
For having loved ever one most deare: 
He is repayd with scorne and foule de- 
spite, 905 
That yrkes each gentle heart which it 

doth heare.' 
' Indeed (said Lucid) I have often heard 
Faire Rosalind of divers fowly blamed 
For being to that swaine too cruell hard, 



694 



COLIN CLOUTS COME HOME AGAINE. [l. 910-955. 



That her bright glorie else hath much 

defamed. 910 

But who can tell what cause had that 

faire Mayd 
To use him so that used her so well ; 
Or who with blame cau justly her upbrayd 
For loving not? for who can love com- 

peir? 
And, sooth to say, it is foolhardie thing, 
Rashly to wyten creatures so divine ; 916 
For demigods they be and first did spring 
From heaven, though graft in frailnesse 

feminine. 
And well I wote, that oft I heard it 

spoken, 
How one, that fairest Helene did revile, 
Through judgement of the gods to been 

ywrokeu, 921 

Lost both his eyes and so remaynd long 

while, 
Till he recanted had his wicked rimes, 
And made amends to her with treble 

praise. 
Beware therefore, ye groomes, I read be- 
times, 925 
How rashly blame of Rosalind ye raise.' 
' Ah ! shepheards, (then said Colin) ye 

ne weet 
How great a guilt upon your heads ye 

draw. 
To make so bold a doome, with words 

unmeet, 
Of things celestiall which ye never saw. 
For she is not like as the other crew 931 
Of shepheards daughters which emongst 

you bee, 
But of divine regard and heavenly hew, 



Excelling all that ever ye did see. 

Not then to her that scorned thing so base, 

But to my selfe the blame that lookt so 

hie : 936 

So hie her thoughts as she her selfe have 

place. 
And loath each lowly thing with lof tie eie. 
Yet so much grace let her vouchsafe to 

grant 
To simple swaine, sith her I may not 

love : 940 

Yet that I may her honour paravant. 
And praise her worth, though far my wit 

above. 
Such grace shall be some guerdon for the 

griefe. 
And long affliction which T have endured : 
Such grace sometimes shall give me some 

reliefe, 945 

And ease of paine which cannot be re- 
cured. 
And ye, my fellow shepheards, which do 

see 
And heare the languors of my too long 

dying. 
Unto the world for ever witnesse bee. 
That hers I die, nought to the world 

denying, 950 

This simple trophe of her great con- 
quest.' — 
So, having ended, he from ground did 

rise, 
And after him uprose eke all the rest : 
All loth to part, but that the glooming 

skies 
Warnd them to draw their bleating flocks 

to rest. 955 



ASTROPHEL. 

A PASTORALL ELEGIE, 

UPON THE DEATH OF THE MOST NOBLE AND VALOROUS KNIGHT, 

SIR PHILIP SIDNEY. 

DEDICATED TO THE MOST BEAUTIFULL AND VERTUOUS LADIE, 

THE COUNTESS OF ESSEX. 



Shepheards, that wont, on pipes of 

oaten reed, 
Oft times to plaine your loves concealed 

smart ; 
And with your piteous layes have learnd 

to breed 
Compassion in a countrey lasses hart 
Hearken, ye gentle shepheards, to my 

song, 5 

And place my dolefull plaint your plaints 

among. 

To yon alone I sing this mournfull verse, 
The raoumfulst verse that ever man heard 
tell: 



To you whose softened hearts it may 

empierse 
With dolours dart for death of Astro- 

phel. 10 

To you I sing and to none other wight, 
For well I wot my rymes bene rudely 

dight. 

Yet as they been, if any nycer wit 
Shall hap to heare, or covet them to read : 
Thinke he, that such are for such ones 
most fit, 15 

Made not to please the living but the dead. 
And if in him found pity ever place, 
Let him be moov'd to pity such a case. 



ASTROPHEL. 



A GENTLE shepheard borne in Arcady, 
Of gentlest race that ever shepheard 

bore, 20 

About the grassie baneks of Haemony 
Did keepe his sheep, his litle stock and 

store : 
Full carefully he kept them day and 

night. 
In fairest fields ; and Astrophel he hight. 

Young Astrophel, the pride of shepheards 
praise, 25 

Young Astrophel, the rusticke lasses love : 
Far passing all the pastors of his dales. 
In all that seemly shepheard might 

behove. 
In one thing onely fayling of the best. 
That he was not so happie as the rest. 30 

For from the time that first the Nymph 

his mother 
Him forth did bring, and taught her 

lambs to feed ; 
A sclender swaine, excelling far each other. 



In comely shape, like her that did him 

breed , 
He grew up fast in goodnesse and in 

grace, 35 

And doubly faire wox both in mjoid and 

face. 

Which daily more and more he did 

augment. 
With gentle usuage and demeanure myld : 
That all mens hearts with secret ravish- 
ment 
He stole away, and weetingly beguyld. 40 
Ne spight it selfe, that all good things 

doth spill. 
Found ought in him, that she could say 
was ill. 

His sports were faire, his joyance in- 
nocent, 

Sweet without sowre, and honny without 
gall: 

And he himselfe seemed made for men- 
men t, 45 



695 



696 



ASTROPHEL. 



[l. 46-116. 



Merily masking both in bowre and hall. 
There was no pleasure nor delightfull 

play, 
When Astrophel so ever was away. 

For he could pipe, and daunce, and caroll 

sweet, 
Emongst the shepheards in their shearing 

feast ; 50 

As Somers larke that with her song doth 

greet 
The dawning day forth comming from the 

East. 
And layes of love he also could compose : 
Thrise happie she, whom he to praise did 

chose. 

Full many Maydens often did him woo, 55 
Them to vouchsafe emongst his rimes to 

name, 
Or make for them as he was wont to doo 
For her that did his heart with love 

inflame. 
For which they promised to dight for him 
Gay chapelets of flowers and gyrlonds 

trim. 60 

And many a Nymph both of the wood 

and brooke, 
Soone as his oaten pipe began to shrill, 
Both christall wells and shadie groves 

forsooke. 
To heare the charmes of his enchanting 

skill ; 
And brought him presents, flowers if it 

were prime, 65 

Or mellow fruit if it were harvest time. 

But he for none of them did care a whit. 
Yet woodgods for them often sighed sore : 
Ne for their gifts unworthie of his wit, 
Yet not unworthie of the countries 
store. 70 

For one alone he cared, for one he sigh't. 
His lifes desire, and his deare loves de- 
light. 

Stella the faire, the fairest star in skie, 
As faire as Venus or the fairest faire, 
(A fairer star saw never living eie,) 75 
Shot her sharp pointed beames through 

purest aire. 
Her he did love, her he alone did honor, 
His thoughts, his rimes, his songs were 

all upon her. 

To her he vowd the service of his daies, 
On her he spent the riches of his wit ; 80 
For her he made hymnes of immortall 

praise, 
Of onely her he sung, he thought, he writ. 



Her, and but her, of love he worthie 

deemed ; 
For all the rest but litle he esteemed. 



Ne 



ydle words alone 
(yet 



he 

85 

verses are not 



her with 

wowed, 
And verses vaine 

value,) 
But with brave deeds to her sole service 

vowed. 
And bold atchievements her did enter- 

taine. 
For both in deeds and words he nourtred 

was. 
Both wise and hardie, (too hardie, 

alas!) 90 



In 



nimble, and in renning 
and in swimming 



wrestling 

swift. 
In shooting steddie 

strong : 
Well made to strike, to throw, to leape, 

to lift. 
And all the sports that shepheards are 

emong. 
In every one he vanquisht every one, 95 
He van"^quisht all, and vanquisht w^as of 

none. 

Besides, in hunting such felicitie, 

Or rather infelicitie, he found, 

That every field and forest far away 

He sought, where salvage beasts do most 

abound. 100 

No beast so salvage but he could it kill ; 
No chace so hard, but he therein had 

skill. 

Such skill, matcht with such courage as 

he had, 
Did prick him f oorth with proud desire of 

praise 
To seek abroad, of daunger nought 

ydrad, 105 

His mistresse name, and his owne fame 

to raise. 
What needeth perill to be sought abroad, 
Since round about us it doth make 

aboad ! 

It fortuned as he that perilous game 
In forreiue soyle pursued far away, 110 
Into a forest wide and waste he came. 
Where store he heard to be of salvage 

pray. 
So wide a forest and so waste as this, 
Nor famous Ardeyn, nor fowle Arlo, is. 

There his welwoven toyles, and subtil 
traines, 115 

He laid the brutish nation to enwrap : 



L. 1 1 7-180.] 



ASTROPIIEL. 



697 



So well he wrought with practise and 

with paiues, 
That he of them great troups did soone 

entrap. 
Full happie man (misweeuing much) was 

hee, 
So rich a spoile within his power to 

see. 120 

Eftsoones, all heedlesse of his dearest 

hale. 
Full greedily into the heard he thrust, 
To slaughter them, and worke their 

finall bale, 
Least that his toyle should of their troups 

be brust. 
Wide wounds emongst them many one he 

made, 125 

Now with his sharp bore-spear, now with 
' his blade. 

His care was all how he them all might 

kill. 
That none might scape, (so partiall unto 

none : ) 
111 mynd so much to mynd anothers ill, 
As to become unmyndfull of his owne. 130 
But pardon that unto the cruell skies, 
That from himselfe to them withdrew his 

eies. 

So as he rag'd emongst that beastly rout, 
A cruell beast of most accursed brood 
Upon him turnd, (despeyre makes cow- 
ards stout,) 135 
And, with fell tooth accustomed to blood, 
Launched his thigh with so mischievous 

might. 
That it both bone and muscles ryved 
quight. 

So deadly was the dint and deep the 

womid. 
And so huge streames of blood thereout 

did flow, 140 

That he endured not the direfull stound. 
But on the cold deare earth himselfe did 

throw ; 
The whiles the captive heard his nets did 

rend. 
And, having none to let, to wood did 

wend. 

Ah! where were ye this while his shep- 

heard peares, 145 

To whom alive was nought so deare as 

hee: 
And ye fayre Mayds, the matches of his 

yeares, 
Which in his grace did boast you most to 

bee! 



Ah ! where were ye, when he of you had 

need. 
To stop his wound that wondrously did 

bleed ! 150 

Ah! wretched boy, the shape of drery- 

head, 
And sad ensample of mans suddein end : 
Full litle faileth but thou shalt be 

dead, 
Unpitied, unplaynd, of foe or frend : 
Whilest none is nigh, thine eylids up to 

close, 155 

And kisse thy lips like faded leaves of 

rose. 

A sort of shepheards, sewing of the 

chace, 
As they the forest raunged on a day. 
By fate or fortune came unto the place, 
Where as the lucklesse boy yet bleeding 

lay ; 160 

Yet bleeding lay, and yet would still 

have bled. 
Had not good hap those shepheards 

thether led. 

They stopt his wound, (too late to stop 

it was!) 
And in their armes then softly did him 

reare : 
Tho (as he wild) unto his loved lasse, 165 
His dearest love, him dolefully did 

beare. 
The dolefulst beare that ever man did 

see. 
Was Astrophel, but dearest unto mee! 

She, when she saw her love in such a 
plight, 

With crudled blood and filthie gore de- 
formed, 170 

That wont to be with flowers and gyr- 
londs dight, 

And her deare favours dearly well 
adorned ; 

Her face, the fairest face that eye mote 
see. 

She likewise did deforme, like him to 
bee. 

Her yellow locks that shone so bright 

and long, ' 175 

As Sunny beames in fairest somers day, 
She fiersly tore, and with outragious 

wrong 
From her red cheeks the roses rent away ; 
And her faire brest, the threasury of 

joy. 
She spoyld thereof, and filled with 

annoy. 180 



698 



ASTROPHEL. 



[L. 181-234. 



His palled face, impictured with death, 
She bathed oft with teares, and dried oft : 
And with sweet kisses suckt the wasting 

breath 
Out of his lips like lilies pale and soft: 
And oft she cald to him, who answerd 

nought, 185 

But onely by his lookes did tell his 

thought. 

The rest of her impatient regret, 

And piteous mone the which she for him 

made. 
No toong can tell, nor any forth can set, 
But he whose heart like sorrow did in- 
vade. 190 
At last, when paine his vitall powres had 

spent. 
His wasted life her wearie lodge forwent. 

Which when she saw, she staled not a 

whit. 
But after him did make untimely haste : 
Forth-with her ghost out of her corps did 

flit, 195 

And followed her make like turtle chaste. 
To prove that death their hearts cannot 

divide. 
Which living were in love so firmly tide. 

The gods, which all things see, this same 

beheld, 
And, pittying this paire of lovers trew,200 
Transformed them, there lying on the 

field, 
Into one flowre that is both red and blew ; 
It first growes red, and then to blew doth 

fade. 
Like Astrophel, which thereinto was made. 

And in the midst thereof a star appeares. 
As fairly formd as any star in skyes ; 206 
Resembling Stella in her freshest yeares, 
Forth darting beames of beautie from 

her eyes: 
And all the day it standeth full of deow, 



Which is the teares, that from her eyes 
did flow. 210 

That hearbe of some Starlight is cald by 

name, 
Of others Penthia, though not so well : 
But thou, where ever thou doest finde 

the same. 
From this day forth do call it Astrophel : 
And, when so ever thou it up doest take, 
Do pluck it softly lor that shepheards 

sake. 216 

Hereof when tydings far abroad did passe, 
The shepheards all which loved him full 

deare. 
And sure full deare of all he loved was, 
Did thether flock to see what they did 

he are 220 

And when that pitteous spectacle they 

vewed. 
The same with bitter teares they all 

bedewed. 

And every one did make exceeding mone, 
With inward anguish and great griefe 

opprest : 
And every one did weep and waile, and 

mone, 225 

And meanes deviz'd to shew his sorrow 

best; 
That from that houre, since first on 

grassie greene 
Shepheards kept sheep, was not like 

mourning seen. 

But first his sister that Clorinda hight, 
The gentlest shepheardesse that lives 

this day, 230 

And most resembling both in shape and 

spright 
Her brother deare, began this dolefull 

lay. 
Which, least I marre the sweetnesse of 

the vearse, 
In sort as she it sung I will rehearse. 



THE DOLEFULL LAY OF CLORIKDA. 



{These verses are supposed to have been written by Mary Countess of Pembroke, 
sister to Sir Philip Sidney.) 



Ay me, to whom shall I my case com- 

plaine, 
That may compassion my impatient 

griefe ! 
Or where shall I unfold my inward paine. 



Shall I unto the heavenly powres it show ? 
Or- unto earthly men that dwell below ? 

To heavens? ah! they alas! the authors 
were, 7 



That my enriven heart may find reliefe ! I And workers of my unremedied wo: 



L. 9-75-] 



THE DOLEFULL LAY OF CLORINDA. 



699 



For they foresee what to us happens here, 

Aud they foresaw, yet suffred this be 

so. , 10 

From them comes good, from them 

comes also il; 
That which they made, who can them 
warne to spill? 

To men? ah! they alas! like wretched 

bee, 
And subject to the heavens ordinance : 
Bound to abide whatever they decree, 15 
Their best redresse is their best suffer- 
ance. 
How then can they, like wretched, 

comfort mee. 
The which no lesse need comforted to 
bee? 

Then- to my selfe will I my sorrow 

mourne, 
Sith none alive like sorrowfull remaines : 
And to my selfe my plaints shall back 

retourne, 21 

To pay their usury with doubled paines. 
The woods, the hills, the rivers, shall 

resound 
The mourufull accent of my sorrowes 

ground. 

Woods, hills, and rivers, now are deso- 
late, 25 

Sith he is gone the which them all did 
grace : 

And all the fields do waile their widow 
state, 

Sith death their fairest flowre did late 
deface. 
The fairest flowre in field that ever 

grew. 
Was Astrophel; that was, we all may 
rew. 30 

What cruell hand of cursed foe un- 

knowue, 
Hath cropt the stalke which bore so faire 

a flowre ? 
Untimely cropt, before it well were 

growne. 
And cleane defaced in untimely howre. 
Great losse to all that ever him did 

see, 35 

Great losse to all, but greatest losse to 

mee ! 

Breake now your gyrlouds, O ye shep- 

heards lasses, ' 
Sith the fayre flowre, which them adornd, 

is gon : 
The flowre, which them adornd, is gone 

to ashes, 



Never againe let lasse put gyrlond on. 40 
In stead of gyrlond, weare sad Cypres 

nowe. 
And bitter Elder, broken from the 
bowe. 

Ne ever sing the love-layes which he 

made ; 
Who ever made such layes of love as hee ? 
Ne ever read the riddles, which he sayd 
Unto your selves, to make you mery 
glee. 46 

Your mery glee is now laid all abed, 
Your mery maker now alasse ! is dead. 

Death, the devourer of all worlds delight, 
Hath robbed you, and reft fro me my 

joy: 60 

Both you and me, and all the world he 

q night 
Hath robd of joyance, and left sad annoy. 
Joy of the world, and shepheards pride 

was hee ! 
Shepheards, hope never like againe to 

see! 

Oh Death! thou hast us of such riches 

reft, 55 

Tell us at least, what hast thou with it 

done? 
What is become of him whose flowre here 

left 
Is but the shadow of his likenesse gone? 
Scarse like the shadow of that which 

he was. 
Nought like, but that he like a shade 

did pas. 60 

But that immortall spirit, which was 

deckt 
With all the dowries of celestiall grace. 
By soveraine choyce from th' hevenly 

quires select, 
And lineally deriv'd from Angels race, 
O! what is now of it become aread. 65 
Ay me ! can so divine a thing be dead ? 

Ah! no : it is not dead, ne can it die. 
But lives for aie, in blisf ull Paradise : 
Where like a new-borne babe it soft doth 

lie, 
In bed of lillies wrapt in tender wise ; 70 
And compast all about with roses 

sweet. 
And daintie violets from head to feet. 

There thousand birds, all of celestiall 

brood. 
To him do sweetly caroll day and night ; 
And with straunge notes, of him well 

understood, 75 



700 



THE MOURNING MUSE OF THESTYLIS. 



[L. 1-24. 



Lull him asleep in Angelick delight ; 

Whilest in sweet drearae to him pre- 
sented bee 

Iramortall beauties, which no eye may 
see. 

But he them sees, and takes exceeding 

pleasure 
Of their divine aspects, appearing plaine, 
And kindling love in him above all 

measure ; 81 

Sweet love, still joyous, never feeling 

paine : 
For what so goodly forme he there doth 

see. 
He may enjoy from jealous rancor free. 

There liveth he in everlasting blis, 85 
Sweet spirit never fearing more to die : 
Ne dreading harme from any foes of his, 
Ne fearing salvage beasts more crueltie. 
Whilest we here, wretches, waile his 

private lack, 
And with vaine vowes do often call him 
back. 90 

But live thou there, still happie, happie 
spirit. 



And give us leave thee here thus to 

lament! 
Not thee that doest thy heavens joy 

inherit. 

But our owne selves that here in dole are 

drent 

Thus do we weep and waile, and wear 

our eies, 95 

Mourning, in others, our own miseries. 

Which when she ended had, another 

swaine 
Of gentle wit and daintie sweet device. 
Whom Astrophel full deare did entertaiue, 
Whilest here he liv'd, and held in passing 

price, 100 

Hight Thestylis, began his mournfuU 

tourne : 
And made the Muses in his song to mourne. 

And after him full many other moe, 
As everie one in order lov'd him best, 
Gan dight themselves t' expresse their 

inward woe, 105 

With dolefull lays unto the time addrest : 
The which I here in order will rehearse, 
As fittest tlowres to deck his mournfull 

hearse. 



THE MOUENING MUSE OE THESTYLIS. 

{This and the succeeding Poem are supposed to have been written by 
Lodoioick Bryshett.) 



Comb forth, ye Nymphes, come forth, 

forsake your watry bowres, 
Forsake your, mossy caves, and help me to 

lament : 
Help me to tune my dolefull notes to 

gurgling sound 
Of Liffies tumbling streames: Come, let 

salt teares of ours 
Mix with his waters fresh. O come, let 

one consent 5 

Joyne us to mourne with wailfull plaints 

the deadly wound 
Which fatall clap hath made, decreed by 

higher powres ; 
The dreery day in which they have from 

us yrent 
The noblest plant that might from East 

to West be found. 
Mourne, mourn, great Philips fall, moui-n 

we his wo full end, 10 

Whom spitef nil Death hath pluct untimely 

from the tree, 
Whiles yet his yeares in flowre did prom- 
ise worthie frute. 



Ah dreadful Mars, why didst thou not 

thy knight defend? 
What wrathful! mood, what fault of ours, 

hath moved thee 
Of such a shining light to leave us 

destitute? 15 

Thou with benigne aspect sometime didst 

us behold, 
Thou hast in Britons valour tane delight 

of old. 
And with thy presence oft vouchsaft to 

attribute 
Fame and renowme to us for glorious 

martlall deeds. 
But now thy ireful hemes have chill'd 

our harts with cold ; 20 

Thou hast estrang'd thy self, and deignest 

not our land : 
Farre off to othersnowthy favour honour 

breeds, 
And high disdaine doth cause thee shun 

our clime, (I feare ; ) 
For hadst thou not bene wroth, or that 

time neare at hand, 



L. 25-84.] 



THE MOURNING MUSE OF THESTYLIS. 



701 



Thou wouldst have heard the cry that 

woful England made ; , 25 

Eke Zelauds piteous plaints, and Hollands 

toren heare. 
Would haply have appeas'd thy divine 

angry mynd : 
Thou shouldst have seen ihe trees refuse 

to yeeld their shade, 
And wailing to let fall the houor of their 

head ; 
And birds in mournfuU tunes lamenting 

in their kinde. 30 

Up from his tombe the mightie Corineus 

rose, 
Who, cursing oft the fates that this mis- 
hap had bred, 
His hoary locks he tare, calling the 

heavens unkinde. 
The Thames was heard to roare, the 

Seyne and eke the Mose, 
The Schald, the Danow selfe, this great 

mischance did rue, 35 

With torment and with grief : their foun- 
tains pure and cleere 
Were troubled, and with swelling fiouds 

declar'd their woes. 
The Muses comfortles, the Nymphs with 

paled hue, 
The Silvan Gods likewise, came running 

farre and neere. 
And all with teares bedeawd, and eyes 

cast up on hie ; 40 

O help, O help, ye Gods, they ghastly gan 

to crie. 
O chaunge the cruell fate of this so rare 

a wight, 
And graunt that natures course may 

measure out his age. 
The beasts their foode forsooke, and, 

trembling fearfully. 
Each sought his cave or den, this cry did 

them so fright. 45 

Out from amid the waves, by storme then 

stirr'd to rage. 
This crie did cause to rise th' old father 

Ocean hoare, 
AVho grave with eld, and full of majestic 

in sight. 
Spake in this wise. ' Refrain (quoth he) 

your teares and plaints, 
Cease these, yovir idle words, make vaine 

requests no more. 50 

No humble speech, nor mone, may move 

the fixed stint 
Of destiuie or death : Such is His will that 

paints 
The earth with colours fresh ; the darkest 

skies with store 
Of starry lights : And though your teares 

a hart of flint 



Might tender make, yet nought herein 

they will prevaile.' 55 

Whiles thus he said, the noble knight, 

who gan to feele 
His vitall force to faint, and death with 

cruell dint 
Of direfull dart his mortall bodie to 

assaile, 
With eyes lift up to heav'n, and courage 

franke as Steele, 
With cheerfull face, where valour lively 

was exprest, 60 

But humble mynd, he said: 'O Lord, if 

ought this fraile 
And earthly carcasse have thy service 

sought t' advaunce ; 
If my desire have bene still to relieve th' 

opprest ; 
If justice to maintaine that valour I have 

spent 
Which thou me gav'st; or if henceforth 

I might advaunce 65 

Thy name, thy truth, then spare me 

(Lord) if thou think best ; 
Forbeare these unripe yeares. But if thy 

will be bent. 
If that prefixed time be come which thou 

hast set ; 
Through pure and fervent faith, I hope 

now to be plast 
In th' everlasting blis, which with thy 

precious blood 70 

Thou purchase didst for us.' With that 

a sigh he fet. 
And straight a cloudie mist his sences 

overcast ; 
His lips waxt pale and wan, like damaske 

roses bud 
Cast from the stalke, or like in field to 

purple flowre. 
Which languisheth being shred by culter 

as it past. 75 

A trembling chilly cold ran throgh their 

veines, which were 
With eies brimfull of teares to see his 

fatall hoM^-e, 
Whose blustring sighes at first their 

sorrow did declare. 
Next, murmuring ensude ; at last they 

not forbeare 
Plaine outcries, all against the heav'ns 

that enviously 80 

Depriv'd us of a spright so perfect and so 

rare. 
The sun his lightsom beames did shrowd, 

and hide his face 
For grief e, whereby the earth feard night 

eternally : 
The mountaines each where shooke, the 

rivers turn'd their streames. 



702 



THE MOURNING MUSE OF THESTYLIS. [l. 85-144. 



And Ih' aire gan wiuterlike to rage and 

fret apace : 85 

And grisly ghosts by night were seene, 

and fierie gleames, 
Amid the clouds with claps of thunder, 

that did seeme 
To rent the skies, and made both man 

and beast afeard : 
The birds of ill presage this lucklesse 

chance foretold, 
By dernf ull noise ; and dogs with howling 

made man deeme 90 

Some mischief was at hand : for such they 

do esteeme 
As tokens of mishap, and so have done of 

old. 
Ah! that thou hadst but heard his 

lovely Stella plaine 
Her greevous losse, or seene her heavie 

mourning cheere, 
While she, with woe opprest, her sorrowes 

did unfold. 95 

Her haire hung lose, neglect, about her 

shoulders twaine ; 
And from those two bright starres to him 

sometime so deere. 
Her heart sent drops of pearle, which fell 

in foyson downe 
Twixt lilly and the rose. She wroong her 

hands with paine. 
And piteously gan say: 'My true and 

faithfull pheere, 100 

Alas, and woe is me! why should my 

fortune frowne 
On me thus frowardly to rob me of my 

joy? 
What cruell envious hand hath taken thee 

away, 
And with thee my content, my comfort, 

and my stay ? 
Thou onelie wast the ease of trouble and 

annoy, 105 

'When they did me assaile; in thee my 

hopes did rest. 
Alas, what now is left but grief, that night 

and day 
Afflicts this wofull life, and with con- 

tinuall rage 
Torments ten thousand waies my miser- 
able brest ! 
O greedie envious heav'n, what needed 

thee to have 110 

Enricht with such a Jewell this unhappie 

age; 
To take it back againe so soone! Alas, 

when shall 
Mine eies see ought that, may content 

them, since thy grave, 
My onely treasure hides, the joyes of my 

poore hart! 



As here with thee on earth I liv'd, even 

so equall 115 

Me thinkes it were with thee in heav'n I 

did abide : 
And as our troubles all we here on earth 

did part. 
So reason would that there of thy most 

happie state 
I had my share. Alas, if thou my trustie 

guide 
Were wont to be, how canst thou leave 

me thus alone 120 

In darknesse and astray; weake, wearie, 

desolate, 
Plung'd in a world of woe, refusing for to 

take 
Me with thee to the place of rest where 

thou art gone ! ' 
This said, she held her peace, for sorrow 

tide her toong ; 
And insteed of more words, seemd that 

her eies a lake 125 

Of teares had bene, they flow'd so plente- 

ously theref ro : 
And, with her sobs and sighs, th' aire 

round about her roong. 
If Venus, when she waild her deare 

Adonis slaine. 
Ought moov'd in thy fiers hart compas- 
sion of her woe. 
His noble sisters plaints, her sighes and 

teares emong, 130 

Would sure have made thee milde, and 

inly rue her paine : 
Aurora halfe so faire her selfe did never 

show. 
When, from oldTithonsbed,shee weeping 

did arise. 
The blinded Archer-boy, like larke in 

showre of raine. 
Sat bathing of his wings, and glad the 

time did spend 135 

Under those cristall drops, which fell from 

her faire eies ; 
And at their brightest beames him proynd 

in lovely wise. 
Yet, sorie for her grief, which he could 

not amend, 
The gentle boy gan wipe her eies, and 

clear those lights. 
Those lights through which his glory and 

his conquests shine. 140 

The Graces tuckt her hair, which hung 

like threds of gold. 
Along her yvorie brest, the treasure of 

delights. 
All things with her to weep, it seemed, 

dici encline, 
The trees, the hills, the dales, the caves, 

the stones so cold. 



L. 145-195.] THE MOURNING MUSE OF THESTYLIS. 



703 



The aire did help them mourne, with dark 

clouds, raiue, and mist, 145 

Forbearing mauy a day to clears it selfe 

agaiue ; 
Which made them eftsoones feare the 

dales of Pirrha shold 
Of creatures spoile the earth, their fatall 

threds untwist. 
For Phoebus gladsome raies were wished 

for in vaine, 
And with her quivering light Latonas 

daughter faire, 150 

And Charles-waine eke refus'd to be the 

shipmaus guide. 
On Neptune warre was made by Aeolus 

and his traine, 
Who, letting loose the winds, tost and 

tormented th' aire, 
So that on ev'ry coast men ship wrack did 

- abide, 
Or else were swallowed up in open sea 

with waves, 155 

And such as came to shoare were beaten 

with despaire. 
The Medwaies silver streames, that wont 

so still to slide. 
Were troubled now and wrothe; whose 

hidden hollow caves 
Along his banks with fog then shrowded 

from mans eye, 
Ay Phillip did resownd, aie Phillip they 

did crie. 160 

His nimphs were seen no more (thogh 

custom stil it craves) 
With haire spred to the wynd themselves 

to bath or sport, 
Or with the hooke or net, barefooted 

wantonly, 
The pleasant dantie fish to entangle or 

deceive. 
The shepheards left their wonted places 

of resort, 165 

Their bagpipes now were still ; their lov- 
ing mery layes 
Were quite forgot ; and now their flocks 

men might perceive 
To wander and to straie, all carelesly 

neglect, 
And hi the stead of mirth and pleasure, 

nights and dayes 
Nought "els was to be heard, but woes, 

complaints, and mone. 170 



But thou (O blessed soule!) doest haply 

not respect 
These teares we shead, though full of 

loving pure affect, 
Having affixt thine eyes on that most 

glorious throne, 
Where full of majestic the High Creator 

reignes ; 
In whose bright shining face thy joyes 

are all complete, 175 

Whose love kindles thy spright; where 

happie alwaies one. 
Thou liv'st in blis that earthly passion 

never staines ; 
Where from the purest spring the sacred 

Nectar sweete 
Is thy continuall drinke; where thou 

doest gather now 
Of well emploied life th' inestimable 

gaines, 180 

There Venus on thee smiles, Apollo gives 

thee place, 
And Mars in reverent wise doth to thy 

vertue bow. 
And decks his fiery sphere, to do thee 

honour most. 
In highest part whereof, thy valour for to 

grace, 
A chaire of gold he sets to thee, and there 

doth tell 185 

Thy noble acts arew, whereby even they 

that boast 
Themselves of auncient fame, as Pirrhus, 

Hanniball, 
Scipio, and Csesar, with the rest that did 

excell 
In martiall prowesse, high thy glorie do 

admire. 
All haile, therefore, O worthie Phillip 

immortall, 190 

The flowre of Sydneyes race, the honour 

of thy name ! 
Whose worthie praise to sing, thy Muses 

not aspire, 
But sorrowfull and sad these teares to 

thee let fall ; 
Yet wish their verses might so farre and 

wide thy fame 
Extend, that envies rage, nor time, might 

end the same. 195 



A PASTORALL AEGLOGUE 

UPON THE 

DEATH OF SIR PHILLIP SIDNEY, KNIGHT, ETC. 

LYCON. COLIN. 



Lycon. Colin, well fits thy sad cheare 

this sad stownd, 
This wofuU stownd, wherein all things 

complaine 
This great mishap, this greevous losse of 

owres. 
Hear'st thou the Grown ? How with hol- 
low sownd 
He slides away, and murmuring doth 

plaiue, 5 

And seemes to say unto the fading flowres, 
Along his bankes, unto the bared trees, 
Phillisides is dead. Up jolly swaine. 
Thou that with skill canst tune a dolef ull 

lay, 
Help him to mourn. My hart with grief 

doth freese, 10 

Hoarse is my voice with crying, else a 

part 
Sure would I beare, though rude : but, as 

I may. 
With sobs and sighes I second will thy 

song, 
And so expresse the sorrowes of my 

hart. 
Colin. Ah Lycon, Lycon! what need 

skill, to teach 15 

A grieved mynd powre forth his plaints ? 

how long 
Hath the pore turtle gon to school (weenest 

thou) 
To learne to mourne her lost make! No, 

no, each 
Creature by nature can tell how to waile. 
Seest not these flocks, how sad they 

wander now? 20 

Seemeth their leaders bell their bleating 

tunes 
In dolefull sound. Like him, not one 

doth faile 
With hanging head to shew a heavie 

cheare. 
What bird (I pray thee) hast thou seen, 

that prunes ' 

Himselfe of late ? did any cheerfull note 
Come to thine eares, or gladsome sight 

appeare 26 

Unto thine eies, since that same fatall 

howre ? 



Hath not the aire put on his mourning 

coat. 
And testified his grief with flowing 

teares ? 
Sith then, it seemeth each thing to his 

powre 30 

Doth us invite to make a sad consort; 
Come, let us joyne our mournfull song 

with theirs. 
Griefe will endite, and sorrow will en- 
force, 
Thy voice ; and Eccho will our words 

report. 
Lycon. Though my rude rymes ill with 

thy verses frame, 35 

That others far re excell, yet will I force 
My selfe to answere thee the best I can. 
And honor my base words with his high 

name. 
But if my plaints annoy thee where thou 

sit 
In secret shade or cave; vouchsafe (O 

Pan) 40 

To pardon me, and hear this hard con- 
straint 
With patience while I sing, and pittie it. 
And eke ye rurall Muses, that do dwell 
In these wilde woods: if ever piteous 

plaint 
We did endite, or taught a wofull minde 
With words of pure affect his griefe to 

tell, 46 

Instruct me now. Now, Colin, then goe 

on, 
And I will follow thee, though farre be- 

hinde. 
Colin. Phillisides is dead. O harmfull 

death, 
O deadly harme ! Unhappie Albion, 50 
When shalt thou see, emong thy shep- 

heards all, 
Any so sage, so perfect ? Whom unneath 
Envie could touch for vertuous life and 

skill ; 
Curteous, valiant, and liberall. 54 

Behold the sacred Pales, where with haire 
Untrust she sitts, in shade of yonder hill. 
And her faire face, bent sadly downe, 

doth send 



704 



L. 58-127.] 



A PASTORALL AEGLOGUE. 



705 



A floud of teares to bathe the earth ; and 
there 

Doth call the heav'ns despightfull, en- 
vious, 59 

Cruell his fate, that made so short an end 

Of that same life, well worthie to have 
bene 

Prolonged with many yeares, happie and 
famous. 

The Nymphs and Oreades her round about 

Do sit lamenting on the grassie grene ; 

And with shrill cries, beating their whitest 
brests, 65 

Accuse the direfuU dart that death sent 
out 

To give the fatall stroke. The starres 
they blame. 

That deafe or carelesse seeme at their re- 
quest. 

The pleasant shade of stately groves they 
shun ; 

They leave their cristall springs, where 
they wont frame 70 

Sweet bowres of Myrtel twigs and Lawrel 
faire, 

To sport themselves free from the scorch- 
ing Sun. 

And now the hollow caves where horror 
darke 

Doth dwell, whence banisht is the glad- 
some aire, 

They seeke ; and there in mourning spend 
their time 75 

With wailfull tunes, whiles wolves do 
howle and barke. 

And seem to beare a bourdon to their 
plaint. 
Lycon. Phillisides is dead. dolefull 



ryme 



"Why should my toong expresse thee ? who 

is left 
Now to uphold thy hopes, when they do 

faint, 80 

Lycon, unfortunate! What spitefull fate, 
What lucklesse destinie, hath thee bereft 
Of thy chief comfort, of thy onely stay ! 
Where is become thy wonted happie state, 
(Alas !) wherein through many a hill and 

dale, 85 

Through pleasant woods, and many an 

unknowne way, 
Along the bankes of many silver streames, 
Thou with him yodest ; and with him didst 

scale 
The craggie rocks of th' Alpes and Appe- 

nine ! 
Still with the Muses sporting, while those 

beames 90 

Of vertue kindled in his noble brest, 
Which after did so gloriously forth shine ! 
Bat (woe is me!) they now y quenched are 



All suddeinly, and death hath them op- 

prest. 
Loe, father Neptune, with sad counte- 
nance, 95 
How he sitts mourning on the strond now 

bare. 
Yonder, where th' Ocean with his rolling 

waves 
The white feete washeth (wailing this mis- 
chance) 
Of Dover cliff es. His sacred skirt about 
The sea-gods all are set ; from their moist 

caves 100 

All for his comfort gathered there they be. 
The Thamis rich, the Humber rough and 

stout. 
The fruitfull Severne, with the rest are 

come 
To helpe their lord to mourne, and eke to 

see 
The dolefull sight, and sad pomp fu- 

nerall, 105 

Of the dead corps passing through his 

kingdome. 
And all their heads, with Cypres gyrlonds 

crown'd, 
With wof ull shrikes salute him, great and 

small : 
Eke wailfull Eccho, forgetting her deare 
Narcissus, their last accents doth re- 

sownd. 110 

Colin. Phillisides is dead. O lucklesse 

age! 
O widow world ! O brookes and fountains 

cleere ! 
O hills, O dales, O woods ! that oft have 

rong 
With his sweet caroling, which could as- 

swage 
The fiercest wrath of Tygre or of Beare : 115 
Ye Silvans, Fawnes, and Satyres, that 

emong 
These thickets oft have daunst after his 

pipe; 
Ye Nymphs and Nayades with golden 

heare 
That oft have left your purest cristall 

springs 
To hearken to his layes, that could en 

wipe 120 

Away all griefe and sorrow from your 

harts ! 
Alas ! who now is left that like him sings ? 
When shall you heare againe like har- 

monie? 
So sweet a sownd who to you now imparts 
Loe where engraved by his hand yet 

lives 125 

The name of Stella in yonder bay tree. 
Happie name ! happie tree ! faire may you 

grow, 



7o6 



A PASTORALL AEGLOGUE. 



[l. 128-163. 



And spred your sacred branch, which 

honor gives 
To famous Emperors and Poets crowne, 
Unhappie flock that wander scattred 

now, 130 

What marvell if through grief ye woxen 

leane. 
Forsake your food, and haug your heads 

adowne ! 
For such a shepheard never shall you 

guide, 
Whose parting hath of weale bereft you 

cleane. 
Lycon. Phillisides is dead. O happie 

sprite, 135 

That now in heav'n with blessed soules 

doest bide. 
Looke down a while from where thou 

sitst above, 
And see howbusie shepheards be to endite 
Sad songs of grief, their sorrowes to de- 
clare, 
And gratefuU memory of their kynd 

love. 140 

Behold my selfe with Colin, gentle swaine, 
(Whose lerned muse thou cherisht most 

whyleare,) 
Where we, thy name recording, seeke to 

ease 
The inward torment and tormenting paine, 
That thy departure to us both hath 

bred ; 145 



Ne can each others sorrow yet appease. 
Behold the fountains now left desolate. 
And withred grasse with cypres boughes 

be spred ; 
Behold these floures which on thy grave 

we strew ; 
Which faded, shew the givers faded 

state, 150 

(Though eke they shew their fervent 

zeale and pure) 
Whose onely comfort on thy welfare 

grew. 
Whose praiers importune shall the heav'ns 

for ay. 
That, to thy ashes, rest they may assure: 
That learn edst shepheards honor may thy 

name 155 

With yeerly praises, and the Nymphs 

alway 
Thy tomb may deck with fresh and sweet- 
est flowres ; 
And that for ever may endure thy fame. 
Colin. The sun (lo!) hastned hath his 

face to steep 
In western waves; and th' aire with 

stormy showres 160 

Warnes us to drive homewards our silly 

sheep : 
Lycon, lett's rise, and take of them good 

keep. 
Virtute summa : csdterafortuna. 
L.B. 



AN ELEGIE, 



FRIENDS PASSION, FOR HIS ASTROPHEL. 

WRITTEN UPON THE DEATH OF THE RIGHT HONOURABLE 

SIR PHILLIP SIDNEY, KNIGHT, 

LORD GOVERNOUR OF FLUSHING. 

( This Poem was loritten by Matthew Roy don.) 



As then, no winde at all there blew, 
No swelling cloude accloid the aire ; • 
The skie, like glasse of watcnet hew, 
Reflected Phoebus golden haire ; 
The garnisht tree no pendant stird, 5 
No voice was heard of anie bird. 

There might you see the burly Beare, 

The Lion king, the Elephant ; 

The maiden Unicorne was there, 

80 was Acteons horned plant, 10 

And what of wilde or tame are found, 
Were coucht in order on the ground. 



Alcides speckled poplar tree, 
The palme that Monarchs do obtaine, 
With love-juice staind the mulberie, 15 
The fruit that dewes the poets braine ; 
And Phillis philbert there away, 
Comparde with mirtle and the bay. 

The tree that coffins doth adorne. 
With stately height threatning the skie ; 20 
And, for the bed of love forlorne. 
The blacke and dolefull ebonie: 

All in a circle compast were, 

Like to an amphitheater. 



L. 25-132.] 



AN ELEGIE. 



707 



Upon the branches of those trees, 25 

The airie-winged people sat, 

Distinguished in od degrees; 

One sort is this, another that, 
Here Philomell, that knowes full well. 
What force and wit in love doth dwell. 30 

The skie-bred Egle, roiall bird, 

Percht there upon an oke above ; 

The Turtle by him never stird. 

Example of immortall love. 
The Swan that sings about to dy, 35 
Leaving Meander stood thereby. 

And, that which was of woonder most, 

The Phoenix left sweet Arable ; 

And, on a Cfedar in this coast, 

Built up her tonibe of spicerie, 40 

As I conjecture, by the same 
- Preparde to take her dying flame. 

In midst and center of this plot, 
I saw one groveling on the grasse ; 
A man or stone, I knew not that : 45 

No stone ; of man the figure was. 
And yet I could not count him one. 
More than the image made of stone. 

At length I might perceive him reare 
His bodie on his elbow end : 50 

Earthly and pale with gastly cheare. 
Upon his knees he upward tend. 
Seeming like one in uncouth stound. 
To be ascendhig out the ground. 

A grievous sigh forthwith he throwes, 55 
As might have torne the vitall strings ; 
Then down his cheeks the teares so flows. 
As doth the streame of many springs. 
So thunder rends the cloud in twaine, 
And makes a passage for the raine. 60 

Incontinent, with trembling sound ; 
He wofully gan to complaine ; 
Such were the accents as might wound, 
And teare a diamond rocke in twaine: 

After his throbs did somewhat stay, 65 

Thus heavily he gan to say : 

O sunne! (said he) seeing the sunne. 
On wretched me why dost thou shine ? 
My star is falne, my comfort done. 
Out is the apple of my eine : 70 

Shine upon those possesse delight, 
And let me live in endlesse night. 

O griefe that liest upon my soule, 

As heavie as a mount of lead, 

The remnant of my life controll, 75 

Consort me quickly with the dead 1 
Halfe of this hart, this sprite, and will, 
Di'de in the brest of Astrophill. 



And you, compassionate of my wo, 
Gentle birds, beasts, and shadie trees, 80 
I am assurde ye long to kno 
What be the sorrowes me agreev's ; 
Listen ye then to that insu'th, 
And heare a tale of teares and ruthe. 

You knew, who knew not Astrophill ? 85 
(That I should live to say I knew, 
And have not in possession still!) 
Things knowne permit me to renew; 
Of him you know his merit such, 
I cannot say, you heare, too much. 90 

Within these woods of Arcadie 
He chiefe delight and pleasure tooke, 
And on the mountaine Parthenie, 
Upon the chrystall liquid brooke. 
The Muses met him ev'ry day 95 

That taught him sing, to write, and say. 

When he descended downe to the mount. 
His personage seemed most divine, 
A thousand graces one might count 
Upon his lovely cheerfull eine ; 100 

To heare him speake and sweetly smile, 
You were in Paradise the while. 

A sweet attractive kinde of grace, 
A full assurance given by lookes, 
Continuall comfort in a face, 105 

The lineaments of Gospell bookes ; 
I trowe that countenance cannot lie 
Whose thoughts are legible in the eie. 

Was never eie did see that face. 
Was never eare did heare that tong, 110 
Was never minde did minde his grace, 
That ever thought the travell long ; 
But eies, and eares, and ev'ry thought. 
Were with his sweete perfections caught. 

God, that such a worthy man, 115 

In whom so rare desarts did raigne, 
Desired thus, must leave us than. 
And we to wish for him in vaine! 
O could the stars that bred that wit, 
In force no longer fixed sit ! 120 

Then being fild with learned dew, 

The Muses willed him to love ; 

That instrument can aptly shew, 

How finely our conceits will move : 
As Bacchus opes dissembled harts, 125 
So Love sets out our better parts. 

Stella, a Nymph within this wood. 
Most rare and rich of heavenly blis, 
The highest in his fancie stood. 
And she could well demerite this : 130 

Tis likely they acquainted soone ; 

He was a Sun, and she a Mo one. 



7o8 



AN ELEGIE. 



[L. 133-234. 



Our Astrophill did Stella love ; 

O Stella, vaunt of Astrophill, 

Albeit thy graces gods may move, 135 

AVhere wilt thou finde an Astrophill! 
The rose and lillie have their prime, 
And so hath beautie but a time. 

Although thy beautie do exceed, 
In common sight of ev'ry eie, 140 

Yet in his Poesies when we reede, 
It is apparant more thereby. 
He that hath love and judgement too 
Sees more than any other doo. 



Then Astrophill hath honord thee ; 
For when thy bodie is extinct, 
Thy graces shall eternall be 
And live by vertue of his inke ; 
For by his verses he doth give 
To short-livde beautie aye to live. 



145 



150 



Above all others this is hee, 
Which erst approoved in his song, 
That love and honor might agree, 
And that pure love will do no wrong. 
Sweet saints ! it is no siune nor blame, 
To love a man of vertuous name. 156 

Did never love so sweetly breath 
In any mortall brest before. 
Did never Muse inspire beneath 
A Poets brain e with finer store : 160 

He wrote of love with high conceit, 
And beautie reard above her height. 

Then Pallas afterward attyrde 
Our Astrophill with her device, 
Whom in his armor heaven admyrde, 165 
As of the nation of the skies; 
He sparkled in his armes afarrs. 
As he were dight with fierie Starrs. 

The blaze whereof when Mars beheld, 
(An envious eie doth see afar,) 170 

Such majestic (quoth he) is seeld, 
Such majestic my mart may mar ; 

Perhaps this may a suter be, 

To set Mars by his deitie. 

In this surmize he made with speede 175 

An iron cane, wherein he put 

The thunder that in cloudes do breede ; 

The flame and bolt togither shut 
With privie force burst out againe. 
And so our Astrophill was slaine. 180 

This word (was slaine) straightway did 

move. 
And natures inward life strings twitch ; 
The skie immediately above 
Was dimd with hideous clouds of pitch, 



The wrastling winds from out the 
ground 185 

Fild all the aire with ratling sound. 

The bending trees exprest a grone. 
And sigh'd the sorrow of his fall ; 
The forrest beasts made ruthfull mone. 
The birds did tune their mourning call, 190 
And Philomell for Astrophill 
Unto her notes annext a phill. 

The Turtle dove with tunes of ruthe 
Shewd feeling passion of his death ; 
Me thought she said, I tell thee truthe, 195 
Was never he that drew in breath 
Unto his love more trustie found. 
Than he for whom our griefs abound. 

The swan, that was in presence heere, 
Began his funerall dirge to sing: 200 

Good things (quoth he) may scarce ap- 

peere. 
But passe away with speedie wing. 
This mortall life as death is tride, 
And death gives life ; and so he di'de. 

The generall sorrow that was made, 205 
Among the creatures of each kinde, 
Fired the Phoenix where she laide, 
Her ashes flying with the winde, . 
So as I might with reason see, 
That such a Phoenix nere should bee. 210 

Haply the cinders, driven about, 
May breede an offspring neere that kinde 
But hardly a peere to that, I doubt ; 
It cannot sinke into my minde, 
That under branches ere can bee 215 
Of worth and value as the tree. 

The Egle markt with pearcing sight 
The mournfull habite of the place, 
And parted thence with mounting flight 
To signifie to Jove the case, 220 

What sorrow nature doth sustaine 
For Astrophill by envie slaine. 

And while I followed with mine eie 
The flight the Egle upward tooke. 
All things did vanish by and by, 225 

And disappeared from my looke : 

The trees, beasts, birds, and grove was 
gone; 

So was the friend that made this mone. 

This spectacle had firmly wrought 
A deepe compassion in my spright ; 230 
My molting hart issude, me thought. 
In streames forth at mine eies aright : 
And here my pen is forst to shrinke, 
My teares discollor so mine inke. 



AN EPITAPH. 



UPON THE RIGHT HONOURABLE 

SIR PHILLIP SIDNEY, KNIGHT, 

LORD GOVERNOR OF FLUSHING. 

{The Authors of the two following poems are unknoion.) 



To praise thy life, or waile thy worthie 

death, 
And want thy wit, thy wit high, pure, 

divine, 
Is far heyond the powre of mortall line, 
Nor any one hath worth that draweth 

breath. 

Yet rich in zeale, though poore in learn- 
ings lore, 5 
And friendly care ohscurde in secret brest. 
And love that envie in thy life supprest. 
Thy deere life done, and death, hath 
doubled more. 

And I, that in thy time, and living state. 
Did onely praise thy vertues in my 

thought, 10 

As one that seeld the rising sun hath 

sought, 
With words and teares now waile thy 

timelesse fate. 

Drawne was thy race aright from princely 

line; 
Nor lesse than such, (by gifts that nature 

gave. 
The common mother that all creatures 

have,) 15 

Doth vertue show, and princely linage 

shine. 

A king gave thee thy n ame : a kingly minde. 
That God thee gave, who found it now too 

deere 
For this base world, and hath resumde it 

neere, 
To sit in skies, and sort with powres 

divine. 20 



Kent thy birth dales, and Oxford held thy 

youth ; 
The heavens made hast, and staid nor 

yeers, nor time ; 
The fruits of age grew ripe in thy first 

prime. 
Thy will, thy words ; thy words the scales 

of truth. 



Great gifts and wisedom rare imployd 
thee thence, 25 

To treat from kings with those more great 
than kings : 

Such hope men had to lay the highest 
things 

On thy wise youth, to be transported hence ! 

Whence to sharpe wars sweet honor did 

thee call. 
Thy countries love, religion, and thy 

friends: 30 

Of worthy men the marks, the lives, and 

ends. 
And her defence, for whom we labor all. 

There didst thou vanquish shame and 
tedious age, 

Griefe, sorrow, sicknes, and base for- 
tunes might : 

Thy rising day saw never wofull night, 35 

But past with praise from of this worldly 



Back to the campe, by thee that day was 

brought. 
First thine o-^Tie death, and after thy 

long fame ; 
Teares to the soldiers, the proud Castil- 

ians shame, 
Vertue exprest, and honor truly taught. 40 

What hath he lost, that such great grace 

hath woon ? 
Yoongyeeres for endles yeeres, and hope 

unsure 
Of fortunes gifts for wealth that still 

shall dure ; 
Oh ! happie race with so great praises run. 



England doth hold thy lims that bred 

the same, ' 45 

Flaunders thy valure where it 1 ast was tried , 

The Campe thy sorrow where thy bodie 

died; 
Thy friends, thy want; the world, thy 
I vertues fame. 

709 



7io 



AN EPITAPH. 



[l. 1-40. 



Nations thy wit, our mindes lay up thy love; 
liCtters thy learmug, thy losse, yeeres 

long to come; 50 

In worthy harts sorrow hath made thy 

tombe ; 
Thy soule and spright enrich the heavens 

above. 

Thy liberall hart imbalmed in grateful! 

teares, 
Yoong sighes, sweet sighes, sage sighes, 

bewaile thy fall : 



Envie her sting, and spite hath left her 
gall ; 55 

Malice her selfe a mourning garment 
weares. 

That day their Hanniball died, our Scipio 

fell; 
Scipio, Cicero, and Petrarch of our time ! 
Whose vertues, wounded by my worth- 

lesse rime, 
Let Angels speake, and heaven thy 

praises tell. 60 



ANOTHER OF THE SAME. 



Silence augmenteth grief, writing en- 

creaseth rage. 
Staid are my thoughts, which lov'd, and 

lost, the wonder of our age ; 
Yet quickned now with fire, though dead 

with frost ere now, 
Enrag'de I write, I know not what ; dead, 

quick, I know not how. 

Hard harted mindes relent, and rigors 

teares abound, 5 

And envie strangely rues his end, in 

whom no fault she found ; 
Knowledge her light hath lost, valor hath 

slaine her knight ; 
Sidney is dead, dead is my friend, dead 

is the worlds delight. 

Place pensive wailes his fall, whose pres- 
ence was her pride ; 

Time crieth out, My ebbe is come; his 
life was my spring tide : 10 

Fame mournes in that she lost the 
ground of her reports ; 

Ech living wight laments his lacke, and 
all in sundry sorts. 

He was (wo worth that word!) to ech 

well thinking minde 
A spotlesse friend, a matchles man, whose 

vertue ever shinde, 
Declaring in his thoughts, his life, and 

that he writ, 15 

Highest conceits, longest foresights, and 

deepest works of wit. 

He, onely like himselfe, was second unto 

none. 
Whose deth (though life) we rue, and 

wrong, and al in vain do mone: 
Their losse, not him, waile they, that fill 

the world with cries ; 
Death slue not him, but he made death 

his ladder to the skies. 20 



Now sinke of sorrow I, who live; the 

more the wrong ; 
Who wishing death, whom deth denies, 

whose thred is al to long, 
Who tied to wretched life, who lookes for 

no reliefe, 
Must spend my ever dying dales in never 

ending grief e. 

Harts ease and onely I, like parallels run 

on, 25 

Whose equall length keep equall bredth, 

and never meet in one ; 
Yet for not wronging him, my thoughts, 

my sorrowes cell. 
Shall not run out, though leake they 

will, fo liking him so well. 

Farewell to you, my hopes, my wonted 

waking dreames; 
Farewell, sometimes enjoyed joy; 

eclipsed are thy beames! 30 

Farewell selfe pleasing thoughts which 

quietnes brings foorth ; 
And farewel friendships sacred league, 

uniting minds of woorth. 

And farewell mery hart, the gift of guilt- 

lesse mindes. 
And all sports, which, for lives restore, 

varietie assignes ; 
Let all, that sweete is, voyd ; in me no 

mirth may dwell : 35 

Phillip, the cause of all this woe, my lives 

content, farewell! 

Now rime, the sonne of rage, which art 

no kin to skill. 
And endlese griefe, which deads my life, 

yet knowes not how to kill. 
Go, seeke that haples tombe; which if ye 

hap to finde. 
Salute the stones, that keep the lims that 

held so good a minde. 40 



AMORETTI AND EPITHALAMION. 

WRITTEN NOT LONG SINCE BY 

EDMUNDE SPENSER. 

TO THE RIGHT WORSHIPFULIi 

SIR ROBART NEEDHAM, KNIGHT. 



Sir, to gratulate your safe return from 
Ireland, I had nothing so readie, nor 
thought any thing so meete, as these 
sweete conceited Sonets, the deede of 
that wel deserving gentleman, maister 
Edmond Spenser : whose name sufficiently 
warranting the worthinesse of the w^ork, 
I do more confidently presume to publish 
it in his absence, under your name, to 
whom (in my poore opinion) the patronage 
therof doth in some respectes properly 
appertaine. For, besides your judgement 
and delights in learned poesie, this gentle 



Muse, for her former perfection long 
wished for in Englande, nowe at the 
length crossing the Seas in your happy 
companye, (though to your selfe un- 
knowue) seemeth to make choyse of you, 
as meetest to give her deserved counte- 
naunce, after her retourne: entertaine 
her, then, (Right worshipful!) in sorte best 
beseeming your gentle minde, and her 
merite, and take in worth my good will 
herein, who seeke no more but to shew 
my selfe yours in all dutifull affection. 

W. P. 



TO THE AUTHOK. 



Darke is the day, when Pho&bns face is 

shrowded, 
And weaker sights may loander soone 

astray : 
But, when they see his glorious raies un- 
do wded. 
With steddy steps they keeps the perfect 

IV ay : 
So, lohile this Muse in forraine landes 

doth stay, 
Invention weepes, and pens are cast 

aside ; 
The time, like night, deprivd of chearefull 

day ; 
And few do write, hut (ah!) too soone 

may slide. 
Then, hie thee home, that art our perfect 

guide, 
And with thy loit illustrate Englands 

fame, 
Daionting thereby our neighboures 

auncient pride. 
That do, for poesie, challendge cheefest 

name : 



So we that live, and ages that succeeds, 

With great applause thy learned works 

shall reede. G. W. Senior. 

Ah! Colin, whether on the loioly plaine, 
Pyping to shepherds thy sweete rounde- 

laies : 
Or lohether singing, in some lofty vaine, 
Heroick deedesof past or present daies ; 
Or whether in thy lovely mistris 

pimise. 
Thou list to exercise thy learned quill ; 
Thy muse hath got such grace and power 

to please. 
With rare invention, beivtified by skill, 
As loho therein can ever joy their fill ! 
0! therefo7^e let that happy muse proceede 
To clime the height of Vertues sacred 

hill. 
Where endles honour shall be made thy 

meede : 
Because no malice of succeeding daies 
Can rase those records of thy lasting 

praise. ^^. W. I.^ 



Happ Y,ye leaves ! when as those lilly hands. 
Which hold my life in their dead-doing 
mio^ht, 



Shall handle you, and hold in loves soft 

bands, 
Lyke captives trembling at the victors 

sight. 

711 



712 



SONNETS. 



And happy lines! on which, with starry 
light, 

Those lamping eyes will deigne some- 
times to look. 

And reade the sorrowes of my dying 
spright. 

Written with teares in harts close- 
bleeding book. 

And happy rymes! bath'd in the sacred 
brooke 

Of Helicon, whence she derived is ; 

When ye behold that Angels blessed 
looke. 

My soules long-lacked foode, my heavens 
blis; 
Leaves, lines, and rymes, seeke her to 

please alone, 
Whom if ye please, I care for other 



Unquiet thought! whom at the first I 

bred 
Of th' inward bale of my love-pined 

hart ; 
And sithens have with sighes and sor- 
rowes fed, 
Till greater then my wombe thou woxen 

art: 
Breake forth at length out of the inner 

part, 
In which thou lurkest lyke to vipers 

brood ; 
And seeke some succour both to ease my 

smart. 
And also to sustayne thy selfe with food. 
But, if in presence of that fayrest proud 
Thou chance to come, fall lowly at her 

feet; 
And, with meeke humblesse and afflicted 

mood, 
Pardon for thee, and grace for me, in- 

treat : 
Which if she graunt, then live, and 

my love cherish: 
If not, die soone ; and I with thee will 

perish. 

ni. 

The soverayne beauty which I doo 

admyre, 
Witnesse the world how worthy to be 

prayzed ! 
The light whereof hath kindled heavenly 

fyre 
In my fraile spirit, by her from basenesse 

raysed ; 
That, being now with her huge bright- 

nesse dazed, 
Base thing I can no more endure to view : 
But, looking still on her, I stand amazed 
At wondrous sight of so celestiall hew. 



So when my toung would speak her 

praises dew, 
It stopped is with thoughts astonishment ; 
And, when my pen would write her titles 

true. 
It ravisht is with fancies wonderment: 
Yet in my hart I then both speake and 

write 
The wonder that my wit cannot endite. 



New yeare, forth looking out of Janus 

gate, 
Doth seeme to promise hope of new 

delight : 
And, bidding th' old Adieu, his passed 

date 
Bids all old thoughts to die in dumpish 

spright : 
And, calling forth out of sad Winters 

night 
Fresh Love, that long hath slept in cheer- 

lesse bower, 
Wils him awake, and soone about him 

dight 
His wanton wings and darts of deadly 

power. 
For lusty Spring now in his timely howre 
Is ready to come forth, him to receive ; 
And warnes the Earth with divers-colord 

flowre 
To decke hir selfe, and her faire mantle 

weave. 
Then you, faire flowre ! in whom fresh 

youth doth raine. 
Prepare your selfe new love to enter- 

taine. 

V. 

Rudely thou wrongest my deare harts 

desire, 
In finding fault with her too portly pride : 
The thing which I doo most in her ad- 
mire, 
Is of the world unworthy most envide : 
For in those lofty lookes is close implide, 
Scorn of base things, and sdeigne of 

f oule dishonor : 
Thretning rash eies which gaze on her 

so wide. 
That loosely they ne dare to looke upon 

her. 
Such pride is praise ; such portlinesse is 

honor ; 
That boldned innocence beares in hir 

eies; 
And her faire countenance, like a goodly 

banner, 
Spreds in defiaunce of all enemies. 
Was never in this world ought worthy 

tride, 



SONNETS. 



713 



Without some spark of such self-pleas- 
mg pride. 

VI. 

Be nought dismayd that her unmoved 

mind 
Doth still persist in her rebellious pride : 
Such love, not lyke to lusts of baser 

kynd, 
The harder wonue, the firmer will abide. 
The durefull Oake, whose sap is not yet 

dride, 
Is long ere it conceive the kindling fyre ; 
But, when it once doth burne, it doth 

divide 
Great heat, and makes his flames to 

heaven aspire. 
So hard it is to kindle new desire 
In gentle brest, that shall endure for 

ever : 
Deepe is the wound, that dints the parts 

entire 
With chast affects that naught but death 

can sever ; 
Then thinke not long in taking litle 

patue 
To knit the knot, that ever shall re- 

maine. 

vn. 

Fayre eyes! the myrrour of my mazed 

hart, 
What wondrous vertue is contaynd in 

you, 
The which both lyfe and death forth 

from you dart, 
Into the object of your mighty view? 
For, when ye mildly looke with lovely 

hew. 
Then is my soule with life and love 

inspired : 
But when ye lowre, or looke on me askew, 
Then doe I die, as one with lightning 

fyred. 
But, since that lyfe is more then death 

desyred, 
Looke ever lovely, as becomes you best ; 
That your bright Ijeams, of my weak eies 

admyred. 
May kindle living fire within my brest. 
Such life should be the honor of your 

light, 
Such death the sad ensample of your 

might. 

Yin. 
More then most faire, full of the living 

fire. 
Kindled above unto the Maker neere ; 
No eies but joyes, in which al powers 

conspire. 
That to the world naught else be counted 

deare ; 



Thrugh your bright beams doth not the 

blinded guest 
Shoot out his darts to base affections 

wound ; 
But Angels come to lead fraile mindes 

to rest 
In chast desires, on heavenly beauty 

bound. 
You frame my thoughts, and fashion me 

within ; 
You stop my toung, and teach my hart 

to speake; 
You calme the storme that passion did 

begin. 
Strong thrugh your cause, but by your 

vertue weak. 
Dark is the world, where your light 

shined never; 
Well is he borne, that may behold you 

ever. 



Long-while I sought to what I might com- 
pare 
Those powrefull eies, which lighten my 

dark spright ; 
Yet find I nought on earth, to which I 

dare 
Eesemble th' ymage of their goodly light. 
Not to the Sun ; for they doo shine by 

night ; 
Nor to the Moone ; for they are changed 

never ; 
Nor to the Starres ; for they have purer 

sight ; 
Nor to the Fire; for they consume not 

ever; 
Nor to the Lightning; for they still 

persever ; 
Nor to the Diamond ; for they are more 

tender ; 
Nor unto Cristall ; for nought may them 

sever ; 
Nor unto Glasse ; such basenesse mought 

offend her. 
Then to the Maker selfe they likest be. 
Whose light doth lighten all that here 

we see. 



Unrighteous Lord of Love, what law is 

this. 
That me thou makest thus tormented be. 
The whiles she lordeth in licentious 

blisse 
Of her freewill, scorning both thee and 

me? 
See! how the Tyrannesse doth joy to see 
The huge massacres which her eyes do 

make ; 
And humbled harts brings captive unto 

thee. 



714 



SONNETS. 



That thou of them mayst mightie ven- 
geance take, 

But her proud hart doe thou a little 
shake, 

And that high look, with which she doth 
comptroll 

All this worlds pride, bow to a baser 
make, 

And al her faults in thy black booke 
enroll : 
That I may laugh at her in equall sort, 
As she doth laugh at me, and makes 
my pain her sport. 



Dayly when I do seeke and sew for peace, 
And hostages doe offer for my truth ; 
She, cruell warriour, doth herselfe ad- 

dresse 
To battel!, and the weary war renew'th ; 
Ne wilbe moov'd with reason, or with 

rewth. 
To graunt small respit to my restlesse 

toile ; 
But greedily her fell intent poursewth. 
Of my poore life to . make unpittied 

spoile. 
Yet my poore life, all sorrowes to as- 

soyle, 
I would her yield, her wrath to pacify: 
But then she seeks, with torinent and 

turmoyle, 
To force me live, and will not let me dy. 
All paine hath end, and every war hath 

peace ; 
But mine, no price nor prayer may 

surcease. 

XII. 

One day I sought with her hart-thrilling 

eies 
To make a truce, and termes to enter- 
tainer 
All fearelesse then of so false enimies, 
Which sought me to entrap in treasons 

traine. 
So, as I then disarmed did remaine, 
A wicked ambush which lay hidden 

long 
In the close covert of her guilefull eyen, 
Thence breaking forth, did thick about 

me throng. 
Too feeble 1 1' abide the brunt so strong. 
Was forst to yeeld my selfe into their 

hands ; 
Who, me captiving streight with rigorous 

wrong, 
Have ever since me kept in cruell bands. 
So, Ladie, now to you I doo complaine. 
Against your eies, that justice I may 

gaine. 



In that proud port, which, her 60 goodly 

graceth, 
Whiles her faire face she reares up to the 

skie, 
And to the ground her eie-lids low em- 

baseth. 
Most goodly temperature ye may descry ; 
Myld humblesse, mixt' with awfull 

majesty. 
For, looking on the earth whence she 

was borne, 
Her minde remembreth her mortalitie, 
Whatso is fayrest shall to earth returne. 
But that same lofty countenance seemes 

to scorne 
Base thing, and thinke how she to heaven 

may clime ; 
Treading downe earth as lothsome and 

forlorne, 
That hinders heavenly thoughts with 

drossy slime. 
Yet lowly still vouchsafe to looke on 

me; 
Such lowlinesse shall make you lofty 

be. 

XIV. 

Retourne agayne, my forces late dismayd. 

Unto the siege by you abandon 'd quite. 

Great shame it is to leave, like one afrayd, 

So fayre a peece, for one repulse so light. 

Gaynst such strong castles needeth greater 
might 

Then those small forts which ye were 
wont belay: 

Such haughty mynds, enur'd to hardy 
fight, 

Disdayne to yield unto the first assay. 

Bring therefore all the forces that ye may. 

And lay incessant battery to her heart ; 

Playnts, prayers, vowes, ruth, sorrow, and 
dismay ; 

Those engins can the proudest love con- 
vert : 
And, if those fayle, fall downe and dy 

before her ; 
So dying live, and living do adore her. 



Ye tradefull Merchants, that, with weary 

toyle. 
Do seeke most pretious things to make 

your gain ; 
And both the Indias of their treasure 

spoile ; 
What needeth you to seeke so farre in 

vaine ? 
For loe, my love doth in her selfe containe 
All this worlds riches that may farre be 

found: 



SONNETS. 



715 



If Saphyres, loe, her eies be Sapliyres 
plaiue ; 

If Rubies, loe, hir lips be Rubies sound; 

If Pearles, bir teeth be Pearles, both pure 
and round ; 

If Yvorie, her forehead Yvory weene ; 

If Gold, her locks are finest Gold on 
ground ; 

If Silver, her f aire hands are Silver sheene : 
But that which fairest is, but few be- 
hold. 
Her mind adornd with vertues manifold. 



One day as I unwarily did gaze 

On those fayre eyes, my loves immortall 

light; 
The whiles my stonisht hart stood in 

amaze. 
Through sweet illusion of her lookes de- 
light; 
I mote perceive how, in her glauncing 

sight, 
Legions of loves with little wings did fly ; 
Darting their deadly arrowes, fyry bright. 
At every rash beholder passing by. 
One of those archers closely I did spy, 
Ayming his arrow at my very hart : 
When suddenly, with tv.dncle of her eye, 
The Damzell broke bis misintended dart. 
Had she not so doon, sure I had bene 

slayne ; 
Yet as it was, I hardly scap't with 
paine. 

XVII. 

The glorious pourtraict of that Angels 
face. 

Made to amaze weake mens confused skil. 

And this worlds worthlesse glory to em- 
base, 

What pen, what pencill, can expresse her 
fill? 

For though he colours could devize at 
will, 

And eke his learned hand at pleasure 
guide, 

Least, trembling, it his workmanship 
should spill; 

Yet many wondrous things there are be- 
side: 

The sweet eye-glaunces, that like arrowes 
glide ; 

The charming smiles, that rob sence from 
the hart ; 

The lovely pleasance ; and the lofty pride ; 

Cannot expressed be by any art. 
A greater craftsmans hand thereto doth 

neede, 
That can expresse the life of things in- 
deed. 



XVIII. 

The rolling wheele that runneth often 

round. 
The hardest Steele, in tract of time doth 

teare : 
And drizling drops, that often doe redound , 
The firmest flint doth in continuance 

weare : 
Yet cannot I, with many a dropping teare 
And long intreaty, soften her hard hart ; 
That she will once vouchsafe my plaint to 

heare, 
Or looke with pitty on my pajmefnl smart ; 
But, when I pleade, she bids me play my 

part ; 
And, when I weep, she sayes, Teares are 

but water, 
And, when I sigh, she sayes, I know the 

art; 
And, when I waile, she turnes hir selfe to 

laughter. 
So do I weepe, and wayle, and pleade 

in vaine. 
Whiles she as Steele and flint doth still 

remayne. 

XIX. 

The merry Cuckow, messenger of Spring, 
His trompet shrill bath thrise already 

sounded, 
That warnes al lovers wayt upon their 

king. 
Who now is comming forth with girland 

crouned. 
With noyse whereof the quyre of Byrds 

resounded, 
Their anthemes sweet, devized of loves 

prayse. 
That all the woods theyr ecchoes back 

rebounded. 
As if they knew the meaning of their 

layes. 
But mongst them all, which did Loves 

honor rayse. 
No word was heard of her that most it 

ought ; 
But she his precept proudly disobayes. 
And doth his ydle message set at nought. 
Therefore, O Love, unlesse she turne to 

thee 
Ere Cuckow end, let her a rebell be! 



In vaine I seeke and sew to her for grace, 
And doe myne humbled hart before her 

poure ; 
The whiles her foot she in my necke doth 

place, 
And tread my life downe in the lowly 

floure. 
And yet the Lyon that is Lord of power, 



7i6 



SONNETS. 



And reigneth over every beast in field, 
In his most pride disdeigneth to devoure 
The silly lambe that to his might doth 

yield. 
But she, more cruell, and more salvage 

wylde, 
Then either Lyon or the Lyonesse ; 
Shames not to he with guiltlesse bloud de- 

fylde, 
But taketh glory in her cruelnesse. 
Fayrer then fayrest! let none ever 

say, 
That ye were blooded in a yeelded pray. 



Was it the worke of Nature or of Art, 
Which tempred so the feature of her 

face. 
That pride and meeknesse, mixt by equall 

part, 
Doe both appeare t' adorne her beauties 

grace ? 
For with mild pleasance, which doth pride 

displace, 
She to her love doth lookers eyes allure ; 
And, with sterne countenance, back again 

doth chace 
Their looser lookes that stir up lustes 

impure ; 
With such strange termes her eyes she 

doth inure, 
That, with one looke, she doth my life 

dismay ; 
And with another doth it streight recure ; 
Her smile me drawes ; her frowne me 

drives away. 
Thus doth she traine and teach me with 

her lookes ; 
Such art of eyes I never read in bookes ! 



This holy season, fit to fast and pray, 
Men to devotion ought to be inclynd : 
Therefore, I lykewise, on so holy day, 
For my sweet Saynt some service fit will 

find. 
Her temple fayre is built within my mind. 
In which her glorious ymage placed is ; 
On which my thoughts doo day and night 

attend, 
Lyke sacred priests that never thinke 

amisse ! 
There I to her, as th' author of my blisse, 
Will builde an altar to appease her yre ; 
And on the same my hart will sacrifise. 
Burning in flames of pure and chast de- 

syre : 
The which vouchsafe, O goddesse, to 

accept. 
Amongst thy deerest relicks to be kept. 



Penelope, for her Ulisses sake, 
Deviz'd a Web her wooers to deceave ; 
In which the worke that she all day did 

make, 
The same at night she did againe unreave : 
Such subtile craft my Damzell doth con- 

ceave, 
Th' importune suit of my desire to shonne : 
For all that I in many dayes doo weave. 
In one short houre I find by her undonne. 
So, when I thinke to end that I begonne, 
I must begin and never bring to end : 
For with one looke she spils that long I 

sponne ; 
And with one word my whole years work 

doth rend. 
Such labour like the Spyders web I fynd. 
Whose fruitlesse worke is broken with 

least wynd. 



When I behold that beauties wonderment, 
And rare perfection of each goodly part; 
Of natures skill the onely complement ; 
I honor and admire the Makers art. 
But when I f eele the bitter balef uU smart, 
Which her fayre eyes unwares doe worke 

in mee. 
That death out of theyr shiny beames doe 

dart; 
I thinke that I a new Pandora see. 
Whom all the Gods in councell did agree 
Into this sinfull world from heaven to 

send ; 
That she to wicked men a scourge should 

bee. 
For all their faults with which they did 

offend. 
But, since ye are my scourge, I will 

intreat. 
That for my faults ye will me gently 

beat. 

XXV. 

How long shall this lyke dying lyfe en- 
dure, 
And know no end of her owne mysery, 
But wast and weare away in termes un- 
sure, 
Twixt feare and hope depending doubt- 
fully! 
Yet better were attonce to let me die, 
And shew the last ensaraple of your pride ; 
Then to torment me thus with cruelty, 
To prove your powre, which I too well 

have tride. 
But yet if in your hardned brest ye hide 
A close intent at last to shew me grace ; 
Then all the woes and wrecks which I 
abide. 



SONNETS. 



717 



As meanes of blisse I gladly wil embrace ; 
And wish that more and greater they 

might be, 
That greater meede at last may turue 

to mee. 

XXVI. 

Sweet is the Rose, but growes upona brere ; 
Sweet is the Junipere, but sharps his 

bough ; 
Sweet is the Eglantine, but pricketh nere ; 
Sweet is the Firbloome, but his braunche 

is rough ; 
Sweet is the Cypresse, but his rynd is 

tough ; 
Sweet is the Nut, but bitter is his pill ; 
Sweet is the Broome-flowre, but yet sowre 

enough ; 
And sweet is Moly, but his root is ill. 
So every sweet with soure is tempred still, 
That maketh it be coveted the more : 
For easie things, that may be got at will, 
Most sorts of men doe set but little store^. 
Why then should I accoumpt of little 

paine, 
That endlesse pleasure shall unto me 

gaine ! 

XX VII. 

Faire Proud! now tell me, why should 

faire be proud, 
Sith all worlds glorie is but drosse un- 

cleane. 
And in the shade of death it selfe shall 

shroud, 
However now thereof ye little weene ! 
That goodly Idoll, now so gay beseene, 
Shall doffe her fleshes borrowd fayre 

attyre. 
And be forgot as it had never beene ; 
That many now much worship and 

admire ! 
Ne any then shall after it inquire, 
Ne any mention shall thereof remaine. 
But what this verse, that never shall 

expyre. 
Shall to your purchas with her thankles 



pame 



Faire ! be no lenger proud of that shall 

perish ; 
But that, which shall you make immor- 

tall, cherish. 

XXVIII. 

The laurel-leafe, which you this day doe 

weare, 
Gives me great hope of your relenting 

mynd: 
For since it is the badge which I doe beare. 
Ye, bearing it, doe seeme to me inclind : 
The powre thereof, which of te in me I find, 
Let it lykewise your gentle brest inspire 



With sweet infusion, and put you in mind 
Of that proud mayd, whom now those 

leaves attyre : 
Proud Daphne, scorning Phoebus lovely 

fyre. 
On the Thessalian shore from him did flie : 
For which the gods, in theyr revengefull 

yre. 
Did her transforme into a laurell-tree. 
Then fly no more, fayre Love, from 

Phebus chace. 
But in your brest his leafe and love 

embrace. 

XXIX. 

See! how the stubborne damzell doth 

deprave 
My simple meaning with disdaynfull 

scorne ; 
And by the bay, which I unto her gave, 
Accoumpts my self her captive quite for- 

lorne. 
The bay (quoth she) is of the victours borne, 
Yielded them by the vanquisht as theyr 

meeds, 
And they therewith doe Poets heads 

adorne, 
To sing the glory of their famous deedes. 
But sith she will the conquest challeng 



Let her accept me as her faithfull thrall ; 
That her great triumph, which my skill 

exceeds, 
I may in trump of fame blaze over-all. 
Then would I decke her head with 

glorious bayes, 
And fill the world with her victorious 
prayse. 

XXX. 

My love is lyke to yse, and I to fyr« ; 
How comes it then that this her cold so 

great 
Is not dissolv'd through my so hot desyre. 
But harder growes the more I herintreat! 
Or how comes it that my exceeding heat 
Is not delayd by her hart-f rosen cold ; 
But that I burne much more in boyling 

sweat, 
And feele my flames augmented manifold ! 
What more miraculous thing may be told, 
That fire, which all things melts, should 

harden yse ; 
And yse, which is congeald with sence- 

lesse cold. 
Should kindle fyre by wonderfull devyse ! 
Such is the powre of love in gentle mind, 
That it can alter all the course of kynd. 



Ah ! why hath nature to so hard a hart 
Given so goodly gif tes of beauties grace I 



7i8 



SONNETS. 



Whose pryde depraves each other better 

part, 
And all those pretious ornaments deface. 
Sith to all other beastes of bloody race, 
A dreadfuU countenaunce she given hath; 
That with theyr terrour al the rest may 

chace, 
And warne to shun the daunger of theyr 

wrath. 
But my proud one doth worke the greater 

scath. 
Through sweet allurement of her lovely 

hew; 
That she the better may in bloody bath 
Of such poor thralls her cruell hands 

embrew. 
But, did she know how ill these two 

accord 
Such , cruelty she would have soone 

abhord. 

XXXII. 

The paynef uU smith, with force of fervent 

heat. 
The hardest yron soone doth mollify ; 
That with his heavy sledge he can it beat. 
And fashion to what he it list apply. 
Yet cannot all these flames, in which I 

fry, 
Her hart more harde then yron soft a 

whit; 
Ne all the playnts and prayers, with 

which I 
Doe beat on th' andvile of her stubberne 

wit: 
But still, the more she fervent sees my fit. 
The more she f rieseth in her wilf ull pryde ; 
And harder growes, the harder she is smit 
With all the playnts which to her be 

applyde. 
What then remaines but I to ashes burne, 
And she to stones at length all frosen 

turne ! 

XXXIII. 

Great wrong I doe, I can it not deny. 

To that most sacred Empresse, my dear 

dred, 
Not finishing her Queene of Faery, 
That mote enlarge her living prayses, 

dead. 
But Lodwick, this of grace to me aread ; 
Do ye not thinck th' accomplishment of it 
Sufficient worke for one mans simple 

head, 
All were it, as the rest, but rudely writ? 
How then should I, without another wit, 
Thinck ever to endure so taedious toyle ! 
Sins that this one is tost with troublous 

fit 
Of a proud love, that doth my spirite 

spoyle. 



Ceasse then, till she vouchsafe to 

grawnt me rest; 
Or lend you me another living brest. 



Lyke as a ship, that through the Ocean 

wyde. 
By conduct of some star, doth make her 

way; 
Whenas a storme hath dimd her trusty 

guyde. 
Out of her course doth wander far astray ! 
So I, whose star, that wont with her 

bright ray 
Me to direct, with cloudes is over-cast. 
Doe wander now, in darknesse and dismay, 
Through hidden perils round about me 

plast ; 
Yet hope I well that, when this storme is 

past, 
My Helice, the lodestar of my lyfe, 
^ill shine again, and looke on me at last, 
With lovely light to cleare my cloudy 

grief, 
Till then I wander carefull, comfort- 

lesse, 
In secret sorow, and sad pensivenesse. 

XXXV. 

My hungry eyes, through greedy covetize 
Still to behold the object of their paine. 
With no contentment can themselves 

suffize ; 
But, having, pine; and, having not, com- 

plaine. 
For, lacking it, they cannot lyfe sustayne ; 
And, having it, they gaze on it the more; 
In their amazement lyke Narcissus vaine, 
Whose eyes him starv'd : so plenty makes 

me poore. 
Yet are mine eyes so filled with the store 
Of that faire sight, that nothing else they 

brooke. 
But lothe the things which they did like 

before. 
And can no more endure on them to looke . 
All this worlds glory seemeth vayne to 

me, 
And all their showes but shadowes, 

saving she. 

XXXVI. 

Tell me, when shall these wearie woes 

have end. 
Or shall their ruthlesse torment never 

cease ; 
But al my dayes in pining langour spend, 
Without hope of aswagement or release ? 
Is there no meanes for me to purchase 

peace, 



SONNETS. 



719 



Or make agreement with her thrilling 

eyes; 
But that their cruelty doth still increace, 
And dayly more augment my miseryes? 
But, when ye have shewd allextremityes, 
Then thinke howlitle glory ye have gayned 
By slaying him, whose life, though ye 

despyse, 
Mote have your life in honour long main- 
tayned. • 

But by his death, which some perhaps 

will mone, 
Ye shall condemned be of many a one. 



What guyle is this, that those her golden 

tresses 
She doth attyre under a net of gold ; 
An-d with sly skill so cunningly them 

dresses, 
That which is gold, or heare, may scarse 

be told ? 
Is it that mens frayle eyes, which gaze too 

bold, 
She may entangle in that golden snare ; 
And, being caught, may craftily enfold 
Theyr weaker harts, which are not wel 

aware ? 
Take heed, therefore, myne eyes, how ye 

doe stare 
Henceforth too rashly on thatguilefull net. 
In which, if ever ye entrapped are, 
Out of her bands ye by no meanes shall 

get. 
Fondnesse it were for any, being free, 
To covet fetters, though they golden 

bee! 

XXXVIII. 

Arion, when, through tempests cruel 

wracke. 
He forth was thrown into the greedy seas ; 
Through the sweet musick, which his 

harp did make, 
Allur'd a Dolphin him from death to ease. 
But my rude musick, which was wont to 

please 
Some dainty eares, cannot, with any skill. 
The dreadfull tempest of her wrath 

appease. 
Nor move the Dolphin from her stubborn 

will. 
But in her pride she dooth persever still. 
All carelesse how my life for her decayes : 
Yet with one word siie can it save or spill. 
To spill were pitty, but to save were 

prayse ! 
Chose rather to be praysd for dooing 

good, 
Then to be blam'd for spilling guiltlesse 

blood. 



Sweet Smile ! the daughter of the Queene 

of Love, 
Expressing all thy mothers powrefull art. 
With which she "wants to temper angry 

Jove, 
When all the gods he threats with thun- 

dring dart : 
Sweet is thy vertue, as thy selfe sweet art. 
For, when on me thou shinedst late i' 

sadnesse, 
A melting pleasance ran through eveiy 

part, 
And me revived with hart-robbing glad- 

nesse. 
Whylest rapt with joy resembling heavenly 

madnes, 
My soule was ravisht quite as in a traunce ; 
And feeling thence, no more her sorowes 

sadnesse, 
Fed on the fulnesse of that chearefull 

glaunce. 
More sweet than Nectar, or Ambrosiall 

meat, 
Seemd every bit which thenceforth I 

did eat. 

XL. 

Mark when she smiles with amiable 

cheare. 
And tell me whereto can ye lyken it ; 
When on each eyelid sweetly doe ap- 

peare 
An hundred Graces as in shade to sit. 
Lykest it seemeth, in my simple wit, 
Unto the fayre sunshine' in somers day; 
That, when a dreadfull storm e away is flit, 
Thrugh the broad world doth spred his 

goodly ray; 
At sight whereof, each bird that sits on 

spray, 
And every beast that to his den was fled. 
Comes forth afresh out of their late dis- 
may, 
And to the light lift up theyr drouping 

hed. 
So my storme-beaten hart likewise is 

cheared 
With that sunshine, when cloudy looks 

are cleared. 

XLI. 

Is it her nature, or is it her will, 

To be so cruell to an humbled foe ? 

If nature ; then she may it mend with 

skill : 
If will ; then she at will may will forgoe. 
But if her nature and her wil be so. 
That she will plague the man that loves 

her most. 
And take delight t' encrease a wretches 

woe; 



720 



SONNETS. 



Then all her natures goodly guifts are 

lost : 
And that same glorious beauties ydle 

boast 
Is but a bayt such wretches to beguile, 
As, being long in her loves tempest tost, 
She meaues at last to make her pitious 

spoyle. 
O fayrest fayre ! let never it be named. 
That so fayre beauty was so fowly 

shamed. 

XLII. 

The love which me so cruelly tormenteth, 
So pleasing is in my extreamest paine, 
That, all the more my sorrow it aug- 

menteth, 
The more I love and doe embrace my bane. 
Ne doe I wish (for wishing were but vaine) 
To be acquit fro my continual smart ; 
But joy, her thrall for ever to remayne, 
And yield for pledge my poore capty ved 

hart; 
The which, that it from her may never 

start, 
Let her, yf please her, bynd with adamant 

chayne : 
And from all wandring loves, which mote 

pervart 
His safe assurance, strongly it restrayne. 
Onely let her abstaine from cruelty, 
And doe me not before my time to dy. 



Shall I then silent be, or shall I speake ? 

And, if I speake, her wrath renew I shall ; 

And, if I silent be, my hart will breake, 

Or choked be with overflowing gall. 

What tyranny is this, both my hart to 
thrall, 

And eke my toung with proud restraint 
to tie ; 

That nether I may speake nor thinke at 
all. 

But like a stupid stock in silence die ! 

Yet I my hart with silence secretly 

Will teach to speak, and my just cause to 
plead ; 

And eke mine eies, with meek humility. 

Love-learned letters to her eyes to read ; 
Which her deep wit, that true harts 

thought can spel, 
AVil soon conceive, and learne to con- 
strue well. 

XLIV. 

When those renoumed noble Peres of 
Greece, 

Thrugh stubborn pride, amongst them- 
selves did jar, 

Forgetf ull of the famous golden fleece ; 



Then Orpheus with his harp theyr strife 

did bar. 
But this continuall, cruell, civill warre. 
The which my selfe against my selfe doe 

make ; 
Whilest my weak powres of passions 

warreid arre; 
No skill can stint, nor reason can aslake. 
But, when in hand my tunelesse harp I 

take. 
Then doe I more augment my foes de- 

spight ; 
And griefe renew, and passions doe awake 
To battaile, fresh against my selfe to fight. 
Mongst whome the more 1 seeke to settle 

peace. 
The more I f ynd their malice to increase. 

XLV. 

Leave, lady! in your glasse of cristall 

clene. 
Your goodly selfe for evermore to vew : 
And in my selfe, my inward selfe, I meane, 
Most lively lyke behold your semblant 

trew. 
Within my hart, though hardly it can shew 
Thing so divine to vew of earthly eye, 
The fayre Idea of your celestiall hew 
And every part remaines immortally: 
And were it not that, through your cruelty, 
With sorrow dimmed and deform'd it 

were. 
The goodly ymage of your visnomy. 
Clearer then cristall, would therein ap- 

pere. 
But, if your selfe in me ye playne will 

see. 
Remove the cause by which your fayre 

beames darkned be. 

XLVI. 

When my abodes prefixed time is spent. 
My cruell fayre streight bids me wend 

my way: 
But then from heaven most hideous 

stormes are sent. 
As willing me against her will to stay. 
Whom then shall I, or heaven or her, 

obay? 
The heavens know best what is the best for 

me: 
But as she will, whose will my life doth 

sway. 
My lower heaven, so it perforce must bee. 
But ye high hevens, that all this sorowe 

see, 
Sith all your tempests cannot hold me 

backe, 
Aswage your storms ; or else both you, 

and she, 



SONNETS. 



721 



Will both together me too sorely wracke. 
Enough it is for one man to sustaine 
The stormes, which she alone on me 
doth raine. 



Trust not the treason of those smyling 

lookes, 
Untill ye have they r guylef ull traynes well 

tryde : 
For they are lyke but unto golden hookes, 
That from the foolish fish theyr bayts doe 

hyde: 
So she with flattring smyles weake harts 

doth guyde 
Unto her love, and tempte to theyr decay ; 
Whome, being caught, she kills with 

cruell pryde. 
And feeds at pleasure on the wretched 

pray: 
Yet, even whylst her bloody hands them 

slay. 
Her eyes looke lovely, and upon them 

smyle ; 
That they take pleasure in her cruell play, 
And, dying, doe themselves of payne be- 

guyle. 
O mighty charm! which makes men 

love theyr bane. 
And thinck they dy with pleasure, live 

with payne. 



Innocent paper ; whom too cruell hand 
Did make the matter to avenge her yre : 
And, ere she could thy cause wel under- 
stand, 
Did sacrifize unto the greedy fyre. 
Well worthy thou to have found better 

hyre. 
Then so bad end for hereticks ordayned ; 
Yet heresy nor treason didst conspire. 
But plead thy maisters cause, unjustly 

payned. 
Whom she, all carelesse of his griefe con- 

strayned 
To utter forth the anguish of his hart : 
And would not heare, when he to her com- 

playned 
The piteous passion of his dying smart. 
Yet live for ever, though against her will. 
And speake her good, though she re- 
quite it ill. 



Fayre cruell! why are ye so fierce and 

cruell ? 
Is it because your eyes have powre to kill ? 
Then know that mercy is the Mighties 

Jewell : 



And greater glory thinke, to save then 

spill. 
But if it be your pleasure, and proud will, 
To shew the powre of your imperious 

eyes; 
Then not on him that never thought you ill, 
But bend your force against your en- 
emy es : 
Let them feele the utmost of your cruel- 

tyes; 
And kill with looks as Cockatrices doo : 
But him, that at your footstoole humbled 

lies. 
With mercifull regard give mercy too. 
Such mercy shall you make admyr'd to 

be; 
So shall you live, by giving life to me. 



Long languishing in double malady 

Of my harts wound, and of my bodies 

griefe ; 
Therecame to me a leach, th^it would apply 
Fit medicines for my bodies best relief e. 
Vayne man, quod I, that hast but little 

priefe 
In deep discovery of the mynds disease ; 
Is not the hart of all the body chiefe, 
And rules the members as it selfe doth 

please ? 
Then, with some cordialls, seeke first to 

appease 
The inward languor of my wounded hart, 
And then my body shall have shortly ease : 
But such sweet cordialls passe Physitions 

art. 
Then, my lyfes Leach! doe your skill 

reveale ; 
And, with one salve, both hart and body 

heale. 

LI. 

Doe I not see that fayrest ymages 

Of hardest marble are of purpose made. 

For that they should endure through 

many ages, 
Ne let theyr famous moniments to fade? 
Why then doe I, untrainde in lovers trade, 
Her hardnes blame, which I should more 

commend ? 
Sith never ought was excellent assayde 
Which was not hard t' atchieve and bring 

to end. 
Ne ought so hard, but he, that would 

attend. 
Mote soften it and to his will allure : 
So doe I hope her stubborne hart to bend. 
And that it then more stedfast will en- 
dure: 
Onely my paines wil be the more to get 
her; 



722 



SONNETS. 



But, having her, my joy wil be the 
greater. 

So oft as homeward I from her depart, 
I goe lyke one that, having lost the field, 
Is prisoner led away with heavy hart, 
Despoyld of warlike armes and knowen 

shield. 
So doe I now my selfe a prisoner yeeld 
To sorrow and to solitary paine ; 
From presence of my dearest deare exylde, 
Long-while alone in langour to remaine. 
There let no thought of joy, or pleasure 

vaine, 
Dare to approch, that may my solace 

breed ; 
But sudden dumps, and drery sad dis- 

dayne 
Of all worlds gladnesse, more my torment 

feed. 
So I her absens will my penaunce make, 
That of her presens I my meed may 

take. ^ 

LIII. 

The Panther, knowing that his spotted 

hyde 
Doth please all beasts, but that his looks 

them fray; 
Within a bush his dreadfull head doth 

hide. 
To let them gaze, whylest he on them 

may pray: 
Right so my cruell fayre with me doth 

play ; 
For, with the goodly semblant of her 

hew, 
She doth allure me to mine owne decay. 
And then no mercy will unto me shew. 
Great shame it is, thing so divine in view, 
Made for to be the worlds most ornament. 
To make the bayte her gazers to embrew : 
Good shames to be to ill an instrument ! 
But mercy doth with beautiebest agree, 
As in theyr Maker ye them best may 

see. 

LIV. 

Of this worlds Theatre in which we stay. 
My love, lyke the Spectator, ydly sits; 
Beholding me, that all the pageants play, 
Disguysiug diversly my troubled wits. 
Sometimes I joy when glad occasion tits, 
And mask in rayrth lyke to a Comedy : 
Soone after, when my joy to sorrow 

flits, 
I waile, and make my woes a Tragedy. 
Yet she, beholding me with constant eye, 
Delights not in my merth, nor rues my 

smart : 
But, when I laugh, she mocks ; and, when 

I cry, 



She laughes, and hardens evermore her 

hart. 
What then can move her ? if nor merth 

nor mone. 
She is no woman, but a sencelesse stone. 



So oft as I her beauty doe behold. 
And therewith doe her cruelty compare, 
I marvaile of what substance was the 

mould, 
The which her made attonce so cruell 

faire. 
Not earth; for her high thoghts more 

heavenly are : 
Not water ; for her love doth burne like 

fyre: 
Not ayre ; for she is not so light or rare : 
Not fyre; for she doth friese with faint 

desire. 
Then needs another Element inquire 
Whereof she mote be made ; that is, the 

skye: 
For to the heaven her haughty lookes 

aspire ; 
And eke her mind is pure immortall hye. 
Then, sith so heaven yelykened are the 

best, 
Be lyke in mercy as in all the rest. 



Fayre ye be sure, but cruell and unkind. 
As is a Tygre, that with greedinesse 
Hunts after bloud ; when he by chance 

doth find 
A feeble beast, doth felly him oppresse. 
Fayre be ye sure, but proud and pittilesse. 
As is a storme, that all things doth pros- 
trate ; 
Finding a tree alone all comfortlesse. 
Beats on it strongly, it to ruinate. 
Fayre be ye sure, but hard and obstinate, 
As is a rocke amidst the raging floods ; 
Gaynst which, a ship, of succour desolate. 
Doth suffer wreck both of her selfe and 
goods. 
That ship, that tree, and that same 

beast, am I, 
Whom ye doe wreck, doe ruine, and 
destroy. 

LVII. 

Sweet warriour ! when shall I have peace 

with you ? 
High time it is this warre now ended 

were 
Wliich I no lenger can endure to sue, 
Ne your incessant battry more to beare : 
So weake my powres, so sore my wounds, 

appeare, 
That wonder is how I should live a jot. 



SONNETS. 



723 



Seeing my hart through-launced every 

where 
With thousand arrowes, which your eies 

have shot : 
Yet shoot ye sharpely still, and spare me 

not, 
But glory thinke to make these cruel 

stoures. 
Ye cruell one ! what glory can be got, 
In slaying him that would live gladly 

yours ! 
Make peace therefore, and graunt me 

timely grace, 
That al my wounds wil heale in little 

space. 

LVIII. 

By her that is most assured to her selfe. 

Weake is th' assurance that weake flesh 
reposeth 

In her owne powre, and scorneth others 
ayde ; 

That soonest fals, when as she most sup- 
poseth 

Her selfe assurd, and is of nought affrayd. 

All flesh is frayle, and all her strength 
unstayd, 

Like a vaine bubble bio wen up with ayre : 

Devouring tyme and changeful chance 
have prayd, 

Her glories pride that none may it re- 
pay re. 

Ne none so rich or wise, so strong or 
fay re. 

But fayleth, trusting on his owne assur- 
ance; 

And he, that standeth on the hyghest 
stayre, 

Fals lowest; for on earth nought hath 
enduraunce. 
Why then doe ye, proud fayre, mis- 

deeme so farre. 
That to your selfe ye most assured arre ! 



Thrise bappie she ! that is so well assured 
Unto her selfe, and setled so in hart. 
That nether will for better be allured, 
Ne feard with worse to any chaunce to 

start ; 
But, like a steddy ship, doth strongly part 
The raging waves, and keepes her course 

aright ; 
Ne ought for tempest doth from it depart, 
Ne ought for fayrer weathers false 

delight. 
Such selfe-assurance need not feare the 

spight 
Of grudging foes, ne favour seek of 

friends : 
But, in the stay of her owne stedfast might. 



Nether to one her selfe nor other bends. 
Most happy she, that most assur'd doth 

rest; 
But he most happy, who such one loves 

best. 

LX. 

They, that in course of heavenly spheares 

are skild, 
To every planet point his sundry yeare : 
In which her circles voyage is fulfild, 
As Mars in three-score yeares doth run 

his spheare. 
So, since the winged god his planet cleare 
Began in me to move, one yeare is spent: 
The which doth longer unto me appeare. 
Then al those f ourty which my life out- 
went. 
Then by that count, which lovers books 

invent. 
The spheare of Cupid fourty yeares con- 

taines : 
Which I have wasted in long languish- 

ment, 
That seemd the longer for my greater 

paines. 
But let my loves fayre Planet short her 

wayes, 
This yeare ensuing, or else short my 

dayes. 

LXI. 

The glorious image of the Makers beautie, 
My soverayne saynt, the Idoll of my 

thought. 
Dare not henceforth, above the bounds of 

dewtie, 
T' accuse of pride, or rashly blame for 

ought. 
For being, as she is, divinely wrought, 
And of the brood of Angels hevenly borne ; 
And with the crew of blessed Saynts up- 
brought. 
Each of which did her with theyr guifts 

adorne ; 
The bud of joy, the blossome of the morne. 
The beame of light, whom mortal eyes 

admyre ; 
What reason is it then but she should 

scorne 
Base things, that to her love too bold 

aspire ! 
Such heavenly formes ought rather 

worshipt be. 
Then dare be lov'd by men of meane 

degree. 

LXII. 

The weary yeare his race now having run, 
The new begins his compast course anew : 
With shew of morning mylde he hath 

begun. 
Betokening peace and plenty to en sew. 



724 



SONNETS. 



So let us, which this chaunge of weather 

vew, 
Chauuge eke our mynds, and former lives 

amend ; 
The old yeares simies forepast let us es- 
chew, 
And fly the faults with which we did 

offend. 
Then shall the new yeares joy forth 

freshly send, 
Into the glooming world, his gladsome 

ray: 
And all these stormes, which now his 

heauty blend, 
Shall turne to caulmes, and tymely cleare 

away. 
So, likewise, Love! cheare you your 

heavy spright. 
And chaunge old yeares annoy to new 

delight. 

LXIII. 

After long stormes and tempests sad 

assay, 
Which hardly I endured heretofore. 
In dread of death, and daungerous dis- 
may. 
With which my silly barke was tossed 

sore : 
I doe at length descry the happy shore, 
In which I hope ere long for to arry ve : 
Fayre soyle it seemes from far, and 

f ravight with store 
Of all that deare and daynty is alyve. 
Most happy he ! that can at last atchyve 
The joyous safety of so sweet a rest; 
Whose least delight sufficeth to deprive 
Kemembrance of all paines which him 
opprest. 
All paines are nothing in respect of this ; 
All sorrowes short that gaine eternall 
blisse. 

LXIV. 

Comming to kisse her lyps, (such grace I 

found,) 
Me seemd, I smelt a gardin of sweet 

flowres. 
That dainty odours from them threw 

around. 
For damzels fit to decke their lovers 

bowres. 
Her lips did smell lyke unto Gillyflowers ; 
Her ruddy cheekes, lyke unto Roses red ; 
Her snowy browes, like budded Bella- 

moures ; 
Her lovely eyes, lyke Pincks but newly 

spred ; 
Her goodly bosoms, lyke a Strawberry 

bed; 
Her neck, lyke to a bounch of Cullam- 

bynes; 



Her brest, lyke Lillyes, ere theyr leaves 

be shed ; 
Her nipples, lyke youg blossomed Jesse- 
mynes : 
Such fragrant flowers doe give most 

odorous smell ; 
But her sweet odour did them all excell. 



The doubt which ye misdeeme, fayre love, 

is vaine. 
That fondly feare to loose your liberty ; 
When, loosing one, two liberties ye gayne, 
And make him bond that bondage earst 

dyd fly. 
Sweet be the bands, the which true love 

doth tye 
Without constraynt, or dread of any ill : 
The gentle birde feeles no captivity 
Within her cage; but singes, and feeds 

her fill. 
There pride dare not approch, nor discord 

spill 
The league twixt them, that loyal love 

hath bound : 
But simple truth, and mutuall good-will, 
Seekes with sweet peace, to salve each 

others wound : 
There Fayth doth fearlesse dwell in 

brasen towre, 
And spotlesse Pleasure builds her sacred 

bowre. 

liXVI. 

To all those happy blessings, which ye 

have 
With plenteous hand by heaven upon you 

thrown ; 
This one disparagement they to you gave, 
That ye your love lent to so meane a one. 
Yee, whose high worths surpassing para- 
gon 
Could not on earth have found one fit for 

mate, 
Ne but in heaven matchable to none, 
Why did ye stoup unto so lowly state ? 
But ye thereby much greater glory gate. 
Then had ye sorted with a princes pere : 
For, now your light doth more itselfe 

dilate. 
And, in my darknesse, greater doth 

appeare. 
Yet, since your light hath once enlumind 

me. 
With my reflex yours shall encreased 

be. 

LXVII. 

Lyke as a huntsman after weary chace. 
Seeing the game from him escapt away, 
Sits downe to rest him in some shady 
place, 



SONNETS. 



725 



With panting hounds beguiled of their 

pray : 
So, after long pursuit and vaine assay, 
When I all weary had the chace forsooke, 
The geutle deare returud the selfe-same 

" way. 
Thinking to quench her thirst at the next 

brooke : 
There she, beholding me with mylder 

looke. 
Sought not to fly, but fearelesse still did 

bide; 
Till I in hand her yet halfe trembling 

tooke, 
And with her owne goodwill hir fyrmely 

tyde. 
Strange thing, me seemd, to see a beast 

so wyld, 
So goodly wonne, with her owne will 

beguyld. 

Lxvni. 

Most glorious Lord of lyfe ! that, on this 

day. 
Didst make thy triumph over death and 

sin; 
And, having harrowd hell, didst bring 

away 
Captivity thence captive, us to win : 
This joyous day, deare Lord, with joy 

begin ; 
And grant that we, for whom thou diddest 

dye, 
Being with thy deare blood clene washt 

from sin, 
May live for ever in felicity ! 
And that thy love we weighing worthily. 
May likewise love thee for the same 

again e ; 
And for thy sake, that all lyke deare 

didst buy, 
With love may one another entertayne ! 
So let us love, deare love, lyke as we 

ought : 
Love is the lesson which the Lord us 

taught. 

LXTX. 

The famous warriors of anticke world 
Used Trophees to erect in stately wize ; 
In which they would the records have 

enrold 
Of theyr great deeds and valorous em- 
prize. 
What trophee then shall I most fit devize. 
In which I may record the memory 
Of my loves conquest, peerelesse beauties 

prise, 
Adorn'd with honour, love, and chastity! 
Even this verse, vowd to eternity, 
Shall be thereof immortall moniment ; 
And tell her prayse to all posterity, 



That may admire such worlds rare 

wonderment ; 
The happy purchase of my glorious 

spoile, 
Gotten at last with labour and long 

toyle. 

LXX. 

Fresh Spring, the herald of loves mighty 

king, 
In whose cote-armour richly are displayd 
All sorts of flowers, the which on earth 

do spring, 
In goodly colours gloriously arrayd ; 
Goe to my love, where she is carelesse 

layd, 
Yet in her winters bowre not well awake ; 
Tell her the joyous time wil not be staid, 
Unlesse she doe him by the forelock take ; 
Bid her therefore her selfe soone ready 

make, 
To wayt on Love amongst his lovely 

crew; 
Where every one, that misseth then her 

make. 
Shall be by him amearst with penance 

dew. 
Make hast, therefore, sweet love, 

whilest it is prime: 
For none can call againe the passed 

time. 

LXXI. 

I joy to see how, in your drawen work, 
Your selfe unto the Bee ye doe compare ; 
And me unto the Spyder, that doth lurke 
In close awayt, to catch her unaware : 
Right so your selfe were caught in cimning 

snare 
Of a deare foe, and thralled to his love ; 
In whose streight bands ye now captived 

are 
So firmely, that ye never may remove. 
But as your worke is woven kll above 
With woodbynd flowers and fragrant 

Eglantine ; 
So sweet your prison you in time shall 

prove, 
With many deare delights bedecked fyne. 
And all thensforth eternall peace shall 

see 
Between e the Spyder and the gentle 

Bee. 

Lxxn. 

Oft, when my spirit doth spred her 

bolder winges. 
In mind to mount up to the purest sky ; 
It down is weighd with thoght of earthly 

things, 
And clogd with burden of mortality ; 
Where, when that soverayne beauty it 

doth spy, 



726 



SONNETS. 



Resembling heavens gloiy in her light, 
Drawne with sweet pleasures bayt, it 

back doth tiy, 
And unto heaven forgets her former 

flight. 
There my fraile fancy, fed with full 

delight. 
Doth bath in blisse, and mantleth most 

at ease ; 
Ne thinks of other heaven, but how it 

might 
Her harts desire with most contentment 

please. 
Hart need not wish none other happi- 

nesse, 
But here on earth to have such hevens 

blisse. 

LXXIII. 

Being ray self captyved here in care, 

My hart, (whom none with servile bands 

can tye, 
But the fayre tresses of your golden 

hay re,) 
Breaking his prison, forth to you doth fly. 
Lyke as a byrd, that in ones hand doth 

spy 

Desired food, to it doth make his flight: 
Even so my hart, that wont on your fayre 

eye 
To feed his fill, fiyes backe unto your 

sight. 
Doe you him take, and in your bosome 

bright 
Gently encage, that he may be your thrall : 
Perhaps he there may learne, with rare 

delight. 
To sing your name and prayses over-all: 
That it hereafter may you not repent, 
Him lodging in your bosome to have 

lent. 

LXXIV. 

Most happy letters! fram'd by skilfuU 

trade. 
With which that happy name was first 

desynd, 
Tlie which three times thrise happy hath 

me made, 
With guifts of body, fortune, and of 

mind. 
The first my being to me gave by kind , 
From mothers womb deriv'd by dew 

descent : 
The second is my sovereigne Queene most 

kind. 
That honour and large richesse to me 

lent: 
The third, my love, my lifes last orna- 
ment, 
By whom my spirit out of dust was 

raysed : 



To speake her prayse and glory excellent, 
Of all alive most worthy to be praysed. 
Ye three Elizabeths ! for ever live. 
That three such graces did unto me 
give. 

LXXV. 

One day I wrote her name upon the 

strand ; 
But came the waves, and washed it away : 
Agayue, I wrote it with a second hand ; 
But came the tyde, and made my paynes 

his pray. 
Vayne man, sayd she, that doest in vaine 

assay 
A mortall thing so to immortalize ; 
For I my selve shall lyke to this decay, 
And eek my name bee wyped out lyke- 

wize. 
Not so, quod I ; let baser things devize 
To dy in dust, but you shall live by fame : 
My verse your vertues rare shall eternize. 
And in the hevens wryte your glorious 

name. 
Where, whenas death shall all the world 

subdew. 
Our love shall live, and later life renew. 



Fayre bosome! fraught with vertues 

richest tresure. 
The neast of love, the lodging of delight. 
The bowre of blisse, the paradice of 

pleasure. 
The sacred harbour of that hevenly 

spright ; 
How was I ravisht with your lovely sight, 
And my frayle thoughts too rashly led 

astray ! 
Whiles diving deepe through amorous in- 
sight, 
On the sweet spoyle of beautie they did 

pray; 
And twixt her paps, (like early fruit in 

May, 
Whose harvest seemd to hasten now 

apace,) 
They loosely did theyr wanton winges 

display, 
And there to rest themselves did boldly 

place. 
Sweet thoughts ! I envy your so happy 

rest. 
Which oft I wisht, yet never was so 

blest. 

LXXVII. 

Was it a dreame, or did I see it playne ; 
A goodly table of pure yvory, 
All spred with juncats, fit to entertayne 
The greatest Priiice with pompous roialty : 
Mongst which, there in a silver dish did ly 



SONNETS. 



727 



Twoo golden apples of unvalewd price ; 
Far passing those which Hercules came 

by, 
Or those which Atalantadid entice; 
Exceeding sweet, yet voyd of sinfnll vice ; 
That many sought, yet none could ever 

taste ; 
Sweet fruit of pleasure, brought from 

Paradice 
By Love himselfe, and in his garden 

plaste. 
Her brest that table was, so richly 

spredd ; 
My thoughts the guests, which would 

thereon have fedd. 



Lackyng my love, I go from place to 

place, 
Lyke a young fawne, that late hath lost 

the hynd ; 
And seeke each where, where last I sawe 

her face, 
Whose ymage yet I carry fresh in mynd. 
I seeke the" fields with her late footing 

synd ; 
I seeke her bowre with her late presence 

deckt ; 
Yet nor in field nor bowre I her can fynd ; 
Yet field and bowre are full of her aspect : 
But, when myne eyes I thereunto direct, 
They ydly back returne to me agayne : 
And, when I hope to see theyr trew object, 
I fynd my self e but fed with fancies vayne. 
Ceasse then, rayne eyes, to seeke her 

selfe to see ; 
And let my thoughts behold her selfe in 

mee. 

Lxxrx. 

Men call you fayre, and you doe credit 

it, 
For that your selfe ye dayly such doe 

see: 
But the trew fayre, that is the gentle 

wit, 
And veituous mind, is much more praysd 

of me: 
For all the rest, how ever fayre it be, 
Shall turne to nought and loose that 

glorious hew ; 
But onely that is permanent and free 
From frayle corruption, that doth flesh 

ensew 
That is True beautie : that doth argue you 
To be divine, and borne of heavenly seed ; 
Deriv'd from that *ayre Spirit, from 

whom al true 
And perfect beauty did at first proceed : 
He onely fayre, and what he fayre hath 

made; 



All other fayre, lyke flowres, untymely 
fade. 

LXXX. 

After so long a race as I have run 
Through Faery land, which those six 

books compile. 
Give leave to rest me being halfe for- 

donne, 
And gather to myselfe new breath awhile. 
Then, as a steed refreshed after toyle. 
Out of mj' prison I will breake anew ; 
And stoutly will that second worke as- 

soyle, 
With strong endevour and attention 

dew. 
Till then give leave to me, in pleasant 

mew 
To sport my muse, and sing my loves 

sweet praise ; 
The contemplation of whose heavenly 

hew, 
My spirit to an higher pitch will rayse, 
But let her prayses yet be low and 

meane. 
Fit for the handmayd of the Faery 

Queene. 

LXXXI. 

Fayre is my love, when her fayre golden 
heares 

With the loose wynd ye waving chance to 
marke ; 

Fayre, when the rose in her red cheekes 
appeares ; 

Or in her eyes the fyre of love does 
sparke. 

Fayre, when her brest, lyke a rich laden 
barke, 

With pretious merchandize she forth doth 
lay; 

Fayre, when that cloud of pryde, which 
oft doth dark 

Her goodly light, with smiles she drives 
away. 

But fayrest she, when so she doth display 

The gate with pearles and rubyes richly 
dight; 

Throgh which her words so wise do make 
their way 

To beare the message of her gentle spright. 
The rest be works of natures wonder- 
ment: 
But this the worke of harts astonish- 
ment. 

Lxxxn. 

Joy of my life ! full oft for loving you 

I blesse my lot, that was so lucky placed : 

But then the more your owne mishap I 
rew, 

That are so much by so meane love em- 
based. 



728 



SONNETS. 



For, had the equall hevens so much you 

graced 
In this as in the rest, ye mote invent 
Som hevenly wit, whose verse could have 

enchased 
Your glorious name in golden moniment. 
But since ye deigud so goodly to relent 
To me your thrall, in whom is little 

worth ; 
That little, that I am, shall all be spent 
In setting your immortall prayses forth : 
Whose lofty argument, uplifting me. 
Shall lift you up unto an high degree. 



Let not one sparke of filthy lustfull fyre 

Breake out, that may her sacred peace 
molest ; 

Ne one light glance of sensuall desyre 

Attempt to work her gentle mindes un- 
rest: 

But pure affections bred in spotlesse 
brest. 

And modest thoughts breathd from wel- 
tempred sprites, 

Goe visit her in her chast bowre of rest 

Accompauyde with angelick delightes. 

There fill your selfe with those most joy- 
ous sights, 

The which my selfe could never yet 
attayne : 

But speake no word to her of these sad 
plights. 

Which her too constant stiffenesse doth 
constrayn. 
Onely behold her rare perfection, 
Andblesse your fortunes fayre election. 



The world that cannot deeme of worthy 

things, 
When I doe praise her, say I doe but 

flatter : 
So does the Cuckow, when the Mavis 

sings. 
Begin his witlesse note apace to clatter. 
But they that skill not of so heavenly 

matter. 
All that they know not envy or admyre ; 
Eather then envy, let them wonder at her, 
But not to deeme of her desert aspyre. 
Deepe, in the closet of my parts entyre, 
Her worth is written with a golden quill, 
That me with heavenly fury doth inspire. 
And my glad mouth with her sweet 

prayses fill. 
Which when as Fame in her shrill trump 

shal thunder, 
Let the world chose to envy or to 

wonder. 



LXXXV. 

Venemous toung, tipt with vile adders 

sting, 
Of that selfe kynd with which the Furies 

fell 
Theyr snaky heads doe combe, from 

which a spring 
Of poysoned words and spitef ull speeches 

well; 
Let all the plagues, and horrid paines, of 

hell 
Upon thee fall for thine accursed hyre 
That with false forged lyes, which thou 

didst tel. 
In my true love did stirre up coles of 

yre; 
The sparkes whereof let kindle thine own 

fyre, 
And, catching hold on thine owne wicked 

bed, 
Consume thee quite, that didst with guile 

conspire 
In my sweet peace such breaches to have 

bred! 
Shame be thy meed, and mischief e thy 

reward. 
Dew to thy selfe, that it for me pre- 

pard! 

LXXXVI. 

Since I did leave the presence of my love, 

Many long weary dayes I have outworne ; 

And many nights, that slowly seemd to 
move 

Theyr sad protract from evening untill 
morne. 

For, when as day the heaven doth adorne, 

I wish that night the noyous day would 
end: 

And, when as night hath us of light for- 
lorne, 

I wish that day would shortly reascend. 

Thus I the time with expectation spend, 

And faine my griefe with chaunges to be- 
guile, 

That further seemes his terme still to ex- 
tend, 

And maketh every minute seeme a myle. 
So sorrow still doth seeme too long to 

last; 
But joyous houres doe fly away too fast. 

LXXXVII. 

Since I have lackt the comfort of that 

light. 
The which was wont to lead my thoughts 

astray ; 
I wander as in darkenesse of the night, 
Affrayd of every dangers least dismay. 
Ne ought I see, though in the clearest 



ignt 
day, 



L. 1-30.] 



EPIGRAMS. 



729 



When others gaze upon theyr shadowes 

vayne, 
But th' onely image of that heavenly 

ray, 
Whereof some glance doth in mine eie 

remayue. 
Of which beholding the Idsea playne, 
Through contemplation of my purest 

part, 
With light thereof I doe my selfe sus- 

tayne, 
And thereon feed my love-affamisht hart. 
But, with such brightnesse why lest I 

fill my mind, 
I starve my body, and mine eyes doe 

blynd. 

Lxxxvni. 

Lyke as the Culver, on the bared bough. 
Sits mourning for the absence of her 
mate ; 



And, in her songs, sends many a wishfull 

vow 
For his returne that seemes to linger late : 
So I alone, now left disconsolate, 
Mourne to my selfe the absence of my 

love; 
And, wandring here and there all desolate. 
Seek with my playnts to match that 

mournful dove. 
Ne joy of ought that under heaven doth 

hove 
Can comfort me, but her owne joyous 

sight : 
Whose sweet aspect both God and man 

can move, 
In her unspotted pleasauns to delight. 
Dark is my day, whyles her fayre light 

I mis. 
And dead my life that wants such lively 

blis. 



EPIGRAMS. 



In youth, before I waxed old, 
The blynd boy, Venus baby. 
For want of cunning made me bold. 
In bitter hyve to grope for honny : 
But, when he saw me stung and cry. 
He tooke his wings and away did fly. 



As Diane hunted on a day. 

She chaunst to come where Cupid lay, 

His quiver by his head : 

One of his shafts she stole away. 

And one of hers did close convay 

Into the others stead : 

With that Love wounded my Loves hart. 

But Diane beasts with Cupids dart. 



I saw, in secret to my Dame 
How little Cupid humbly came. 
And sayd to her ; ' All hayle, my mother ! 
But, when he saw me laugh, for shame 
His face with bashfull blood did flame. 
Not knowing Venus from the other. 
' Then, never blush, Cupid, (quoth I), 
For many have err'd in this beauty.' 



Upon a day, as Love lay sweetly slum- 
bring 

All in his mothers lap ; 

A gentle Bee, with his loud trumpet 
murm'ring, 



About him flew by hap. 

Whereof when he was wakened with the 

noyse, 5 

And saw the beast so small ; 
' Whats this (quoth he) that gives so great 

a voyce 
That wakens men withall ? ' 
In angry wize he flyes about, 
And threatens all with corage stout. 10 

To whom his mother closely smiling sayd, 

'Twixt earnest and twixt game : 

* See ! thou thyselfe likewise art lyttle 

made. 
If thou regard the same. 
And yet thou suffrest neyther gods in 

sky, 15 

Nor men in earth, to rest: 
But, when thou art disposed cruelly, 
Theyr sleepe thou doost molest. 
Then eyther change thy cruelty, 
Or give like leave'unto the fly.' 20 

Nathelesse, the cruell boy, not so con- 
tent, 

Would needs the fly pursue ; 

And in his hand, with heedlesse hardi- 
ment. 

Him caught for to subdue. 

But, when on it he hasty hand did lay, 25 

The Bee him stung therefore : 

' Now out alasse, (he cryde) ,and wel-away ! 

I wounded am full sore : 

The Fly, that I so much did scorne, 

Hath hurt me with his little home.' 30 



730 



EPITHALAMION. 



[L. 1-45. 



Unto his mother straight he weeping 

came, 
And of his grief e coniplayned : 
Who could not chose but laugh at his 

fond game, 
Though sad to see him pained. 
' Think now (quod she) my sonne, how 

great the smart 35 

Of those whom thou dost wound : 
Full many thou hast pricked to the hart. 
That pitty never found : 
Therefore, henceforth some pitty take, 
When thou doest spoyle of lovers make.' 

She tooke him streight full pitiously 
lamenting, 41 

And wrapt him in her smock : 

She wrapt him softly, all the while 
repenting 

That he the fly did mock. 



She drest his wound, and it embaulmed 
wel 45 

With salve of soveraigne might; 

And then she bath'd him in a dainty 
w^ell. 

The well of deare delight. 

Who would not oft bestung as this, 

To be so bath'd in V'enus blis? 50 

The wanton boy was shortly wel recured 
Of that his malady: 

But he, soone after, fresh againe enured 
His former cruelty. 

And since that time he wounded hath my 
selfe 55 

With his sharpe dart of love : 
And now forgets the cruell carelesse elfe 
His mothers heast to prove. 
So now I languish, till he please 
My pining anguish to appease. 60 



EPITHALAMION. 



Ye learned sisters, which have oftentimes 
Beene to me ayding, others to adorne, 
Whom ye thought worthy of your grace- 
full rymes, 
That even the greatest did not greatly 

scorn e 
To heare theyr names sung in your 

simple layes, 5 

But joyed in theyr praise ; 
And when ye list your owne mishaps to 

mourne. 
Which death, or love, or fortunes wreck 

did rayse. 
Your string could soone to sadder tenor 

turne, 
And teach the woods and waters to 

lament 10 

Your dolef ull dreriment : 
Now lay those sorrowfull complaints 

aside ; 
And, having all your heads with girlands 

crownd, 
Helpe me mine owne loves prayses to 

resound ; 
TVe let the same of any be en vide : 15 

So Orpheus did for his owne bride ! 
So I unto my selfe alone will snig; 
The woods shall to me answer, and my 

Eccho ring. 

Early, before the worlds light-giving 

lampe 
His golden bearae upon the hils doth 

spred, 20 

Having disperst the nights unchearefull 

dampe. 



Doe ye awake ; and, with fresh lusty-hed, 
Go to the bowre of my beloved love. 
My truest turtle dove ; 
Bid her awake ; for Hymen is awake, 25 
And long since ready forth his maske to 

move. 
With his bright Tead that flames with 

. many a Hake, 
And many a bachelor to waite on him, 
In theyr fresh garments trim. 
Bid her awake therefore, and soone her 

dight, 30 

For lo ! the wished day is come at last, 
That shall, for all the paynes and sor- 

rowes past. 
Pay to her usury of long delight : 
And, whylest she doth her dight, 
Doe ye to her of joy and solace sing, 35 
That all the woods may answer, and your 

eccho ring. 

Bring with you all the Nymphes th"at you 

can heare 
Both of the rivers and the forrests greene. 
And of the sea that neighbours to her 

neare : 
Al with gay girlands goodly wel be- 

seene. 40 

And let them also with them bring in 

hand 
Another gay girland. 
For my fayre love, of lillyes and of roses. 
Bound truelove wize, with a blew silke 

riband. 
And let them make great store of bridale 

poses, 45 



L. 46-117-] 



EPITHALAMION. 



731 



And let them eeke bring store of other 

flowers, 
To deck the bridale bowers. 
And let the ground whereas her foot shall 

tread, 
For feare the stones her tender foot 

should wrong, 
Be strewed with fragrant flowers all 

along, 50 

And diapred lyke the discolored mead. 
Which done, doe at her chamber dore 

awayt, 
For she will waken strayt ; 
The whiles doe ye this song unto her 

sing. 
The woods shall to you answer, and your 

Eccho ring. 55 

Ye Nymphes of Mulla, which with carefull 

heed 
The silver scaly trouts doe tend full well. 
And greedy pikes which use therin to 

feed ; 
(Those trouts and pikes all others doo 

excell ;) 
And ye likewise, which keepe the rushy 

lake, 60 

Where none doo fishes take ; 
Bynd up the locks the which hang 

scatterd light. 
And in his waters, which your mirror 

make, 
Behold your faces as the christall bright. 
That when you come whereas my love 

doth lie, 65 

No blemish she may spie. 
And eke, ye lightfoot mayds, which 

keepe the dore, 
That on the hoary mountayne used to 

towre ; 
And the' wylde wolves, which seeke 

them to devoure. 
With your Steele darts doo chace from 

comming neer; 70 

Be also present heere, 
To helpe to decke her, and to help to 

sing, 
That all the woods may answer, and 

your eccho ring. 

Wake now, my love, awake ! for it is time ; 
The Rosy Morne long since left Tithones 

bed, 75 

All ready to her silver coche to clyme ; 
And Phoebus gins to shew his glorious 

bed. 
Hark ! how the cheeref ull birds do chaunt 

theyr laies 
And Carroll of Loves praise. 
The merry Larke hir mattins sings 

aloft : 80 



The Thrush replyes; the Mavis descant 

pi ayes : 
The Ouzell shrills ; the Ruddock warbles 

soft; 
So goodly all agree, with sweet consent. 
To this dayes merriment. 
Ah! my deere love, why doe ye sleepe 

thus long, 85 

When meeter were that ye should now 

awake, 
T' awayt the comming of your joyous 

make, 
And hearken to the birds love-learned 

song, 
The deawy leaves among! 
For they of joy and pleasance to you 

sing, 90 

That all the woods them answer, and 

theyr eccho ring. 

My love is now awake out of her 

dreames, 
And her fayre eyes, like stars that 

dimmed were 
With darksome cloud, now shew theyr 

goodly beams 
More bright then Hesperus his head doth 

rere. 95 

Come now, ye damzels, daughters of 

delight, 
Helpe quickly her to dight : 
But first come ye fayre houres, which 

were begot. 
In Joves sweet paradice of Day and 

Night ; 99 

Which doe the seasons of the yeare allot, 
And al, that ever in this world is fayre, 
Doe make and still repayre : 
And ye three handmayds of the Cyprian 

Queene, 
The which doe still adorne her beauties 

pride, 104 

Helpe to addorne my beautifuUest bride : 
And, as ye her array, still throw be- 
tween e 
Some graces to be scene ; 
And, as ye use to Venus, to her sing. 
The whiles the woods shal answer, and 

your eccho ring. 109 

Now is my love all ready forth to come : 
Let all the virgins therefore well awayt : 
And ye fresh boyes, that tend upon "her 

groome. 
Prepare your selves; for he is comming 

strayt. 
Set all your things in seemely good aray. 
Fit for so joyfuli day : 115 

The joyfulst day that ever sunne did see. 
Faire Sun! shew '^orth thy favourable 

ray. 



732 



EPITHALAMION. 



[l. 1 18-199. 



And let thy lifull heat not fervent be, 
For feare of burning her sunshyny face, 
Her beauty to disgrace. 120 

O fayrest Phoebus! father of the Muse! 
If ever I did honour thee aright, 
Or sing the thing that mote thy mind 

delight, 
Doe not thy servants simple boone refuse ; 
But let this day, let this one day, be 

myne ; 125 

Let all the rest be thine. 
Then I thy soverayne prayses loud wil 

sing, 
That all the woods shal answer, and 

theyr eccho ring. 

Harke! how the Minstrils gin to shrill 

aloud 
Their merry Musick that resounds from 

far, 130 

The pipe, the tabor, and the trembling 

Croud, 
That well agree withouten breach or jar. 
But, most of all, the Damzels doe delite 
When they their tymbrels smyte, 
And thereunto doe daunce and carrol 

sweet, 135 

TJiat all the sences they doe ravish quite ; 
The whyles the boyes run up and downe 

the street, 
Crying aloud with strong confused noyce. 
As if it were one voyce. 
Hymen, io Hymen, Hymen, they do 

shout ; 140 

That even to the heavens theyr shouting 

shrill 
Doth reach, and all the firmament doth 

fill; 
To which the people standing all about. 
As in approvance, doe thereto applaud, 
And loud advaunce her laud ; 145 

And evermore they Hymen, Hymen sing. 
That al the woods them answer, and 

theyr eccho ring. 

Loe ! where she comes along with portly 

pace, 
Lyke Phoebe, from her chamber of the 

East, 
Arysing forth to run her mighty race, 150 
Clad all in white, that seemes a virgin 

best. 
So well it her beseemes, that ye would 

weene 
Some angell she had beene. 
Her long loose yellow locks lyke golden 

wyre, 
Sprinckled with perle, and perling flowres 

atweene, 155 

Doe lyke a golden mantle her attyre ; 
And, being crowned with agirland greene, 



Seerae lyke some mayden Queene. 

Her modest eyes, abashed to behold 

So many gazers as on her do stare, 160 

Upon the lowly ground afiixed are ; 

Ne dare lift up her countenance too bold, 

But blush to heare her prayses sung so 

loud. 
So farre from being proud. 
Nathlesse doe ye still loud her prayses 

sing, 165 

That all the woods may answer, and your 

eccho ring. 

Tell me, ye merchants daughters, did ye 

see 
So fayre a creature in your towne before ; 
So sweet, so lovely, and so mild as she, 
Adornd with beautyes grace and vertues 

store ? 170 

Her goodly eyes lyke Saphyres shining 

bright. 
Her forehead yvory white, 
Her cheekes lyke apples which the sun 

hath rudded. 
Her lips lyke cherryes charming men to 

byte. 
Her brest like to a bowle of creame un- 

crudded, 175 

Her paps lyke lyllies budded. 
Her snowie necke lyke to a marble towre ; 
And all her body like a pallace fayre, 
Ascending up, with many a stately stayre, 
To honors seat and chastities sweet 

bowre. 180 

Why stand ye still ye virgins in amaze. 
Upon her so to gaze. 

Whiles ye forget your former lay to sing. 
To which the woods did answer, and your 

eccho ring? 

But if ye saw that which no eyes can 

see, 185 

The inward beauty of her lively spright, 
Garnisht with heavenly guifts of high 

degree, 
Much more then would ye wonder at that 

sight. 
And stand astonisht lyke to those which 

red 
Medusaes mazeful bed. 190 

There dwels sweet love, and constant 

chastity. 
Unspotted fayth, and comely womanhood, 
Regard of honour, and mild modesty ; 
There vertue raynes as Queene in royal 

throne. 
And giveth lawes alone, 195 

The which the base affections doe obay. 
And yeeld theyr services unto her will ; 
Ne thought of thing uncomely ever may 
Thereto approch to tempt her mind to ill. 



L. 200-280.] 



EPITHALAMION. 



733 



Had ye once seene these her celestial 
threasures, 200 

And unrevealed pleasures, 

Then would ye wonder, and her prayses 
sing, 

That al the woods should answer, and 
your echo ring. 

Open the temple gates unto my love. 
Open them wide that she may enter in, 205 
And all the postes adorne as doth behove, 
And all the pillours deck with girlauds 

trim. 
For to receyve this Saynt with honour 

dew. 
That commeth in to you. 
With trembling steps, and humble rever- 
ence, 210 
She commeth in, before th' Almighties 

view; 
Of her ye virgins learne obedience, 
"VMien so ye come into those holy places, 
To humble your proud faces : 
Bring her up to th' high altar, that she 
may 215 

The sacred ceremonies there partake, 
The which do endlesse matrimony make ; 
And let the roring Organs loudly "^pl^-y 
The praises of the Lord in lively notes ; 
The whiles, with hollow throates, 220 
The Choristers the joyous Antheme sing, 
That al the woods may answere, and their 
eccho ring. 

Behold, whiles she before the altar stands, 
Hearing the holy priest that to her 



And blesseth her with his two happy 

hands, 225 

How the red roses flush up in her cheekes, 

And the pure snow, with goodly vermill 

stayne 
Like crimsin dyde in grayne ; 
That even th' Angels, which continually 
About the sacred Altare doe remaine, 230 
Forget their service and about her fly, 
Ofte peeping in her face, that seems more 

fayre, 
The more they on it stare. 
But her sad eyes, still fastened on the 

ground. 
Are governed with goodly modesty, 235 
That suffers not one looketo glaunce awry. 
Which may let in a little thought un- 
sown d. 
Why blush ye, love, to give to me your 

hand, 
Tlie pledge of all our band ! 
Sing, ye sweet Angels, Alleluya sing, 240 
That all the woods may answere, and your 
eccho ring. 



Now al is done: bring home the bride 

againe ; 
Bring home the triumph of our victory : 
Bring home with you the glory of her 

gaine 
With joyance bring her and with jollity. 
Never had man more joy full day then 

this, 246 

Whom heaven would heape with blis, 
Make feast therefore now all this live- 
long day; 
This day for ever to me holy is. 
Poure out the wine without restraint or 

stay, 250 

Poure not by cups, but by the belly full, 
Poure out to all that wull, 
And sprinkle all the postes and wals with 

wine. 
That they may sweat, and drunken be 

withall. 
Crowne ye God Bacchus with a coronall, 
And Hymen also crowne with wreaths of 

vine ; 256 

And let the Graces daunce unto the rest, 
For they can doo it best : 
The whiles the maydens doe theyr carroU 

sing. 
To which the woods shall answer, and 

theyr eccho ring. 260 

Ring ye the bels, ye yong men of the 

towne, 
And leave your wonted labors for this day : 
This day is holy ; doe ye write it downe, 
That ye for ever it remember may. 
This day the sunne is in his chiefest 

bight, 265 

With Barnaby the bright, 
From whence declining daily by degrees, 
He somewhat loseth of his heat and 

light. 
When once the Crab behind his back he 

sees. 
But for this time it ill ordained was, 270 
To chose the longest day in all the yeare. 
And shortest night, when longest fitter 

weare : 
Yet never day so long, but late would 

passe. 
Ring ye the bels, to make it weare away, 
And bonefiers make all day ; 275 

And daunce about them, and about them 

sing. 
That all the woods may answer, and your 

eccho ring. 

Ah ! when will this long weary day have 

end. 
And lende me leave to come unto my love? 
How slowlv do the houres theyr numbers 

spend? 280 



734 



EPITHALAMION. 



[l. 281-356. 



How slowly does sad Time his feathers 

move? 
Hast thee, O fayrest Planet, to thy home, 
Within the Westerne fome : 
Thy tyred steedes long since have need of 

rest. 
Long though it be, at last I see it gloome, 
And the bright evening-star with golden 

creast 286 

Appeare out of the East. 
Fay re childe of beauty ! glorious lampe of 

love ! 
That all the host of heaven in rankes 

doost lead, 
And guydest lovers through the nights sad 

dread, 290 

How chearefully thou lookestfrom above, 
And seemst to laugh atweene thy twin- 
kling light, 
As joying in the sight 
Of these glad many, which for joy doe 

sing, 
That all the woods them answer, and their 

echo ring! 295 

Now ceasse, ye damsels, your delights 

f orepast ; 
Enough it is that all the day was youres : 
Now day is doen, and night is nighing 

fast. 
Now bring the Bryde into the brydall 

boures. 
The night is come, now soon her disaray, 
And in her bed her lay ; 301 

Lay her in lillies and in violets, 
And silken courteius over her display. 
And odourd sheetes, and Arras coverlets. 
Behold how goodly my faire love does ly, 
In proud humility ! 306 

Like unto Maia, when as Jove her took 
In Tempe, lying on the flowry gras, 
Twixt sleepe and wake, after she weary 

was. 
With bathing in the Acidalian brooke. 310 
Now it is night, ye damsels may be gon. 
And leave my love alone, 
And leave likewise your former lay to 

sing : 
The woods no more shall answere, nor 

your echo ring. 

Now welcome, night! thou night so long 
expected, 315 

That long dales labour doest at last de- 
fray, 

And all my cares, which cruell Love col- 
lected. 

Hast sumd in one, and cancelled for aye : 

Spread thy broad wing over my love and 
me, 

That no man may us see ; 320 



And in thy sable mantle us enwrap. 
From feare of perrill and foule horror 

free. 
Let no false treason seeke us to entrap. 
Nor any dread disquiet once annoy 
The safety of our joy ; 325 

But let the night be calme, and quietsome. 
Without tempestuous storms or sad af ray : 
Lyke as when Jove with fayre Alcmeua 

lay. 
When he begot the great Tirynthian 

groome : 
Or lyke as when he with thy selfe did lie 
And begot Majesty. 331 

And let the mayds and yongmen cease to 

sing; 
Ne let the woods them answer, nor theyr 

eccho ring. 

Let no lamenting cryes, nor dolefullteares, 
Be heard all night within, nor yet with- 
out : 335 
Ne let false whispers, breeding hidden 

feares, 
Breake gentle sleepe with misconceived 

dout. 
Let no deluding dreames, nor dreadfull 

sights. 
Make sudden sad affrights ; 
Ne let house-fyres, nor lightnings helpe- 

lesse harmes, 340 

Ne let the Pouke, nor other evill sprights, 
Ne let mischivous witches with theyr 

charmes, 
Ne let hob Goblins, names whose sence 

we see not, 
Fray us with things that be not : 
Let not the shriech Oule nor the Storke 

be heard, 345 

Nor the night Raven, that still deadly 

yels; 
Nor damned ghosts, cald up with mighty 

spels, 
Nor griesly vultures, make us once 

affeard : 
Ne let th' unpleasant Quyre of Frogs still 

croking 
Make us to wish theyr choking. 350 

Let none of these theyr drery accents 

sing; 
Ne let the woods them answer, nor theyr 

eccho ring. 

But let stil Silence trew night-watches 
keepe. 

That sacred Peace may in assurance 
rayne, 

And tymely Sleep, when it is tyme to 
sleepe, 355 

May poure his limbs forth on your pleas- 
ant playne ; 



L. 357-433.] 



EPITHALAMION. 



735 



The whiles an hundred little winged loves, 

Like divers-fethered doves, 

Shall fly and flutter round about your 

bed, 
And in the secret darke, that none re- 
proves, 360 
Their prety stealthes shal worke, and 

snares shal spread 
To filch away sweet snatches of delight, 
Conceald through covert night. 
Ye sounes of Venus, play your sports at 

will ! 
For greedy pleasure, carelesse of your 

toyes, 365 

Thinks more upon her paradise of joyes. 
Then what ye do, albe it good or ill. 
All night therefore attend your merry 

play, 
For it will soone be day : 
Now none doth hinder you, that say or 

sing ; 370 

Ne will the woods now answer, nor your 

Eccho ring. 

Who is the same, which at my window 

peepes ? 
Or whose is that faire face that shines so 

bright ? 
Is it not Cinthia, she that never sleepes, 
But walkes about high heaven al the 

night ? 375 

O ! fayrest goddesse, do thou not envy 
My love with me to spy : 
For thou likewise didst love, though now 

unthought, 
And for a fleece of wooll, which privily 
The Latmian shepherd once unto thee 

brought, 380 

His pleasures with thee wrought. 
Therefore to us be favorable now ; 
And sith of wemens labours thou hast 

charge. 
And generation goodly dost enlarge, 
Encline thy will t'effect our wishf all vow, 
And the chast wombe inf orme with timely 

seed, 386 

That may our comfort breed : 
Till which we cease our hopeful! hap to 

sing; 
Ne let the woods us answere, nor our 

Eccho ring. 

And thou, great Juno ! which with awful 
might 390 

The lawes of wedlock still dost patronize ; 

And the religion of the faith first plight 

With sacred rites hast taught to solem- 
nize ; 

And eeke for comfort often called art 



Of women in their smart ; 395 

Eternally bind thou this lovely band. 
And all thy blessings unto us impart. 
And thou, glad Genius ! in whose gentle 

hand 
The b rid ale bowre and geniall bed re- 

maine. 
Without blemish or staine ; 400 

And the sweet pleasures of theyr loves 

delight 
With secret ayde doest succour and 

supply. 
Till they bring forth the f ruitf ull progeny ; 
Send us the timely fruit of this same 

night. 
And thou, fayre Hebe! and thou, Hymen 

free ! 405 

Grant that it may so be. 
Til which we cease your further prayse 

to sing ; 
Ne any woods shall answer, nor your 

Eccho ring. 

And ye high heavens, the temple of the 

gods. 
In which a thousand torches flaming 

bright 410 

Doe burne, that to us wretched earthly 

clods 
In dreadful darknesse lend desired light ; 
And all ye powers which in the same re- 

mayne, 
More then we men can fayne ! 
Poure out your blessing on us plentiously, 
And happy influence upon us raine, 416 
That we may raise a large posterity, 
Which from the earth, which they may 

long possesse 
With lasting happinesse, 
Up to your h?aighty pallaces may mount ; 
And, for the guerdon of theyr glorious 

merit, 421 

May heavenly tabernacles there inherit, 
Of blessed Saints for to increase the 

count. 
So let us rest, sweet love, in hope of this. 
And cease till then our tymely joyes to 

sing : 425 

The woods no more us answer, nor our 

eccho ring! 

Song ! made in lieu of many ornaments, 
With ivhich my love should duly have 

been dect, 
Which cutting off through hasty accidents, 
Ye ivould not stay your deio time to expect, 
Bat promist hoth to recompens ; 431 

Be unto her a goodly ornament, 
And for short time an endlesse moniment ! 



736 



AN HYMNE IN HONOUR OF LOVE. 



[L. I-2I. 



FOWRE HYMNES, 

MADE BY 

EDM. SPENSER. 



TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE AND MOST VERTUOUS LADIES, 

THE LADIE MARGARET, 

COUNTESSE OF CUMBERLAND, AND 

THE LADIE MARIE, 

COUNTESSE OF WARWICKE. 



Having in the greener times of my youth, 
composed these former two Hymnes in the 
praise of Love and Beautie, and finding 
that the same too much pleased those of 
like age and disposition, which being too 
vehemently caried with that kind of 
affection, do rather sucke out poyson to 
their strong passion, then hony to their 
honest delight, I was moved by the one of 
you two most excellent Ladies, to call in 
the same. But, being unable so to doe, 
by reason that many copies thereof were 
formerly scattered abroad, I resolved at 
least to amend, and, by way of retracta- 
tion, to reforme them, making, in stead 
of those two Hymnes of earthly or nat- 
urall love and beautie, two others of 
heavenly and celestiall. The which I doe 



dedicate joyntly unto you two honorable 
sisters, as to the most excellent and rare 
ornaments of all true love and beautie, 
both in the one and the other kinde; 
humbly beseeching you to vouchsafe the 
patronage of them, and to accept this my 
humble service, in lieu of the great graces 
and honourable favours which ye dayly 
shew unto me, untill such time as I may, 
by better meanes, yeeld you some more 
notable testimonie of my thankfull mind 
and dutifull devotion. And even so I 
pray for your happinesse. Greenwich 
this first of September, 1596. Your 
Honors most bounden ever, 

in all humble service, 
ED. SP. 



AN HYMNE IN HONOUR OF LOVE. 



Love, that long since hast to thy mighty 

powre 
Perforce subdude my poore captived 

hart, 
And, raging now therein with restlesse 

stowre, 
Doest tyrannize in everie weaker part : 
Faine would I seeke to ease my bitter 

smart 5 

By any service I might do to thee. 
Or ought that else might to thee pleasing 



And now t' asswage the force of this new 

flame. 
And make thee more propitious in my 

need, 
I meane to sing the praises of thy name. 



And thy victorious conquests to areed, 11 
By which thou madest many harts to 

bleed 
Of mighty Victors, with wyde wounds 

embrewed. 
And by thy cruell darts to thee subdewed. 

Onely I feare my wits enfeebled late, 15 
Through the sharpe sorrowes which thou 

hast me bred. 
Should faint, and words should faile me 

to relate 
The wondrous triumphs of my great god- 

hed: 
But, if thou wouldst vouchsafe to over- 

spred 
Me with the shadow of thy gentle wing, 
I should enabled be thy actes to sing. 21 



L. 22-91.] 



AN HYMNE IN HONOUR OF LOVE. 



737 



Come, theu, O come, thou mightie God of 

Love, 
Out of thy silver bowres and secret blisse, 
Where thou doest sit in Venus lap above, 
Bathing thy wings in her ambrosiall 

kisse, 25 

That sweeter farre then any Nectar is ; 
Come softly, and my feeble breast inspire 
With gentle furie, kindled of thy fire. 

And ye, sweet Muses! which have often 

proved 
The piercing points of his avengefull 

darts ; 30 

And ye, f aire Nimphs ! which oftentimes 

have loved 
The cruell worker of your kindly smarts, 
Prepare your selves, and open wide your 

harts 
For.to receive the triumph of your glorie, 
That made you merie oft when ye were 

sorie. 35 

And ye, faire blossomes of youths wanton 

breed, 
Which in the conquests of your beautie 

host, 
Wherewith your lovers feeble eyes you 

feed, 
But sterve their harts that needeth nour- 

ture most, 
Prepare your selves to march amongst 

his host, 40 

And all the way this sacred hymne do 

sing. 
Made in the honor of your Soveraigne 

king. 

Great God of Might, that reignest in 

the mynd. 
And all the bodie to thy best doest 

frame, 
Victor of gods, subduer of mankynd, 45 
That doest the Lions and fell Tigers 

tame, 
Making their cruell rage thy scornefull 

game. 
And in their roring taking great delight ; 
Who can expresse the glorie of thy 

might ? 

Or who alive can perfectly declare 50 
The wondrous cradle of thine inf ancie. 
When thy great mother Venus first thee 

bare, 
Begot of Plentie and of Penurie, 
Though elder then thine owne nativitie, 
And yet a chyld, renewing still thy 

yeares, 55 

And yet the eldest of the heavenly 

Peares ? 



For ere this worlds still moving mightie 

masse 
Out of great Chaos ugly prison crept, 
In which his goodly face long hidden was 
From heavens view, and in deepe dark- 

nesse kept, 60 

Love, that had now long time securely 

slept 
In Venus lap, unarmed then and naked, 
Gan reare his head, by Clotho being 

waked : 

And, taking to him wings of his owne 

heate, 
Kindled at first from heavens life-giving 

fyre, 65 

He gan to move out of his idle seate ; 
Weakely at first, but after with desyre 
Lifted aloft, he gan to mount up hyre. 
And, like fresh Eagle, make his bardie 

flight 
Through all that great wide wast, yet 

wanting light. 70 

Yet wanting light to guide his wandring 

way. 
His owne faire mother, for all creatures 

sake. 
Did lend him light from her owne goodly 

ray; 
Then through the world his way he gan 

to take, 
The world, that was not till he did it 

make, 75 

Whose sundrie parts he from themselves 

did sever 
The which before had lyen confused ever. 

The earth, the ayre, the water, and the 

fyre, 
Then gan to raunge them selves in huge 

array. 
And with contrary forces to conspyre 80 
Each against other by all meanes they 

may, 
Threatning their owne confusion and 

decay : 
Ayre hated earth, and'water hated fyre, 
Till Love relented their rebellious yre. 

He then them tooke, and, tempering 

goodly well 85 

Their contrary dislikes with loved 

meanes, 
Did place them all in order, and compell 
To keepe them selves within their sundrie 

raines, 
Together linkt with Adamantine chaines ; 
Yet so, as that in every living wight 90 
They mixe themselves, and shew their 

kindly might. 



738 



AN HYMNE IN HONOUR OF LOVE. 



[L. 92-159. 



So ever since they firmely have remained, 
And duly well observed his beheast ; 
Through which now all these things that 

are contained 
Within this goodly cope, both most and 

least, 95 

Their being have, and dayly are increast 
Through secret sparks of his infused fyre. 
Which in the barraine cold he doth 

inspyre. 

Thereby they all do live, and moved are 

To multiply the likenesse of their 
kynd, 100 

Whilest they seeke onely, without further 
care, 

To quench the flame which they in burn- 
ing fynd ; 

But man that breathes a more immortall 
mynd. 

Not for lusts sake, but for eternitie, 

Seekes to enlarge his lasting progenie : 105 

For, having yet in his deducted spright 
Some sparks remaining of that heavenly 

fyre, 
He is enlumind with that goodly light. 
Unto like goodly semblant to aspyre ; 
Therefore in choice of love he doth 

desyre 110 

That seemes on earth most heavenly to 

embrace, 
That same is Beautie, borne of heavenly 

race. 

For sure of all that in this mortall frame 
Contained is, nought more divine doth 



Or that resembleth more th' immortall 

flame 115 

Of heavenly light, then Beauties glorious 

beame. 
What wonder then, if with such rage 

extreme 
Fraile men, whose eyes seek heavenly 

things to see, 
At sight thereof so much enravisht bee ? 

Which well perceiving, that imperious 
boy 120 

Doth therewith tip his sharp empoisned 
darts, 

Which glancing through the eyes with 
countenance coy 

Rest not till they have pierst the trem- 
bling harts. 

And kindled flame in all their inner parts, 

AVhich suckes the blood, and drinketh up 
the lyfe, 125 

Of careful! wretches with consuming 
griefe. 



Thenceforth they playne, and make ful 

piteous mone 
Unto the author of their balef nil bane: 
The dales they waste, the nights they 

grieve and grone. 
Their lives they loath, and heavens light 

disdaine ; 130 

No light but that, whose lampe doth yet 

remaine 
Fresh burning in the image of their eye. 
They deigne to see, and seeing it still dye. 

That whilst thou tyrant Love doest laugh 

and scorne 
At their complaints, making their paine 

thy play, 135 

Whylest they lye languishing like thrals 

forlorne. 
The whyles thou doest triumph in their 

decay ; 
And otherwhyles, their dying to delay. 
Thou doest emmarble the proud hart of 

her 
Whose love before their life they doe 

prefer. 140 

So hast thou often done (ay me, the 

more !) 
To me thy vassall, whose yet bleeding 

hart 
With thousand wounds thou mangled 

hast so sore, 
That whole remaines scarse any little 

part; 
Yet, to augment the anguish of my 

smart, 145 

Thou hast enfrosen her disdainefull brest. 
That no one drop of pitie there doth 

rest. 

Why then do I this honor unto thee. 
Thus to ennoble thy victorious name, 
Since thou doest shew no favour unto 

mee, 150 

Ne once move ruth in that rebellious 

Dame, 
Somewhat to slacke the rigour of my 

flame? 
Certes small glory doest thou winne 

hereby. 
To let her live thus free, and me to dy. 

But if thou be indeede, as men thee 

call, 155 

The worlds great Parent, the most kind 

preserver 
Of living wights, the soveraine Lord of 

all, 
How falles it then that with thy furious 

fervour 
Thou doest afflict as well the not-deserver, 



L. 160-228.] 



AN HYMNE IN HONOUR OF LOVE. 



739 



As him that doeth thy lovely heasts 

despize, 1(50 

And on thy subjects most doest tyrannize ? 

Yet herein eke thy glory seemeth more, 

By so hard handling those which best 
thee serve, 

That, ere thou doest them unto grace 
restore. 

Thou mayest well trie if they will ever 
swerve, 165 

And mayest them make it better to de- 
serve. 

And, having got it, may it more esteeme ; 

For things hard gotten men more 
dearely deeme. 

So hard those heavenly beauties he 

enfyred 
As -things divine, least passions doe im- 

presse, 170 

The more of stedfast myuds to be ad- 

myred. 
The more they stayed be on stedfast- 

nesse ; 
But baseborne myuds such lamps regard 

the lesse. 
Which at first blowing take not hastie 

fyre; 
Such fancies feele no love, but loose 

desyre, 175 

For love is Lord of truth and loialtie, 
Lifting himselfe out of the lowly dust 
On golden plumes up to the purest skie. 
Above the reach of loathly sinfull lust, 
AVhose base affect through cowardly 
distrust 180 

Of his weake wings dare not to heaven 

fly. 

But like a moldwarpe in the earth doth 

ly. 

His dunghill thoughts, which do them- 
selves enure 
To dirtie drosse, no higher dare aspyre, 
Ne can his feeble earthly eyes endure 185 
The flaming light of that celestiall fyre 
Which kindleth love in generous desyre, 
And makes him mount above the native 

might 
Of heavie earth, up to the heavens hight. 

Such is the powre of that sweet pas- 
sion, 190 
That it all sordid basenesse doth expell, 
And the refyned mynd doth newly fashion 
Unto a fairer forme, which now doth 

dwell 
In his high thought, that would it selfe 
excell, 



Which he beholding still with constant 

sight, 195 

Admires the mirrour of so heavenly light. 

Whose image printing in his deepest wit. 
He thereon feeds his huugrie fantasy, 
Still full, yet never satisfyde with it; 
Like Tantale, that in store doth sterved 

ly, 200 

So doth he pine in most satiety ; 
For nought may quench his infinite 

desyre. 
Once kindled through that first conceived 

fyre. 

Thereon his mynd affixed wholly is, 

Ne thinks on ought but how it to 

attaine ; 205 

His care, his joy, his hope, is all on this, 
That seemes in it all blisses to containe. 
In sight whereof all other blisse seemes 

value : 
Thrise happie man! might he the same 



He faines himselfe, and doth his fortune 
blesse. 210 

And though he do not win his wish to 

end. 
Yet thus farre happie he himselfe doth 

weene, 
That heavens such happie grace did to 

him lend, 
As thing on earth so heavenly to have 

scene 
His harts enshrined saint, his heavens 

queene, 215 

Fairer then fairest, in his fayning eye, 
AVhose sole aspect he counts felicitye. 

Then forth he casts in his unquiet thought. 
What he may do, her favour to obtaine ; 
What brave exploit, what perill hardly 

wrought 220 

What puissantconquest, what adventurous 

paine. 
May please her best, and grace unto him 

gaine ; 
He dreads no danger, nor misfortune 

feares, 
His faith, his fortune, in his breast he 

beares. 

Thou art his god, thou art his mightie 

guyde, 225 

Thou, being blind, letst him not see his 

feares, 
But cariest him to that which he hath 

eyde, 
Through seas, through flames, through 

thousand swords and speares ; 



740 



AN HYMNE IN HONOUR OF LOVE. 



[l. 229-301. 



Ne ought so strong that may his force 

withstand, 
With which thou armest his resistlesse 

hand. 230 

AVitnesse Leander in tlie Euxine waves, 
And stout iEneas in the Trojane fyre, 
Achilles preassing through ' the PJarygian 

glaives. 
And Orpheus, daring to provoke the yre 
Of damned fiends, to get his love retyre ; 
For both through heaven and hell thou 

makest way 236 

To win them worship which to thee obay. 

And if, by all these perils and these 

paynes. 
He may but purchase lyking in her eye, 
"What iieavens of joy then to himselfe he 

faynes! 240 

Eftsoones he wypes quite out of memory 
Whatever ill before he did aby: 
Had it bene death, yet would he die 

againe, 
To live thus happie as her grace to gaine. 

Yet, when he hath found favour to his 
will, 245 

He nathemore can so contented rest, 

But forceth further on, and striveth 
still 

T'approch more neare, till in her inmost 
brest 

He may embosomd bee and loved best; 

And yet not best, but to be lov'd alone ; 

For love can not endure a Paragone. 251 

The feare whereof, O how doth it torment 
His troubled mynd with more then hellish 

paine ! 
And to his fayning fansie represent 
Sights never seeue, and thousand shadowes 

vaine, 255 

To breake his sleepe, and waste his ydle 

braine : 
Thou that hast never lov'd canst not belee ve 
Least part of th' evils which poore lovers 

greeve. 

The gnawing envie, the hart-fretting 

feare. 
The vaine surmizes, the distrustfuU 

showes, 260 

The false reports that flying tales doe 

beare. 
The doubts, the daungers, the delayes, 

the woes, 
The fayned friends, the unassured foes. 
With thousands more then any tongue 

can tell, 264 

Doe make a lovers life a wretches hell. 



Yet is there one more cursed then they all, 
That cancker-worme, that monster, 

Gelosie, 
Which eates the hart and feedes upon 

the gall. 
Turning all loves delight to miserie. 
Through feare of loosing his felicitie. 270 
Ah, Gods! that ever ye that monster 

placed 
In gentle love, that all his joyes defaced ! 

By these, O Love ! thou doest thy entrance 

make 
Unto thy heaven, and doest the more 

endeere 
Thy pleasures unto those which them 

partake, 275 

As after stormes, when clouds begin to 

cleare. 
The Sunne more bright and glorious doth 

appeare ; 
So thou thy folke, through paines of 

Purgatorie 
Dost beare uuto thy blisse, and heavens 

glorie. 

There thou them placest in a Paradize 280 
Of all delight and joyous happie rest, 
Where they doe f cede on Nectar heavenly- 

wize. 
With Hercules and Hebe, and the rest 
Of Venus dearliugs, through her bountie 

blest ; 284 

And lie like Gods in yvorie beds arayd, 
With rose and lillies over them displayd. 

There with thy daughter Pleasure they 

doe play 
Their hurtlesse sports, without rebuke or 

blame. 
And in her snowy bosorae boldly lay 
Their quiet heads, devoyd of guilty 

shame, 29D 

After full joyance of their gentle game ; 
Then her they crowne their Goddesse and 

their Queene, 
And decke with lloures thy altars well 

beseene. 

Ay me! deare Lord! that ever I miffht 
hope, 294 

For all the paines and woes that I endure. 
To come at length unto the wished scope 
Of ray desire, or might myselfe assure 
That'happie port for ever to recure! 
Then would I thinke these paines no 

paines at all, 
And all my woes to be but penance small. 

Then would I sing of thine immortall 
praise 301 



L. 1-61.] AN HYMNE IN HONOUR OF BEAUTIE. 741 


An heavenly Hymne, such as the Angels 
sing, 

And thy triumphant name then would I 
raise 

Bove all the gods, thee onely honor- 
ing 


My guide, my God, my victor, and my 
king : 305 

Till then, dread Lord! vouchsafe to take 
of me 

This simple song, thus fram'd in praise of 
thee. 



AN HYMNE IN HONOUK OF BEAUTIE. 



Ah ! whither, Love ! wilt thou now carrie 

mee? 
What wontlesse fury dost thou now 

inspire 
Into my feeble breast, too full of thee ? 
Whylest seeking to aslake thy raging fyre, 
Thou in me kiudlest much more great 

desyre, 5 

And up aloft above my strength doest 

rayse 
The wondrous matter of my fyre to prayse. 

That as I earst, in praise of thine owne 

name, 
So now in honour of thy Mother deare. 
An honourable Hymne I eke should frame, 
And, with the brightnesse of her beautie 

cleare, 11 

The ravisht harts of gazefull men might 

reare 
To admiration of that heavenly light. 
From whence proceeds such soule- 

enchaunting might. 

Therto do thou, great Goddesse ! Queene 
of Beauty, 15 

Mother of love, and of all worlds delight, 

Without whose soverayne grace and 
kindly dewty 

Nothing on earth seemes fayre to fleshly 
sight. 

Doe thou vouchsafe with thy love-kin- 
dling light 

T' illuminate my dim and dulled eyne, 20 

And beautifie this sacred hymne of thyne : 

That both to thee, to whom I meane it 

most, 
And eke to her, whose faire immortall 

beame 
Hath darted fyre into my feeble ghost. 
That now it wasted is with woes extreame, 
It may so please, that she at length will 

stream e 26 

Some deaw of grace into my withered 

hart, 
After long sorrow and consuming smart. 

What time this worlds great Work- 

maister did cast 
To make al things such as we now behold, 



It seemes that he before his eyes had 
plast 31 

A goodly Paterne, to whose perfect mould 
He fashiond them as comely as he could, 
That now so faire and seemely they 

appeare. 
As nought may be amended any wheare. 35 

That wondrous Paterne, wheresoere it 

bee, 
Whether in earth layd up in secret store, 
Or else in heaven, that no man msij it see 
With sinfull eyes, for feare it to deflore, 
Is perfect Beautie, which all men adore ; 
Whose face and feature doth so much 

excell 41 

AH mortall sence, that none the same 

may tell. 

Thereof as every earthly thing partakes 
Or more or lesse, by influence" divine. 
So it more faire accordingly it makes, 45 
And the grosse matter of this earthly 

myne 
Which clotheth it thereafter doth refyne. 
Doing away the drosse which dims the 

light 
Of that faire beame which therein is 

empight. 49 

For, through infusion of celestiall powre. 
The duller earth it quickueth with delight. 
And life-full spirits privily doth powre 
Through all the parts, that to the lookers 

sight 
They seeme to please; That is thy 

soveraine might, 
O Cyprian Queene! which flowing from 

the beame 00 

Of thy bright starre, thou into them doest 

streame. 

That is the thing which giveth pleasant 

grace 
To all things faire, that kindleth lively 

fyre. 
Light of thy lampe ; which, shyning in 

the face, 
Thence to the soule darts amorous desyre. 
And robs the harts of those which it 

admyre ; 61 



742 



AN HYMNE IN HONOUR OF BEAUTIE. 



[L. 62-133. 



Therewith thou pointest thy Sons poysned 

arrow, 
That wounds the life, and wastes the 

inmost marrow. 

How vainely them doe ydle wits invent, 
That heautie is nought else but mixture 
made 65 

Of colours faire, and goodly temp'rament 
Of pure comijlexions, that shall quickly 

fade 
And passe away, like to a sommers 

shade ; 
Or that it is hut comely composition 
Of parts well measurd, with meet dis- 
position ! 70 

Hath white and red in it such wondrous 

powre, 
That it can pierce through th' eyes unto 

the hart, 
And therein stirre such rage and restlesse 

stowre. 
As nought but death can stint his dolours 

smart ? 
Or can proportion of the outward part 75 
Move such affection la the inward mynd. 
That it can rob both sense, and reason 

blynd ? 

Why doe not then the blossomes of the 

field. 
Which are arayd with much more orient 

hew, 
And to the sense most daintie odours 

yield, 80 

Worke like impression in the lookers vew ? 
Or why doe not faire pictures like powre 

shew, 
In which oft-times we nature see of art 
Exceld, in perfect limming every part ? 

But ah! beleeve me there is more then 

so, 85 

That workes such wonders in the minds 

of men ; 
I, that have often prov'd, too well it know, 
And who so list the like assayes to ken. 
Shall find by try all, and confesse it then, 
That Beautie is not, as fond men mis- 
deeme, 90 

An outward shew of things that onely 



For that same goodly hew of white and 

red. 
With which the cheekes are sprinckled, 

shal decay. 
And those sweete rosy leaves, so fairely 

spred 
Upon the lips, shall fade and fall away 95 



To that they were, even to corrupted clay : 
That golden wyre, those sparckling stars 

so bright. 
Shall turne to dust, and loose their goodly 

light. 

But that faire lampe, from whose celes- 
tiall ray 

That light proceedes, which kindle th lov- 
ers fire, 100 

Shall never be extinguisht nor decay ; 

But, when the vitall spirits doe expyre, 

Unto her native planet shall retyre ; 

For it is heavenly borne and can not die, 

Being a parcell of the purest skie. 105 

For when the soule, the which derived was, 
At first, out of that great immortall 

Spright, 
By whom all live to love, whiloine did pas 
Dowue from the top of purest heavens 

hight 
To be embodied here , it then tooke light 110 
And lively spirits from that fayrest starre 
Which lights the world forth from his 

firie carre. 

Which powre retayning still or more or 

lesse, 
When she in fleshly seede is eft enraced, 
Through every part she doth the same 

Impresse, 115 

According as the heavens have her graced, 
And frames her house, in which she will 

be placed, 
Fit for her selfe, adorning it with spoyle 
Of th' heavenly riches which she robd 

erewhyle. 

Therof it comes that these faire soules, 
which have 120 

The most resemblance of that heavenly 
light. 

Frame to themselves most beautifull and 
brave 

Their fleshly bowre, most fit for their de- 
light. 

And the grosse matter by a soveraine 
might 

Tempers so trim, that it may well be 
scene 125 

A pallace fit for such a virgin Queene. 

So every spirit, as it is most pure. 
And hath in it the more of heavenly light. 
So it the fairer bodie doth procure 
To habit in, and it more fairely dight 130 
With chearef ull grace and amiable sight ; 
For of the soule the bodie forme doth take ; 
For soule is forme, and doth the bodie 
make. 



L. 134-205.] AN HYMNE IN HONOUR OF BEAUriE. 



743 



Therefore where-ever that thou doest be- 
hold 

A comely corpse, with beautie faire en- 
dewed, 135 

Know this for certaine, that the same 
doth hold 

A beauteous soule, with faire conditions 
the wed. 

Fit to receive the seede of vertue strewed ; 

For all that faire is, is by nature good ; 

That is asigne to kuow the gentle blood. 140 

Yet oft it falles that many a gentle mynd 

Dwels in deformed tabernacle drownd, 

Either by chaunce, against the course of 
kynd, 

Or through unaptnesse in the substance 
fownd, 

Which it assumed of some stubborne 
grownd, 145 

That will not yield unto her formes di- 
rection. 

But is deform 'd with some foule imper- 
fection. 

And oft it falles, (aye me, the more to 

rew!) 
That goodly beautie, albe heavenly borne, 
Is foule abusd,and that celestiall hew, 150 
Which doth the world with her delight 

adorne. 
Made but the bait of sinne, and sinners 

scorne, 
Whilest every one doth seeke and sew to 

have it, 
But every one doth seeke but to deprave it. 

Yet nathemore is that faire beauties 
blame, 155 

But theirs that do abuse it unto ill : 
Nothing so good, but that through guilty 

shame 
May be corrupt, and wrested unto will : 
Nathelesse the soule is faire and beaute- 
ous still, 
How ever fleshes fault it filthy make ; 160 
For things immortall no corruption take. 

But ye, faire Dames! the worlds deare 
ornaments 

And lively images of heavens light. 

Let not your beames with such disparage- 
ments 

Be dimd, and your bright glorie darkned 
quight; 1()5 

But, mindfull still of your first countries 
sight, 

Doe still preserve your first informed 
grace, 

Whose shadow yet shynes in your beaute- 
ous face. 



Loath that foule blot, that hellish fier- 

brand, 
Disloiall lust faire beauties foulest 

blame, 170 

That base affections, which your eares 

would bland 
Commend to you by loves abused name. 
But is indeede the bondslave of defame ; 
Which will the garland of your glorie 

marre, 
And quench the light of your bright shyn- 

ing starre. 175 

But gentle Love, that loiall is and trew. 
Will more illumine your resplendent ray. 
And adde more brightnesse to your goodly 

hew, 
From light of his pure fire; which, by 

like way 
Kindled of yours, your likenesse doth 
display; 180 

Like as two mirrours, by opposd reflexion. 
Doe both expresse the faces first impres- 
sion. 

Therefore, to make your beautie more ap- 

peare. 
It you behoves to love, and forth to lay 
That heavenly riches which in you ye 
beare, 185 

That men the more admyre their foun- 
tain e may ; 
For else what booteth that celestiall ray. 
If it in darknesse be enshrined ever, 
That it of loving eyes be vewed never? 

But, in your choice of Loves, this well 

advize, 190 

That likest to your selves ye them select. 

The which your forms first sourse may 

sympathize, 
And with like beauties parts be inly deckt ; 
For, if you loosely love without respect, 
It is no love, but a discordant warre, 195 
Whose unlike parts amongst themselves 
do Jarre. 

For Love is a celestiall harmonie 
Of likely harts composd of starres concent. 
Which joyne together in sweete sy mpathie. 
To worke ech others joy and true con- 
tent, 200 
Which they have harbourd since their 

first descent 
Out of their heavenly bowres, where they 

did see 
And know ech other here belov'd to bee. 

Then wrong it were that any other twaine 

Should in loves gentle band combyned 

bee 205 



744 



AN HYMNE IN HONOUR OF BEAUTIE. [l. 206-277. 



But those whom heaven did at first ordaine , 
And made out of one mould the more 

t' agree ; 
For all, that like the beautie which they 

see, 
Streight do not love; for Love is not so 

light 
As streight to burne at first beholders 

sight. 210 

But they, which love indeede, looke other- 
wise, 
With pure regard and spotlesse true in- 
tent, 
Drawing out of the object of their eyes 
A more refyned forme, which they present 
Unto their mind, voide of all blemish- 
ment ; 215 

Which it reducing to her first perfection, 
Beholdeth free from fleshes frayle infec- 
tion. 

And then conforming it unto the light, 
Which in it selfe it hath remaining still, 
Of that first Sunne, yet sparckling in his 

sight, 220 

Thereof he fashions in his higher skill 
An heavenly beautie to his fancies will ; 
And, it embracing in his mind entyre, 
The mirrour of his owne thought doth ad- 

myre. 

Which seeing now so inly faire to be, 225 
As outward it appeareth to the eye, 
And with his spirits proportion to agree. 
He thereon fixeth all his fantasie, 
And fully setteth his felicitie ; 
Counting it fairer then it is indeede, 230 
And yet indeede her fairenesse doth ex- 
ceede. 

For lovers eyes more sharply sighted bee 
Then other mens, and in deare loves de- 
light 
See more then any other eyes can see, 
Through mutuall receipt of beames 
bright, 235 

Which carrie privie message to the spright, 
And to their eyes that inmost faire display, 
As plaine as light discovers dawning day. 

Therein they see, through amorous eye- 

glaunces, 
Armies of Loves still flying too and fro, 240 
Which dart at them their little fierie 

launces ; 
Whom having wounded, backe againe 

they go, 
Carrying compassion to their lovely foe ; 
Who, seeing her faire eyes so sharpe 

effect, 



Cures all their sorrowes with one sweete 
aspect. 245 

In which how many wonders doe they 

reede 
To their conceipt, that others never see! 
Now of her smiles, with which their 

soules they feede. 
Like Gods with Nectar in their bankets 

free ; 
Now of her lookes, which like to Cordials 

bee ; 250 

But when her words embassade forth 

she sends, 
Lord, how sweete musicke that unto 

them lends! 

Sometimes upon her forhead they behold 

A thousand Graces masking in delight; 

Sometimes within her eye-lids they un- 
fold 255 

Ten thousand sweet belgards, which to 
their sight 

Doe seeme like twinckling starres in 
frostie night ; 

But on her lips, like rosy buds in May, 

So many millions of chaste pleasures play. 

All those, O Cytherea! and thousands 
more 260 

Thy handmaides be, which do on thee 
attend, 

To decke thy beautie with their dainties 
store. 

That may it more to mortall eyes com- 
mend. 

And make it more admyr'd of foe and 
f rend ; 

That in mens harts thou mayst thy 
throne enstall, 265 

And spred thy lovely kingdome over-all. 

Then lo, tryumph! O great Beauties 

Queeue, 
Advance the banner of thy conquest hie. 
That all this world, the which thy vassals 
beene, 269 

May draw to thee, and with dew fealtie 
Adore the powre of thy great Majestie, 
Singing this Hymne in honour of thy 

name, 
Compyld by me, which thy poore liege- 
man am ! 

In lieu whereof graunt, O great Sover- 

aine ! 
That she, whose conquering beautie doth 

captive 275 

My trembling hart in her eternall chaine, 
One drop of grace at length will to me 

give, 



L. 1-56.] 



AN HYMNE OF HEAVENLY LOVE. 



745 



That I her bounden thrall by her may 

live, 
And this same life, which first fro me she 

reaved, 
May owe to her, of whom I it receaved. 

And you, faire Venus dearlini;", my deare 
■ dread ! ^ " 281 

Fresh riowre of grace, great Goddesse of 
my life, 



When your faire eyes these fearefuU lines 

shal read, 
Deigne to let fall one drop of dew re- 

liefe, 
That may recure my harts long pyning 

griefe, 285 

And shew what wondrous powre your 

beauty hath, 
That can restore a damned wight from 

death. 



AN HYMNE OF HEAVENLY LOVE. 



Love, lift me up upon thy golden wings. 
From this base world unto thy heavens 

bight, 
Where I may see those admirable things 
Wliich there thou workest by thy sover- 

aine miglit, 
Farre above feeble reach of earthly sight. 
That I thereof an heavenly Hymne may 

sing 6 

Unto the God of Love, high heavens king. 

Many lewd layes (ah ! woe is me the more !) 
In praise of that mad fit which fooles call 

love, 
I have in th' heat of youth made hereto- 
fore, 10 
That in liglit wits did loose affection move ; 
But all those follies now I do reprove, 
And turned have the tenor of my string, 
The heavenly prayses of true love to sing. 

And ye that wont with greedy vaine desire 
To reade my fault, and, wondring at my 

tlame, 16 

To warme your selves at mj' wide sparck- 

ling fire, 
Sith now that heat is quenched, quench 

my blame. 
And in her ashes shrowd my dying shame ; 
For who my passed follies now pursewes, 
Beginnes his owne, and my old fault re- 

uewes. 21 

Before this worlds great frame, 

in which al things 
Are now containd, found any being-place. 
Ere flitting Time could wag his eyas 

wings 
About that mightie bound which doth 

embrace " 25 

The rolling Spheres, and parts their houres 

by space. 
That High Eternall Powre, which now 

doth move 
In all these things, mov'd in it selfe by 

love. 



It lov'd it selfe, because it selfe was faire ; 
(For faire is lov'd;) and of it selfe begot. 
Like to it selfe his eldest sonne and heire, 
Eternall, pure, and voide of sin full blot, 
The firstling of his joy, in whom no jot 
Of loves dislike or pride was to be found, 
Whom he therefore with equall honour 
crownd. 35 

With him he raignd, before all time pre- 
scribed. 

In endlesse glorie and immortall might, 

Together with that third from them 
derived. 

Most wise, most holy, most almightie 
Spright! 

Whose kingdomes throne no thought of 
earthly wight " 40 

Can comprehend, much lesse my trem- 
bling verse 

With equall words can hope it to reherse. 

Yet, O most blessed Spirit! pure lampeof 

light, 
Eternall spring of grace and wisedome 

trew, 
Vouchsafe to shed into my barren spright 
Some little drop of thy celestiall dew, 4(> 
That may my rymes with sweet infuse 

embrew. 
And give me words equall unto my 

thought. 
To tell the marveiles by thy mercie 

wrought. 

Yet being pregnant still with powrefull 

grace, 50 

And full of fruitfull love, that loves to get 
Things like himselfe, and to enlarge his 

race. 
His second brood, though not in powre so 

great. 
Yet full of beautio, next he did beget 
An infinite inci'oase of Angels bright, 55 
All glistring glorious in their Makers 

light. ^ 



746 



AN HYMNE OF HEAVENLY LOVE. 



[L. 57-130. 



To them the heavens illimitable hight 
(Not this rouud heaven, wliich we from 

hence behold, 
Adornd with thousand lamps of burning 

light, 
And with ten thousand gemmes of shyn- 

ing gold,) 60 

He gave as their inheritance to hold, 
That they might serve him in eternall 

blis. 
And be partakers of those joyes of his. 

There they in their trinall triplicities 64 
About him wait, and on his will depend. 
Either with nimble wings to cut the skies, 
When he them on his messages doth send, 
•Or on his owne dread presence to attend, 
Where they behold the glorie of his light, 
And earoll Hymnes of love both day and 
night. 70 

Both day, and night, is unto them all one ; 

For he his beames doth still to them ex- 
tend. 

That darknesse there appeareth never 
none; 

Ne hath their day, ne hath their blisse, 
an end. 

But there their termelesse time in pleas- 
ure spend ; 75 

Ne ever should their happinesse decay. 

Had not they dar'd their Lord to disobay. 

But pride, impatient of long resting peace, 

Did puffe them up with greedy bold am- 
bition, 

That they gan cast their state how to 
increase 80 

Above the fortune of their first condition. 

And sit in Gods owne seat without com- 
mission: 

The brightest Angell, even the Child of 
Light, 

Drew millions more against their God to 
fight. 84 

Th' Almighty, seeing their so bold assay, 
Kindled the flame of His consuming yre. 
And with His onely breath them blew 

away 
From heavens hight, to which they did 

aspyre. 
To deepest hell, and lake of damned fyre. 
Where they in darknesse and dread hor- 
ror dwell, 90 
Hating the happie light from which they 
fell. 

o that next off-spring of the Makers 
love. 
Next to Himself e in glorious degree, 



Degendering to hate, fell from above 
Through pride, (for pride and love may 
ill agree) 95 

And now of sinne to all ensample bee : 
How then can sin full flesli itselfe assure, 
Sith purest Angels fell to be impure? 

But that Eternall Fount of love and 
grace, 99 

Still flowing forth His goodnesse unto all. 
Now seeing left a waste and emptie place 
In His wyde Pallace, through those An- 
gels fall, 
Cast to supply the same, and to enstall 
A new unknowen Colony therein, 
Whose root from earths base ground- 
worke shold begin. 105 

Therefore of clay, base, vile, and next to 
nought, 

Yet form'd by wondrous skill, and by 
His might. 

According to an heavenly patterne 
wrought. 

Which He had fashiond in his wise fore- 
sight, 

He man did make, and breathd a living 
spright 110 

Into his face most beautifull and fayre, 

Endewd with wisedomes riches, heavenly, 
rare. 

Such He him made, that he resemble 

might 
Himself e, as mortall thing immortall 

could ; 
Him to be Lord of every living wight 115 
He made by love out of His owne like 

mould, 
In whom He might His mightie selfe be- 

hould ; 
For Love doth love the thing belov'd to 

see. 
That like itselfe in lovely shape may bee. 

119 
But man, forgetfull of his Makers grace 
No lesse then Angels whom he did ensew, 
Fell from the hope of promist heavenly 

place, 
Into the mouth of death, to sinners dew, 
And all his off -spring into thraldom e 

threw. 
Where they for ever should in bonds re- 

maine 125 

Of never-dead yet ever-dying paine ; 

T!ll that great Lord of Love, which him 

at first 
Made of meere love, and after liked well, 
Seeing him lie like creature long accurst 
In that deepe horror of despeyred hell, 130 



L. 131-203.] 



AN PIYMNE OF HEAVENLY LOVE. 



747 



Him, wretch, iu doole would let no lenger 

dwell. 
But cast out of that bondage to redeeme, 
And pay the price, all were his debt ex- 

treeme. 

Out of the bosome of eternall blisse, 134 
In which he reigned with his glorious syre, 
He downe descended, like a most deniisse 
And abject thrall, in tieshes fraile attyre. 
That He for him might paysinnes deadly 
hyre, 138 

And him restore unto that happie state 
In which he stood before his haplesse fate. 

In flesh at first the guilt committed was. 
Therefore in flesh it must be satisfyde ; 
Nor spirit, nor Angell, though they man 

surpas. 
Could make amends to God for mans mis- 

guyde. 
But oneiy man himselfe, who selfe did 

slyde : 145 

So, taking flesh of sacred virgins wombe. 
For mans deare sake he did a man become. 

And that most blessed bodie, which was 

borne 
Without all blemisli or reprochfull blame. 
He freely gave to be both rent and torne 
Of cruell hands, who with despightfuU 
shame 151 

Revyling him, that them most vile be- 
came, 
At length him nayled on a gallow-tree, 
And slew the Just by most unjust decree. 

O huge and most unspeakable impression 
Of loves deepe wound, that pierst the 
piteous hart 15(> 

Of that deare Lord with so entyre affec- 
tion, 
And, sharply launching every inner 

part, 
Dolours of death into his soule did dart. 
Doing him die that never it deserved, 1(50 
To free his foes, that from his heast had 
swerved ! 

What hart can feele least touch of so sore 
launch. 

Or thought can think the depth of so 
deare wound? 

Wlvose bleeding sourse their streames yet 
never staunch 

But stil do flow, and freshly still redound, 

To heale the sores of sinfull soules un- 
sound, 1()() 

And dense the guilt of that infected 
cryme 

Which was enrooted in all fleshly slyme. 



O blessed Well of Love! O Floure of 

Grace ! 
O glorious Morning-Starre ! O Lampe of 

Light! 170 

Most lively image of thy Fathers face, 
Kternall King ot" Glorie, Lord of Might, 
Meeke Lambe of God, before all worlds 

behight. 
How can we thee requite for all this 

good ? 
Or what can prize that thy most precious 

blood ? 175 

Yet nought thou ask'st iu lieu of all this 

love. 
But love of us, for guerdon of thy paine : 
Ay me! what can us lesse then that 

behove ? 
Had he required life of us againe, 
Had it beene wrong to aske his ownewith 

gaine ? 180 

He gave us life, he it restored lost ; 
Then life were least, that us so litle cost. 

But he our life hath left unto us free. 

Free that was thrall, and blessed that 
was band ; 

Ne ought demaunds but that we loving 
bee, 185 

As he himselfe hath lov'd us afore- 
hand, 

And bound therto with an eternall band. 

Him first to love that us so dearely 
bought, 

And next our brethren, to his image 
wrought. 

Him first to love great right and reason 
is, 190 

Who first to us our life and being gave, 

And after, when we fared had amisse, 

Us wretches from the second death did 
save; 

And last, the food of life, which now we 
have. 

Even he himselfe, in his deare sacra- 
ment, 195 

To feede our hungry soules, unto us lent. 

Then next, to love our brethren, that 

were made 
Of that selfe mould, and that selfe Makers 

hand. 
That we, and to the same againe shall 

fade, 
Where they shall have like heritage of 

land, 200 

How ever here on higher steps we stand, 
Which also were with selfe-same price 

redeemed 
That we, how ever of us light esteemed. 



748 



AN HYMNE OF HEAVENLY LOVE. 



[L. 204-273. 



And were they not, yet since that loving 

Lord 
Coramaunded us to love them for his 

sake, 205 

Even for his sake, and for his sacred 

word, 
Which in his last bequest he to us spake. 
We should them love, and with their 

needs partake; 
Knowing that, whatsoere to them we 

give, 209 

We give to him by whom we all doe live. 

Such mercy he by his most holy reede 
Unto us taught, and to approve it trew, 
En sampled it by his most righteous deede. 
Shewing us mercie (miserable crew!) 
That we the like should to the wretches 
shew, 215 

And love our brethren; thereby to ap- 
prove 
How much, himself e that loved us, we 
love. 

Then rouze thy selfe, O Earth ! out of thy 

soyle. 
In which thou wallowest like to filthy 

swyne, 
And doest thy mynd in durty pleasures 

moyle, 220 

Unmindf ull of that dearest Lord of thyne ; 
Lift up to him thy heavie clouded eyne. 
That thou his soveraine bountie mayst 

behold. 
And read, through love, his mercies 

manifold. 

Beginne from first, where he encradled 

was 225 

In simple cratch, wrapt in a wad of hay, 
Betweene the toylefuU Oxe and humble 

Asse, 
And in what rags, and in how base 

aray, 
The glory of our heavenly riches lay. 
When him the silly Shepheards came to 

see, 230 

Whom greatest Princes sought on lowest 

knee. 

From thence reade on the storie of his 

life, 
His humble carriage, his unfaulty wayes, 
His cancred foes, his fights, his toyle, his 

strife. 
His paines, his povertie, his sharpe 

assay es, 235 

Through which he past his miserable 

dayes, 
Offending none, and doing good to all. 
Yet being malist both of great and small. 



And looke at last, how of most wretched 
wights 

He taken was, betrayd, and false ac- 
cused ; 240 

How with most scornef ull taunts, and fell 
despights. 

He was revyld, disgrast, and foule abused ; 

How scourgd, how crownd, how buffeted, 
how brused ; 

And lastly, how twixt robbers crucifyde, 

With bitter wounds through hands, 
through feet, and syde! 245 

Then let thy flinty hart, that feeles no 

paine, 
Empierced be with pittifull remorse. 
And let thy bowels bleede in every vaine. 
At sight of his most sacred heavenly corse, 
So torne and mangled with malicious 

f orse ; 250 

And let thy soule, whose sins his sorrows 

wrought, 
Melt into teares, and grone in grieved 

thought. 

With sence whereof, whilest so thy soft- 
ened spirit 

Is inly toucht, and humbled with meeke 
zeale 

Through meditation of his endlesse 
merit, 255 

Lift up thy mind to th' Author of thy 
weale. 

And to his soveraine mercie doe appeale ; 

Learnehim to love that loved thee so deare. 

And in thy brest his blessed image beare. 

With all thy hart, with all thy soule and 

mind, 260 

Thou must him love, and his beheasts 

embrace ; 
All other loves, with which the world 

doth blind 
Weake fancies, and stirre up affections 

base. 
Thou must renounce and utterly displace. 
And give thy selfe unto him full and 

free, 265 

That full and freely gave himselfe to thee. 

Then shalt thou feele thy spirit so possest. 
And ravisht with devouring great desire 
Of his deare selfe, that shall thy feeble 

brest 
Inflame with love, and set thee all on 

fire 270 

With burning zeale, through every part 

entire, 
That in no earthly thing thou shalt 

delight, 
But in his sweet and amiable sight. 



L. 1-49.] 



AN HYMNE OF HEAVENLY BEAUTIE. 



749 



Thenceforth all worlds desire will in thee 

dye, 
And all earthes glorie, on which men do 

gaze, 275 

Seeme durt anddrosse in thy pure-sighted 

eye, 
Compar'd to that celestiall beauties blaze, 
Whose glorious beanies all tieshly sense 

doth daze 
With admiration of their passing light, 
Blinding the eyes, and lumining the 

spright. 280 



Then sliall thy ravisht soule inspired bee 
With heavenly thoughts farre above 

humane skil, 
And thy bright radiant eyes shall plainely 

see 
Th' Idee of his pure glorie present still 
Before thy face, that all thy spirits shall 

fill 285 

With svveete enragement of celestiall 

love, 
Kindled through sight of those faire 

things above. 



AN HYMNE OF HEAVENLY BEAUTIE. 



Rapt with the rage of mine own ravisht 

thought, 
Through contemplation of those goodly 

sights, 
And glorious images in heaven wrought, 
Whose wondrous beauty, breathing sweet 

delights 
Do kindle love in high conceipted 

sprights ; 6 

I faine to tell the things that I behold, 
But feele my wits to faile, and tongue to 

fold. 

Vouchsafe then, O thou most Almightie 
Spright ! 

From whom all guifts of wit and knowl- 
edge flow, 

To shed into my breast some sparkling 
light 10 

Of thine eternall Truth, that I may show 

Some litle beames to mortall eyes below 

Of that immortall beautie, there with 
thee, 

Which in my weake distraughted mynd I 



That with the glorie of so goodly sight 15 
The hearts of men, which fondly here 

ad my re 
Faire seeming shewes, and feed on vaine 

delight. 
Transported with celestiall desyre 
Of those faire formes, may lift themselves 

up hyer, 
And learne to love, with zealous humble 

dewty, 20 

Th' eternall fountaine of that heavenly 

beauty. 

Beginning then below, with th' easie vew 
Of this base world, subject to fleshly eye, 
From thence to mount aloft, by order dew, 
To contemplation of th' immortall sky ; 25 
Of the soare faulcon so I learne to fly, 



That flags awhile her fluttering wings 

beneath. 
Till she her selfe for stronger flight can 

breath. 

Then looke, who list thy gazefull eyes to 

feed 
With sight of that is faire, looke on the 

frame 80 

Of this wyde universe, and therein 

reed 
The endlesse kinds of creatures which by 

name 
Thou canst not count, much lesse their 

natures aime; 
All which are made with wondrous wise 

respect. 
And all with admirable beautie deckt. 35 

First, th' Earth, on adamantine pillers 

founded 
Amid the Sea, engirt with brasen bands ; 
Then th' Aire still flitting, but yet firmely 

bounded 
On everie side, with pyles of flaming 

brands. 
Never consum'd, nor quencht with mortall 

hands ; 40 

And, last, that mightie shining christall 

wall. 
Wherewith he hath encompassed this All. 

By view whereof it plainly may appeare, 
That still as every thing doth upward 

tend. 
And fui;ther is from earth, so still more 

cleare 45 

And faire it growes, till to his perfect 

end 
Of purest beautie it at last ascend ; 
Ayre more then water, fire much more 

then ayre, 
And heaven then fire, appeares more pure 

and fay re. 



750 



AN HYMNE OF HEAVENLY BEAUTIE. 



[L. 50-115. 



Looke thou no further, but affixe thine 

eye 50 

On that bright shyuie round still moving 

Masse, 
The house of blessed God, which men 

call Skye, 
All sowd with glistring stars more thicke 

then grasse, 
AVhereof each other doth in brightnesse 

passe. 
But those two most, which, ruling night 

and day, 55 

As King and Queene, the heavens Empire 

sway; 

And tell me then, what hast thou ever 

seene 
That to their beautie may compared bee, 
Or can the sight that is most sharpe or 

keene 
Endure their Captains flaming head to 

see ? 00 

How much lesse those, much higher in 

degree, 
And so much fairer, and much more then 

these. 
As these are fairer then the land and 

seas? 

For f arre above these heavens, which here 

we see. 
Be others f arre exceeding these in light, 65 
Not bounded, nor corrupt, as these same 

bee, . 
But infinite in largenesse and in hight, 
Unmoviug, uncorrupt, and spotlesse 

bright. 
That need no Sunne t' illuminate their 

spheres, 
But their owne native light farre passing 

theirs. 70 

And as these heavens still by degrees arize, 

Untill they come to their first Movers 
bound, 

That in his mightie compasse doth com- 
prize, 

And Carrie all the rest with him around ; 

So those likewise doe by degrees re- 
dound, 75 

And rise more faire, till they at last arive 

To the most faire, whereto they all do 
strive. 

Faire is the heaven where happy soules 

have place. 
In full enjoyment of felicitie. 
Whence they doe still behold the glorious 

face 80 

Of the Divine EternallMajestie ; 
More faire is that, where those Ideeson hie 



Enraunged be, which Plato so admyred. 
And pure Intelligencies from God in- 
spyred. 

Yet fairer is that heaven, in which doe 
raine 85 

The soveraine Powres and mightie Poten- 
tates, 

Which in their high protections doe con- 
taine 

All mortall Princes and imperiall States ; 

And fayrer yet, whereas the royall Seates 

And heavenly Dominations are set, 90 

From whom all earthly governance is fet. 

Yet farre more faire be those bright 

Cherubins, 
Which all with golden wings are over- 

dight. 
And those eternall burning Seraphins, 
Which from their faces dart out fierie 

light ; 95 

Yet fairer then they both, and much more 

bright, 
Be th' Angels and Archangels, which 

attend 
On Gods owne person, without rest or end. 

These thus in faire each other farre excell- 
ing, 

As to the Highest they apprbch more 
neare, 100 

Yet is that Highest farre beyond all tell- 
ing, 

Fairer then all the rest which there ap- 
peare, 

Though all their beauties joynd together 
were; 

How then can mortall tongue hope to 
expresse 

The image of such endlesse perfect- 
nesse ? 105 

Cease then, my tongue! and lend unto 

my mynd 
Leave to bethinke how great that beautie 

is. 
Whose utmost parts so beautifull I fynd ; 
How much more those essentiall parts of 

his. 
His truth, his love, his wisedome, and his 

blis, 110 

His grace, his doome, his mercy, and his 

might. 
By which he lends us of himselfe a sight ! 

Those unto all he daily doth display. 
And shew himselfe in th' image of his 

grace. 
As in a looking-glasse, through which he 

may 115 



L. 1 16-182.] 



AN HYMNE OF HEAVENLY BEAUTIE. 



751 



Be seene of all his creatures vile and base, 

That are unable else to see his face, 

His glorious face ! which glistereth else so 

bright, 
That th' Angels selves can not endure his 

sight. 

But we, fraile wights! whose sight cannot 

sustaine 120 

The Suns bright beames when he on us 

doth shyne, 
But that their points rebutted backe 

againe 
Are duld, how can we see with feeble 

eyne 
The glory of that Majestic Divine, 
In sight of whom both Sun and Moone are 

darke, 125 

Compared to his least resplendent sparke ? 

The raeanes, therefore, which unto us is 

lent 
Him to behold, is on his workes to looke. 
Which he hath made in beauty excellent, 
And in the same, as in a brasen booke, 130 
To reade enregistred in every nooke 
His goodnesse, which his beautie doth de- 
clare ; 
For all thats good is beautifull and faire. 

Thence gathering plumes of perfect spec- 
ulation, 

To impe the wings of thy high flying 
mynd, 135 

Mount up aloft through heavenly contem- 
plation. 

From this darke world, whose damps the 
soule do blynd. 

And, like the native brood of Eagles 
kynd. 

On that bright Sunne of Glorie fixe thine 
eyes, 

Clear'd from grosse mists of fraile infirm- 
ities. 140 

Humbled with feare and awfull rever- 
ence, 
Before the footestoole of his Majestic 
Throw thy selfe downe, with trembling 

innocence, 
Ne dare looke up with corruptible eye 
On the dred face of that great Deity, 145 
For feare, lest if he chaunce to looke on 

thee. 
Thou turne to nought, and quite con- 
founded be. 

But lowly fall before his mercie seate, 
Close covered with the Lambes integrity 
From the just wrath of his avengefull 
threate 150 



That sits upon the righteous throne on 

His throne is built upon Eternity, 

More firme and durable then Steele or 

brasse. 
Or the hard diamond, which them both 

doth passe. 

His scepter is the rod of Righteous- 

nesse, 155 

With which he bruseth all his foes to 

dust, 
And the great Dragon strongly doth re- 

presse, 
Under the rigour of his judgement just ; 
His seate is Truth, to which the faithfuU 

trust, 
From whence proceed her beames so pure 

and bright 160 

That all about him sheddeth glorious 

light: 

Light, farre exceeding that bright blazing 

sparke 
Which darted is from Titans flaming 

head. 
That with his beames enlumineth the 

darke 
And dampish aire, whereby al things are 

red ; 165 

Whose nature yet so much is marvelled 
Of mortall wits, that it doth much amaze 
The greatest wisards which thereon do 

gaze. 

But that immortall light, which there doth 

shine, 
Is many thousand times more bright, 

more cleare, 170 

More excellent, more glorious, more 

divine, 
Through which to God all mortall actions 

here, 
And even the thoughts of men, do plaine 

appeare ; 
For from th' Eternal Truth it doth pro- 
ceed, 
Through heavenly vertue which her 

beames doe breed. 175 

With the great glorie of that wondrous 

His throne is all encompassed around. 
And hid in his owne brightnesse from the 

sight 
Of all that looke thereon with eyes un- 
sound ; 
And underneath his feet are to be found 180 
Thunder, and lightning, and tempestuous 

fyre, 
The instruments of his avenging yre. 



752 



AN HYMNE OF HEAVENLY BEAUTIE. [l. 183-252. 



There in his bosoine Sapieuce doth sit, 

The soveraine dearliiig of tlie Deity, 

Clad like a Queeue iu royall robes, most 
fit 185 

For so great powre and peerelesse maj- 
esty, 

And all with gemmes and jewels gor- 
geously 

Adornd, that brighter then the starres 
appeare. 

And make her native brightnes seem more 
cleare. 

And on her head a crowne of purest 
gold 190 

Is set, in signe of highest soveraignty ; 
And in her hand a scepter she doth hold. 
With which she rules the house of God on 

And menageth the ever-moving sky, 
And in the same these lower creatures 
all 195 

Subjected to her powre imperiall. 

Both heaven and earth obey unto her will. 
And all the creatures which they both 

containe ; 
For of her fulnesse which the world doth 

fill 
They all partake, and do in state re- 

maine 200 

As their great Maker did at first ordaine. 
Through observation of her high beheast, 
By which they first were made, and still 

increast. 

The fairenesse of her face no tongue can 

tell; 
For she the daughters of all wemens 

race, 205 

And Angels eke, in beautie doth excell, 
Sparkled on her from Gods owne glorious 

face. 
And more increast by her owne goodly 

grace, 
That it doth farre exceed all humane 

thought, 
Ne can on earth compared be to ought. 210 

Ne could that Painter (had he lived yet) 
Which pictured Venus with so curious 

quill, 
That all postei-itie admyred it, 
Have purtrayd this, for all his maistring 

skill ; 
Ne she her selfe, had she remained 

still, 215 

And were as faire as fabling wits do 

fayne. 
Could once come neare this beauty sover- 

ayne. 



But had those wits, the wonders of their 
dayes, 

Or that sweete Teian Poet, which did 
spend 

His plenteous vaine in setting forth her 
prayse, 220 

Scene but a glims of this which I pretend, 

How wondrously would he her face com- 
mend. 

Above that Idole of his fayning thought, 

That all the world shold with his rimes 
be fraught ! 

How then dare I, the novice of his Art, 225 
Presume to picture so divine a wight. 
Or hope t' expresse her least perfections 

part. 
Whose beautie fiUes the heavens with her 

light. 
And darkes the earth with shadow of her 

sight? 
Ah, gentle Muse ! thou art too weake and 

faint 230 

The pourtraict of so heavenly hew to 

paint. 

Let Angels, which her goodly face behold 
And see at will, her soveraigne praises 

sing, 
And those most sacred mysteries unfold 
Of that faire love of mightie heavens 

King ; 235 

Enough is me t' admyre so heavenly 

thing. 
And, being thus with her huge love pos- 

sest, 
In th' only wonder of her selfe to rest. 

But who so may, thrise happie man him 

hold. 
Of all on earth whom God so much doth 

grace, 240 

And lets his owne Beloved to behold ; 
For in the view of her celestiall face 
All joy, all blisse, all happinesse, have 

place ; 
Ne ought on earth can want unto the 

wight 
Who of her selfe can win the wishful! 

sight. 245 

For she, out of her secret threasury 
Plentie of riches forth on him will powre, 
Even heavenly riches, which there hidden 

ly 

Within the closet of her chastest bowre, 
Th' eternall portion of her precious 

dowre, 250 

Which mighty God hath given to her free, 
And to all those which thereof worthy 

bee. 



L. 253-301.] AN HYMNE OF HEAVENLY BEAUTIE. 



753 



None thereof worthy be, hut those whom 

shee 
Vouchsafeth to her presence to receave, 
And letteth them her lovely face to see, 
Whereof such wondrous pleasures they 

conceave, 256 

And sweete contentment, that it doth 

bereave 
Their soule of sense, through infinite 

delight. 
And them transport from flesh into the 

spright. 

In which they see such admirable things. 
As carries them into an extasy, 261 

And heare such heavenly notes and 

carolings, 
Of Gods high praise, that filles the brasen 

sky; 
And feele such joy and pleasure inwardly, 
That maketh them all worldly cares 

forget, 265 

And onely thinke on that before them set. 

Ne from thenceforth doth any fleshly 

sense. 
Or idle thought of earthly things, re- 

maine ; 
But all that earst seemd sweet seemes 

now offense. 
And all that pleased earst now seemes 

to paine; 270 

Their joy, their comfort, their desire, 

their gaine, 
Is fixed all on that which now they see ; 
All other sights but fayned shadowes bee. 

And that faire lampe, which useth to 

inflame 
The hearts of men with selfe-consuming 

fyre 275 

Thenceforth seemes fowle, and full of 

sinfull blame; 
And all that pompe to which proud 

minds aspyre 



By name of honor, and so much desyrc, 
Seemes to them basenesse, and all riches 

drosse, 
And all mirth saduesse, and all lucre 

losse. 280 

So full their eyes are of that glorious 
sight, 

And senses fraught with such satietie, 

That in nought else on earth they can 
delight, 

But in th' aspect of that felicitie. 

Which they have written in their in- 
ward ey; 285 

On which they feed, and in their fastened 
mynd 

All happie joy and full contentment fynd. 

Ah, then, my hungry soule! which long 

hast fed 
On idle fancies of thy foolish thought. 
And, with false beauties flattring bait 

misled, 290 

Hast after vaine deceiptfull shadowes 

sought. 
Which all are fled, and now have left 

thee nought 
But late repentance through thy follies 

prief ; 
Ah! ceasse to gaze on matter of thy 

grief : 

And looke at last up to that Soveraine 

Light, 295 

From whose pure beams al perfect beauty 

springs, 
That kindleth love in every godly spright 
Even the love of God ; which loathing 

brings 
Of this vile world and these gay-seeming 

things; 
With whose sweete pleasures being so 

possest, 300 

Thy straying thoughts henceforth for 

ever rest. 



PROTHALAMION. 



OR, 



A SPOUSALL VERSE, 



MADE BY 

EDM. SPENSER, 

IN HONOUR OF THE DOUBLE MARIAGB OF THE TWO HONORABLE AND VERTUOUS 
LADIES, THE LADIE ELIZABETH, AND THE LADIE KATHERINE SOMERSET, 
DAUGHTERS TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE EARLE OF WORCESTER, AND 
ESPOUSED TO THE TWO WORTHIE GENTLEMEN M, HENRY GILFORD, AND 
M. WILLIAM PETER, ESQUYERS. 



Calme was the day, and through the 

trembling ayre 
Sweete-breathing Zephyrus did softly 

play 
A gentle spirit, that lightly did delay 
Hot Titans beanies, which then did glyster 

fayre ; 
When I, (whom sullein care, 5 

Through discontent of my long fruitlesse 

stay 
In Princes Court, and expectation vayne 
Of idle hopes, which still doe fly away. 
Like empty shaddowes, did afflict my 

brayne,) 
Walkt forth to ease my payne 10 

Along the shoare of silver streaming 

Themmes ; 
Whose rutty Bancke, he which his River 

hemmes 
Was paynted all with variable flowers. 
And all the meades adornd with daintie 

gemmes 
Fit to decke raaydens bowres, 15 

And crowne their Paramours 
Against the Brydale day, which is not 

long: 
Sweete Themmes! runne softly, till I 

end my Song. 

There, in a Meadow, by the Rivers side, 
A Flocke of Nymphes I.chaunced to 

espy, 20 

All lovely Daughters of the Flood thereby. 
With goodly greenish locks, all loose 

untyde, 
As each had bene a Bryde ; 
And each one had a little wicker basket. 
Made of fine twigs, entrayled curiously. 
In which they gathered flowers to fill 

their flasket, 26 

And with fine Fingers cropt full f eateously 
The tender stalkes on hye. 



Of every sort, which in that Meadow 

grew. 
They gathered some; the Violet, pallid 

blew, 30 

The little Dazie, that at evening closes. 
The virgin Lillie, and the Primrose trew, 
With store of vermeil Roses, 
To decke their Bridegromes posies 
Against the Brydale day, which was not 

long : 35 

Sweete Themmes! runne softly, till I 

end my Song. 

With that I saw two Swannes of goodly 

hewe 
Come softly swimming downe along the 

Lee; 
Two fairer Birds I yet did never see ; 
The snow, which doth the top of Pindus 

strew, 40 

Did never whiter shew. 
Nor Jove himselfe, when he a Swan 

would be, 
For love of Leda, whiter did appeare ; 
Yet Leda was (they say) as white as he, 
Yet not so white as these, nor nothing 

neare ; 45 

So purely white they were. 
That even the gentle streame, the which 

them bare, 
Seem'd foule to them, and bad his 

billowes spare 
To wet their silken feathers, least they 

might 
Soyle their fayre plumes with water not 

so fayre, 50 

And marre their beauties bright, 
That shone as heavens light, 
Agahist their Brydale day, which was 

not long: 
Sweete Themmes! runne softly, till I 

end my Song. 



754 



L. 55-128.] 



PROTHALAMION. 



755 



Eftsoones the Nymphes, which now had 

Flowers their fill, 55 

Rau all iu haste to see that silver hrood, 
As thev came floating on the Christal 

Flood ; 
Whom Avhen they sawe, they stood 

amazed still, 
Their wondriug eyes to fill; 
Them seem'd they never saw a sight so 

fay re, 60 

Of Fowles, so lovely, that they sure 

did deeme 
Them heavenly borne, or to be that same 

payre 
Which through the Skie draw Venus 

silver Teeme; 
For sure they did not seeme 
To be begot of any earthly Seede, 65 

But rather Angels, or of Angels breede ; 
Yet were they bred of Somers-heat, they 

say. 
In sweetest Season, when each Flower 

and weede 
The earth did fresh ax-ay ; 
So fresh they seem'd as day, 70 

Even as their Brydale day, which was 

not long: 
Sweete Themmes! runne softly, till I 

end my Song. 

Then forth they all out of their baskets 

drew 
Great store of Flowers, the honour of the 

field. 
That to the sense did fragrant odours 

yeild, 75 

All which upon those goodly Birds they 

threw 
And all the Waves did strew, 
That like old Peneus Waters they did 

seeme, 
When downe along by pleasant Tempes 

shore, 
Scattred with Flowres, through Thessaly 

they streeme, 80 

That they appeare, through Lillies plen- 
teous store, 
Like a Brydes Chamber flore. 
Two of those Nymphes, meane while, two 

Garlands bound 
Of freshest Flowres which in that Mead 

they found, 
The which presenting all in trim Array, 85 
Their snowie Foreheads therewithal! they 

crownd, 
Whil'st one did sing this Lay, 
Prepar'd against that Day, 
Against their Brydale day, which was 

not long: 
Sweete Themmes! runne softly, till I 

end my Song. 90 



' Ye gentle Birdes ! the worlds faire orna- 
ment. 
And heavens glorie, whom this happie 

hower 
Doth leade unto your lovers blisfull 

bower, 
Joy may you have, and gentle hearts 

content 
Of your loves couplement; 95 

And let faire Venus, that is Queene of 

love. 
With her heart-quelling Sonne upon you 

smile, 
Whose smile, they say, hath vertue to 

remove 
All Loves dislike, and friendships faultie 

guile 
For ever to assoile. 100 

Let eudlesse Peace your steadfast hearts 

accord, 
And blessed Plentie wait upon your bord ; 
And let your bed with pleasures chast 
• abound. 

That fruitful! issue may to you afford, 
Which may your foes confound, 105 

And make your joyes redound 
Upon your Brydale day, which is not 

long : 
Sweete Themmes! runne softlie, till I 

end my Song.' 

So ended she ; and all the rest around 
To her redoul^led that her undersong, 110 
Which said their brydale daye should not 

be long : 
And gentle Eccho from the neighbour 

ground 
Their accents did resound. 
So forth those joyous Birdes did passe 

along, 
Adowne the Lee, that to them murmurde 

low, 115 

As he would speake, but that he lackt a 

tong. 
Yet did by signes his glad affection show, 
Making his stream e run slow. 
And all the foule which in his flood did 

dwell 
Gan flock about these twaine, that did 

excel! 120 

The rest, so far as Cynthia doth shend 
The lesser starres. So they, enranged well, 
Did on those two attend, 
And their best service lend 
Against their wedding day, which was 

not long : 125 

Sweete Themmes ! run softly, till I end 

my Song. 

At length they all to mery London came, 
To mery London, my most kyndly Nurse, 



756 



PROTHALAMION. 



[l. 129-180, 



That to me gave this Lifes first native 

sourse," 
Though from another j)lace I take my 

uame, 130 

An house of auucieut fame : 
There when they came, whereas those 

bricky towres 
The which on Tliemmes brode agedbacke 

doe ryde, 
Where now the studious Lawyers have 

their bowers, 
There whylorae wont the Templer Knights 

to byde, 135 

Till they decayd through pride : 
Next whereunto there standes a stately 

place, 
Where oft I gayned giftes and goodly 

grace 
Of that great Lord, which therein wont 

to dwell, 
Whose want too well now feeles my 

freendles case ; 140 

But ah ! here fits not well ' 

Olde w^oes, but joyes, to tell 
Against the bridale daye, which is not 

long: 
Sweete Themmes! runue softly, till I 

end my Song. 

Yet therein now doth lodge a noble 

Peer, 145 

Great Englands glory, and the Worlds 

wide wonder. 
Whose dreadfull name late through all 

Spaine did thunder, 
And Hercules two pillors standing neere 
Did make to quake and f eare : 
Faire branch of Honor, flower of Cheval- 

rie ! 150 

That fiUest England with thy triumphes 

fame, 
Joy have thou of thy noble victorie. 
And endlesse happinesse of thine owns 



That promiseth the same ; 

That through thy prowesse, and victori- 
ous armes, 155 

Thy country may be freed from forraine 
harmes ; 

And great Elisaes glorious name may 
ring 

Through al the world, fil'd with thy wide 
Alarmes, 

Which some brave muse may sing 

To ages following. 160 

Upon the Brydale day, which is not long: 
Sweete Themmes! runne softly, till I 
end my Song. 

From those high Towers this noble Lord 

issuing. 
Like Radiant Hesper, when his golden 

hay re 
In th' Ocean billowes he hath bathed 

fayre, 165 

Descended to the Rivers open vewing, 
With a great traine ensuing. 
Above the rest were goodly to bee scene 
Two gentle Knights of lovely face and 

feature, 
Beseeming well the bower of anie 

Queene, 170 

With gifts of wit, and ornaments of nature, 
Fit for so goodly stature. 
That like the twins of Jove they seem'd 

in sight, 
Which decke the Bauldricke of the Heav- 
ens bright ; 
They two, forth pacing to the Rivers 

side, 175 

Received those two faire Brides, their 

Loves delight ; 
Which, at th' appointed tyde, 
Each one did make his Bryde 
Against their Brydale day, which is not 

long: 
Sweete Themmes! runne softly, till I 

end my Song. 180 



SONNETS 



WRITTEN BY SPENSER, 

COLLECTED FROM THE ORIGINAL PUBLICATIONS IN WHICH THEY APPEARED. 



I. 

To the right worshipfull my sinr/vlar 
good f rend, M. Gabriell Harvey, Doctor 
of the Lawes. 

Harvey, the happy above happiest men 
I read ; that, sitting like a Looker-on 



Of this worldes Stage, doest note with 

critique pen 
The sharpe dislikes of each condition : 
And, as one carelesse of suspition, 
Ne fawnest for the favour of the great; 
Ne fearest foolish reprehension 
Of faulty men, which daunger to thee 

threat : 



SONNETS. 



757 



But freely doest, of what thee list, entreat, 
Like a great Lord of peerelesse liberty ; 
Lilting the Good np to high Honours seat, 
And the Evill damning evermore to dy : 
For Life, and Death, is iu thy doome- 

full writing ! 
So thy renowme lives ever by endight- 

iug. 
Dublin, this xviij. ofJuly. 15SC>. 

Your devoted frend, during life, 
Edmund Spencer. 



{Prefixed to ' Nennio, or A Treatise of 
Nobility,' &c.) 

Who so wil seeke, by right deserts, t' at- 

taine. 
Unto the type of true Nobility ; 
And not by painted shewes, and titles 

vaine, 
Derived farre from famous Auucestrie : 
Behold them both in their right visnomy 
Here truly pourtray'd, as they ought to be. 
And striving both for termes of dignitie. 
To be advanced highest in degree. 
And, when thou doost with equall insight 

see 
The ods twixt both, of both them deem 

aright, 
And chuse the better of them both to thee, 
But thanks to him, that it deserves, be- 

hight ; 
To Nenna first, that first this worke 

created, 
And next to Jones, that truely it trans- 
lated. 

Ed. Spenser. 
III. 

Upon the Historie of George Castriot, alias 
Scanderbeff, king of the Epirots, trans- 
lated into English. 
Wlierefore doth vaine antiquitie so vaunt 
Her ancient monuments of mightie peeres, 
Ajid old Heroes, which their world did 

daunt 
With their great deedes, and fild their 
childrens eares ? 



Who, rapt with wonder of their famous 

praise, 
Admire their statues, their Colossoes 

great 
Their rich triumphall Arcks which they 

did raise, 
Their huge Pyramids, which do heaven 

threat. 
Lo ! one, whom later age hath brought to 

light, 
Matchable to the greatest of those great ; 
Great both by name, and great in power 

and might. 
And meriting a meere triumphant seate. 
The scourge of Turkes, and plague of 

infidels, 
Thy acts, O Scauderbeg, this volume 

tels. 

Ed. Spenser. 

IV. 

{Prefixed to ' The Commonwealth and 
Government of Venice.') 

The antique Babel, Empresse of the East, 
Upreard her buildinges to the threatned 

skie: 
And second Babell, tyrant of the West, 
Her ayry Towers upraised much more 

high. 
But, with the weight of their own surque- 

dry, 
They both are fallen, that all the earth 

did feare, 
And buried now in their own ashes ly ; 
Yet shewing, by their heapes, how great 

they were. 
But in their place doth now a third ap- 

peare, 
Fayre Venice, flower of the last worlds 

delight ; 
And next to them in beauty draweth 

neare. 
But farre exceedes iu policie of right. 
Yet not so fayre her buildinges to 

behold 
As Lewkenors stile that hath her beau- 
tie told. 

Edm. Spencer. 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 

DISCOURSED BY WAY OF A DIALOGUE BETWEENE 

EUDOXUS AND IREN^US. 



Eudox. 
But yf that countrey of Ireland, whence 
you lately came, be soe goodly and com- 
modious a soyle, as ye report, I wonder 
that noe course is taken for the tourning 
therof to good uses, and reducing of that 
savadge nation to better government and 
civilitye. 

Iren. Marry, soe there have beene 
divers good plottes devised, and wise 
counsells cast alleready about reforma- 
tion of that realme ; but they say, it is 
the fatall desteny of that land, that noe 
purposes, whatsoever are meant for her 
good, will prosper or take good effect, 
which, whether it proceede from the very 
Genius of the soyle, or influence of the 
starres, or that Allraighty God hath not 
yet appoynted the time of her reforma- 
tion, or that he reserve th her in this 
unquiett state still for some secrett 
scourdge, which shall by her come unto 
England, it is hard to be knowen, but 
yet much to be feared. 

Eudox. Surely I suppose this but a 
vayne conceit of simple men, which judge 
thinges by they re effectes, and not by 
theyre causes ; for I will rather thinke the 
cause of this evill, which hangeth upon 
that countrey, to proceede rather of the 
unsoundness of the counsells, and plottes, 
which you say have beene oftentimes 
layed for the reformation, or of fayntness 
in following and effecting the same, then 
of any such fatall course or appoyntment 
of God, as you misdeeme : but it is the 
manner of men, that when they are fallen 
into any absurditye, or theyr actions suc- 
ceede not as they would, they are ready 
allwayes to impute the blame therof unto 
the heavens, soe to excuse their owns 
follyes and imperfectiones. Soe have I 
allso heard it often wished, (even of some 
whose greate wisedomes, in my opinion, 
should seeme to judge more soundly of 
soe weighty a consideration) that all that 
land were a sea-poole : which kind of 
speach, is the manner rather of desperat 
men farr driven, to wishe the utter mine 
of that they cannot redress, then of grave 



counsellors, which ought to thinke nothing 
soe hard but that, through wysedome, 
it may be mastred and subdued; since 
the Poet sayeth, that * the wyse man shall 
rule even over the starres,' much more 
over the earth ; for were it not the part 
of a desperat phisition to wish his dis- 
eased patient dead, rather then to applye 
the best endevours of his skill for his 
recovery. But since we arre so farre 
entred, let us, I pray you, a litle devise, 
of those evills, by which that countrey 
is held in this wretched case, that it can- 
not (as you say) be recured. And yf it 
be not paynfull to you, tell us what 
thinges, during your late continuaunce 
there, you observed to be most offensive, 
and an empeachement unto the good rule 
and government therof. 

Iren. Surely, Eudox., the evills which 
you desire to be recounted are very many, 
and allmost countable with those that 
were hidden in the baskett of Pandora. 
But since ye soe please, I will out of that 
infinit number, recken but some that are 
most capitall, and commonly current both 
in the life and conditions of privat men, 
as also in the managing of pub lick af- 
fayres and pollicye, the which you shall 
understand to be of diverse natures, as I 
observed them: for some of them are of 
very great antiquitye and longe contin- 
uaunce ; others more late and of lesse en- 
duraunce; others dayly growing and 
encreasing continually as the evill occa- 
sions are every day offered. 

Eudox. Tell them then, I pray you, in 
the same order that you have now re- 
hearsed them ; for there can be noe better 
methode then this which the very matter 
it self offereth. And when ye have 
reckned all the evills, lett us heare your 
opinion for redressing of them : after 
which there will perhaps of it self appeare 
some reasonable way to settle a sound 
and perfect rule of government, by shun- 
ning the former evills, and following the 
offred good. The which methode we may 
learne of the wise Phisitions, which first 
require that the malady be knowen 



758 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



759 



throughly, and discovered ; afterwardes 
doe teach how to cure and redress it ; and 
lastly doe prescribe a diett with straight 
rule and orders to be dayly observed, for 
feare of a relapse iuto the former disease, 
or falling into some other more daunger- 
ous then'it. 

Ireyi. I will then, according to your 
advisement, beginne to declare the evills, 
which seeme to me most hurtfull to the 
common-weale of that land ; and first, 
those which I sayd were most auncient and 
long gro wen. And they allso are of three 
kindes ; the first in the Lawes, the second 
in Customes, and the third in Religion. 

Eudox. Why, Ireuseus, can there be 
any evill in the Lawes? can thinges, 
which are ordajTied for the good and 
safetye of all, turne to the evill and hurt 
of them? This well I wote, both in that 
state and in all others, that were they not 
contayned in duty with feare of law, 
which restrayneth offences, and inflicteth 
sharpe punishment to misdoeres, no man 
should enjoy any thing ; every mans hand 
would be agaynst another. Therfore, 
in finding fault with the lawes, I doubt 
me; you shall much over-shoote your self, 
and make me the more dislike your other 
dislikes of that government. 

Iren. The lawes, Eudox., I doe not 
blame for themselves, knowing right well 
that all lawes are ordayned for the good 
of the common-weale, and for repressing 
of licentiousness and vice ; but it falleth 
out in lawes, no otherwise then it doth in 
phisick, which was at first devised, and 
is yet dayly ment, and ministred for the 
health of the patient. But neverthelesse 
we often see, that either through igno- 
raunce of the dysease, or through unsea- 
sonableness of the time , or other accidentes 
coming between, in steede of good, it 
worketh hurt, and, out of one evill, 
throweth the patient into many miseryes. 
Soe the lawes were at fii'st intended for 
the reformation of abuses, and peaceable 
continuaunce of the subjectes; but are 
sithence either disanulled, or quite pre- 
varicated through chaunge and altera- 
tions of times, yet are they good still in 
themselves ; but to that commonwealth, 
which is ruled by them, they woorke not 
that good which they should, and some- 
times also, perhaps, that evill which they 
would not. 

Eudox. Whether do you meane this 
by the common-law of the realme, or by 
the Statute Lawes, and Actes of Parlya- 
ments ? 

Iren. Surely by them both; for even 



the common-law, being that which Will- 
iam of Normandy brought in with his 
conquest and layed upon the neck of Eng- 
land, though it perhaps fitted well with 
the state of England then being, and was 
readely obayed through the power of the 
commander, which had before subdued 
the people unto him, and made easy way 
to the setling of his will ; yet with the 
state of Ireland peradventure it doth not 
so well agree, being a people altogither 
stubborne, and untamed, cr yf it were 
ever tamed, yet now lately having quite 
shaken of theyr yoke, and broken the 
bandes of theyre obedience. For Eng- 
land (before the entraunce of the Con- 
querour) was a peaceable kingdome, and 
but lately entred to the mild and goodly 
government of K. Edward, surnamed the 
Confessour ; besides now lately growen 
unto a lothing and detestation of the un- 
just and tyrannoias rule of Harold, an 
usurper, which made them the more will- 
ing to accept of any reasonable conditions 
and order of the new victor, thinking 
surely that it could be noe worse then 
the later, and hoping well it would be as 
good as the former : yet what the proof 
of the first bringing in and establish- 
ing of those lawes hath beene, was after 
to many full bitterly made knowen. But 
with Ireland it is farr otherwise, for it is 
a nation ever acquaynted with warres, 
though but amongest themselves, and in 
theyre owne kind of mylitary discipline, 
trayned up ever from theyr youthes; 
which they have never yet beene taught 
to lay aside, nor made to learne obedience 
unto lawe, scarcely to know the name of 
lawe, but in steede therof have always 
preserved and kept thej^r owne lawe, 
which is the Brehoone lawe. 

Eudox. What is that which ye call the 
Brehoone Lawe ? it is a word to us alto- 
gither unknowen. 

Iren. It is a certayne rule of right un- 
written, but delivered by tradition from 
one to another, in which oftentimes there 
appeareth greate shewe of equitye, in 
determining the right betweene party and 
partye, but in many thinges repugning 
quite both to God and mans lawe: as for 
example, in the case of murder, the Bre- 
hoou, that is theyr judge, will compound 
betweene the murderer and the frendes 
of the party murthered, which prosecute 
the action, that the malefactor shall give 
unto them, or to the child or wife of him 
that is slayne, a recompence, which they 
call a Breaghe; by which bi lawe of 
theyrs, many murders are amongest them 



76o 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



made up and smoothered. And this 
judge being (as he is called) the Lordes 
Brehoon, adjudgeth for the most part a 
better share unto his lord, that is the lord 
of the soyle, or the head of that sept, and 
also unto himself, for his judgement, a 
greater portion then unto the playntiff or 
party es greeved. 

Eudox. This is a most wicked lawe 
indeed ; but I trust it is not now used in 
Ireland since the kinges of England have 
had the absolute dominion thereof, and 
established theyr owne lawes there. 

Iren. Yes, truly, for there be many 
wide countryes in Ireland in which the 
lawes of England were never established, 
nor any acknowledgment of subjection 
made; and also even in those that are 
subdued, and seeme to acknowledge sub- 
jection, yet the same Brehoone lawe is 
practised amongst themselves, by reason, 
that dwelling as they doe, whole nations 
and septs of the Irish togither, without 
any Englishman amongest them, they may 
doe what they list, and compound or alto- 
gither conceal amongest themselves theyr 
owne crimes, of which noe notice can be 
had by them which would and might 
amend the same, by the rule of the lawes 
of England. 

Eudox. What is this which you say? 
And is there any part of that realme or 
any nation therin, which have not yet 
bene subdued to the crowne of England ? 
Did not the whole realme universally ac- 
cept and acknowledge our late prince of 
famous memory, Henry the Eighth, for 
theyr only king and liedge lord ? 

Iren. Yes, verely: in a Parliament 
houlden in the time of Sir Antony Sent- 
Leger, then Lord Deputye, all the Irish 
lordes and principall men came in, and 
being by sure meanes wrought therunto, 
acknowledged King Henry for theyr sov- 
erayne lord, reserving yet (as some say) 
unto themselves all theyr owne former 
priviledges and segiiioryes inviolate. 

Eudox. Then by that acceptaunce of his 
sovereynty they also accepted of his lawes. 
Why then should any other lawes be now 
used amongest them ? 

Iren. True it is that thereby they 
bound themselves to his lawes and obedi- 
ence, and in case it had bene followed 
upon them, as it should have bene, and a 
government therupon presently setled 
amongest them agreable thereunto, they 
should have bene reduced to perpetuall 
civilitye, and contayned in continuall 
dutye. But what bootes it to breake a 
colt, and to lett him straight runn loose 



at randome. Soe were this people at first 
well handled, and wisely brought to ac- 
knowledge alleageaunce to the Kinges of 
England ; but being straight left unto 
themselves and theyr ovrne inordinate life 
and manners, they eftsoones forgott what 
before they were taught, and soe soone as 
they were out of sight by themselves, 
shooke of theyr bridels, and began to colt 
anew, more licentiously then before. 

Eudox. It is a great pitty, that soe good 
an opportunitye was omitted, and soe 
happy an occasion fore-staid, that might 
have bredd the eternall good of that land. 
But doe they not still acknowledge that 
submission ? 

Iren. Now they doe not; for now the 
heyres and posteritye of them which 
yeelded the same are (as they say) either 
ignoraunt therof, or doe willfully denye 
or stedfastly disavowe it. 

Eudox. How can they doe soe justly ? 
Doth not the act of the parent, in any law- 
full graunt or conveyaunce, bind the 
heyres for ever thereunto? Since then 
the auncestours of those that now live 
yeelded themselves then subjectes and 
iiedgemen, shall it not tye theyr children 
to the same subjection? 

Iren. They say no ; for theyr aunces- 
tours had noe estate in any theyre landes, 
signoryes, or hereditamentes, longer then 
during theyr owne lives, as they alledge, 
for all the Irish doe hold theyr landes by 
Tanistrye; which is (as say they) noe 
more then a personall estate for his life 
time, that is, Tanistih, by reason that he 
is admitted therunto by election of the 
countrey. 

Eudox. What is this that you call 
Tanistih and Tanistrye ? They be names 
and termes never hard of nor knowen to 
us. 

Iren. It is a custome among all the 
Irish, that presently after the death of 
any theyr cheif Lordes or Captaynes, they 
doe presently assemble themselves to a 
place, generally appoynted and knowen 
unto them, to choose another in his steede ; 
where they doe nominate and elect, for 
the most part, not the eldest sonn, nor any 
of the children of theyre Lord deceased, 
but the next to him of blood, that is the 
eldest and woorthyest ; as commonly the 
next brother to him yf he have any, or 
the next cossin germayne, or soe foorth, 
as any is elder in that kinred or sept, 
ai;d then next to him they choose the next 
of blond to be Tanistih, whoe shall next 
succeede him in the sayd Captaynrye, yf 
he live thereunto. 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



761 



Eudox. Doe they not use any cere- 
monyes in this election ? for all barbarous 
nations are commonly great observers of 
ceremonyes and superstitious rites. 

Iren. Thej' use to place him that shalbe 
theyr Captayue, uppon a stone all way es 
reserved for that purpose, and placed 
commonly upon a hill : in many of the 
which I have seene the foote of a man 
formed and engraven, which they say was 
the measure of theyr first Captayns foote, 
wheron he standing receaveth an oth to 
preserve all the former auncient customes 
of the countrey inviolable, and to deliver' 
up the succession peaceably to his Tan- 
istih, and then hath a wand delivered unto 
him by some whose proper office that is ; 
after which, discending from the stone, 
he turneth himself round aboute, thrise 
forward, and thrise backward. 

Eudox. But how is the Tanistih chosen ? 

Iren. They say he setteth but one foote 
upon the stone, and receaveth the like othe 
that the Captayue did. 

Eudox. Have you ever hard what was 
the occasion and first beginning of this 
custome? for it is good to knowe the 
same, and may perhaps discover some 
secrett meaning and entent therin, very 
materiall to the state of that government. 

Iren. I have heard that the beginning 
and cause of this ordinaunce amongest the 
Irish, was specially for the defence and 
mayntenaunce of theyr landes in theyr 
posteritye, and for excluding of all inno- 
vation or alienation therof unto straun- 
gers, and specially to the English. For 
when theyr Captayn dyed, yf the segniory 
should discend to his child, and he per- 
haps an Infant, another might peradven- 
ture stepp in betwene, or thrust him out 
by strong hand, being then unable to de- 
fend his right, or to withstand the force 
of a forreiner ; and therfore they doe ap- 
poynt the eldest of the kinn to have the 
segniorj-e, for that he commonly is a man 
of stronger yeares, and better experience 
to mayntayne theinheritaunce,and to de- 
fend the countrye, either agaynst the next 
bordering Lordes, which use commonly to 
encroch one upon another as ech one is 
stronger, or agaynst the English, which 
they thinke lye still inwayte to wipe them 
out of theyr landes and territoryes. And 
to this end the Tanistih is allway readye 
>:nowen,yf it should happen the Captayue 
suddaynly to dye, or to be slayne in bat- 
tell, or to be out of the countrye, to de- 
fend and keepe it from all such doubtes 
and daungers. For which cause the Tan- 
istih hath also a share of the countrey 



allotted unto him, and certayue cuttinges 
and spendinges upon all the Inhabitauntes 
under the Lord. 

Eudox. When I hears this woord Tan- 
istih, it bringeth to my mynd and remem- 
braunce what I have readme of Tania, that 
it should signifie a province or segniorye, 
as Aquitania, Lusitania, and Britania, the 
which some thinke to be derived of Dania, 
that is, from the Danes; but, I thinke, 
amiss. For sure it seemeth, that it came 
auuciently from those barbarous nations 
that over-ranne the world, which possessed 
those dominions, wherof they are now soe 
called. And so it may well be that from 
the first originall of this woord Tanistih 
and Tanistrih came, and the custome 
therof hath sithence, as manj^ others els, 
bene continued. But to that generall sub- 
jection of the land, wherof we formerly 
spake, me seemes that this custome or 
tenure can be no barr nor empeachement, 
seing that in open Parliament by theyr 
sayd acknowledgment they wayved the 
benefit therof, and submitted themselves 
notwithstanding to the ordinaunce of 
theyr new Soveraigne. 

Iren. Yea, but they say, as I earst 
tolde you, that they reserved theyr titles, 
tenures, and signioryes whole and sound 
to themselves, and for proof e alleadge, 
that they have ever sithence remayned to 
them untouched, soe as no we to alter them, 
should (say they) be a greate wronge. 

Eudox. What remedy e is there^then, 
or meanes to avoyde this inconvenience ? 
for, without first cutting of this damiger- 
ous custome, it seemeth hard to plante 
any sounde ordinaunce, or reduce them 
to a civill government, since all theyr ill 
customes are permitted unto them. 

Iren. Surely notMng hard ; for by this 
Act of Parliament wherof w^e speake, 
nothing was given to King Henry which 
he had not before from his auncestours, 
but ouely the bare name of a King; for 
all other absolute power of principalitye 
he had in himself before derived from 
many former Kiuges, his famous progeni- 
tors and woorthy conquerours of that 
land. The which, sithence they first con- 
quered and subdued unto them by force, 
what needeth afterward to enter into any 
such idle termes with them to be called 
theyr King, w^heras it was in the power 
of the conquerour to take upon himself 
what title he will over the- dominions con- 
quered. For all is the conquerours, as 
Tully to Brutus sayth. Therfore (me 
seemes) insteede of so great and meritori- 
ous a service as they host they performed 



762 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



to the King, in bringing all the Irish to 
acknowledge him for theyr Leige, they 
did great hurt unto his title, and have 
left a perpetuall gall in the myndes of that 
people whoe, before being absolutely 
bound to his obedience, are now tyed but 
with termes, wheras els both theyr lives, 
theyr landes, and theyr libertyes were in 
his free power to ajppoynt what tenures, 
what lawes, what conditions he would 
over them which were all his: against 
Avhich there could be no rightfull resist- 
aunce, or yf there were, he might, when 
he would, establish them with a stronge 
hand. 

Eudox. Yea, but perhaps it seemed 
better unto that noble King to bring them 
by theyr owne accord unto his obedience, 
and to plant a peaceable government 
amongest them, then by such violent 
meanes to keepe them under. Neither 
yet hath he thereby lost any thing that 
he formerly had ; for having all before 
absolutely in his owne power, it remayn- 
eth so still unto him, he having neither 
forgiven nor forgone anything therby 
unto them, but having receaved some- 
thing from them ; that is, a more volun- 
tary and loyall subjection. Soe tliat her 
Majesty may yet, when it shall please 
her, alter any thing of those former ordi- 
naunces, or appoynt other lawes, that 
may be more both for her owne behoof, 
and for the good of that people. 

Iren. Not soe; for it is not soe easye, 
now that thinges are growen into an 
habite and have theyre certayne course, 
to chaunge the channell, and turue the 
streame auother way, for they may have 
nowe a colourable pretence to withstand 
such Innovations, having accepted of 
other lawes and rules allreadye. 

Eudox. But you say they doe not accept 
of them, but delight rather to leane to 
theyr old customes and Brehoon lawes, 
though they be much more unjust and also 
more inconvenient for the common people, 
as by your late relation of them I have 
gathered. As for the lawes of England, 
they are surely most just and most 
agreable both with the government and 
with the nature of the people. How falles 
it then, that you seeme to dislike of them 
as not soe meete for that real me of Ire- 
land, and not only the Common Lawe, 
but also the Statutes and Acts of Parlia- 
mente, which were specially provided and 
intended for the onely benefitt therof ? 

Iren. I was about to have told you my 
reason therin, but that yourself drewe me 
away with other questions, for I was 



shewing you by what meanes, and by 
what sort, the Positive Lawes were first 
brought in and established by the Norman 
Conquerour: which were not by him de- 
vised or applyed to the state of the realme 
then being, nor as yet might best be, (as 
should by lawgivers principally be re- 
garded) but were indeede the very lawes 
of his owne countrey of Normandye. The 
condition wherof how farr it differeth 
from this of England is apparaunt to 
every least judgement. But to transferr 
the same lawes for the government of the 
realme of Ireland was much more incon- 
venient and unmeete ; for he found a 
better advauntage of the time, then was hi 
the planting of them in Ireland, and fol- 
lowed the execution of them with more 
severitye, and was also present in par- 
son to overlooke the Magistrates, and to 
overawe the subjectes with the terrour of 
his swoord and countenaunce of his 
Majestye. But not soe in Ireland, for 
they were otherwise affected, and yet doe 
soe remayne, soe as the same lawes (me 
seemes) canillsitt with theyr disposition, 
or worke that reformation that is wished. 
For lawes ought to be fashioned unto the 
manners and conditions of the people, to 
whom they are ment, and not to be im- 
posed unto them according to the simple 
rule of right ; for els (as I sayd) in steede 
of good they may woorke ill, and pervert 
Justice to extreme Injustice. For he that 
would transferr the lawes of the Lace- 
demonians to the people of Athens should 
find a greate absurditye and inconvenience. 
For those Lawes of Lacedaemon were de- 
vised by Lycurgus, as most proper and 
best agreing with that people, whom he 
knewe to be enclyned alltogither to warres, 
and therefore wholly trayned them up 
even from theyr craddels in armes and 
military exercises, clean e contrarye to 
the institution of Solon, who, in his lawes 
to the Atheniens, laboured by all meanes 
to temper theyr warlick couradge with 
sweete delight of learning and sciences, 
soe that as much as the one excelled in 
armes, the other exceeded in knowledge. 
The like regard and moderation ought to 
be had in tempering, and managing of 
this stubborne nation of the Irish, to 
bring them from that delight of licentious 
barbarisme unto the love of goodness and 
civilitye. 

Eudox. I can not see how that may 
better be then by the discipline of the 
lawes of England: for the English were, 
at the first, as stout and warrelike a 
people as ever were the Irish, and yet ye 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



763 



see are now brought unto that civilitye, 
that no nation in the world excelleth 
them in all goodly conversation, and all 
the studyes of knowledge and humanitye. 

Iren. What they now be both you and 
I see very well, but by how many thoruye 
and hard wayes they are come thereunto, 
by how many civill broyles, by how many 
tumultuous rebellions, that even haz- 
arded oftentimes the whole safetie of the 
kingdome, may easely be considered : all 
which they nevertheless fayrely over- 
came, by reason of the continuall pres- 
ence of the King ; whose onely parson is 
oftentimes in steede of an army, to con- 
tayne the unruly people from a thousand 
evill occasions, which this wretched king- 
dome is, for want therof, dayly carryed 
into. The which, whensoe they make 
head, noe lawes, noe penaltyes, can re- 
strayne them, but that they doe, in the 
violence of theyr furyes, treade downe 
and trample under foote all both divine 
and humane thinges, and the lawes them- 
selves they doe specially rage upon, and 
rend in peeces, as most repugnant to theyr 
libertye and naturall freedome, which in 
theyr madness they affect. 

Eudox. It is then a very unseasonable 
time to pleade lawe, when a swoord is 
draweu in the hand of the vulgar, or to 
thinke to retayne them with the feare of 
punuishmentes, when they looke after 
libertye, and shake of all government. 

Iren. Then soe it is with Ireland contin- 
ually, Eudoxus; for the swoord was 
never yet out of theyr hand ; but when 
they are weary of warres, and brought 
downe to extreeme wretchedness, then 
they creepe a litle perhaps, and sue for 
grace, till they have gotten new breath 
and recovered their strength agayne. Soe 
as it is in vayne to speake of planting of 
lawes, and plotting of pollicyes, till they 
are altogither subdued. 

Eudox. Were they not soe at the first 
conquering of them by Strangbowe, in 
the time of King Henry the second ? was 
there not a through way then made by 
the swoord for the imposing of lawes 
uppon them ? and were they not then 
executed with such a mightye hand as 
you say was used by the Norman Con- 
querour ? What odde's is there then in this 
case ? why should not the same lawes take 
as good effecte iu that people as they did 
heere, being in like sort prepared by the 
swoord, and brought under by extremitye ? 
and why shovild they not continue in as 
good force and vigour for the contayning 
of the people ? 



Iren. The case is yet not like, but there 
appeareth a greate oddes betwene them ; 
for by the conquest of Henry the Second, 
true it is the Irish were utterly van- 
quished and subdued, soe as noe enemye 
was able to hold up his head agaynst his 
power; in which theyre weakness he 
brought in his lawes, and settled them as 
now they there remayne, like as William 
the Conquerour did ; soe as in thus much 
they agree, but in the rest, that is the 
cheifest, they varye; for to whom did 
King Henry the second impose those 
lawes ? not to the Irish for the most part 
of them fledd from his power into the 
desertes and mountaynes, leaving the 
wide countrey to the conquerour, who in 
theyr steede eftsoones placed English 
men, who possessed all theyr landes and 
did quite shutt out the Irish, or the most 
part of them. And to those new Inhab- 
itauntes and Colonyeshe gave his lawes, 
to weete, the same lawes under which 
they were borne and bredd, the which it 
was noe difficultye to place amongest 
them, being fornierly well enured ther- 
unto ; mito whom afterwardes there re- 
payred divers of the poore distressed 
people of the Irish for succour and relief ; 
of whom, such as they thought fitt for 
labour and industriously disposed, as the 
most part of the baser sort are, they re- 
ceaved unto them as theyr vassals, but 
scarcely vouchsafed to impart unto them 
the benefitt of those lavres, under which 
themselves lived, but every one made his 
will and comaundement a law unto his 
owne vassall: thus was not the lawe of 
England ever properly apply ed unto the 
Irish nation, as by a purposed plott of 
government, but as they could insinuat 
and steale themselves under the same by 
theyr humble carriadge and submission. 

Eudox. How comes it then to pass, 
that having once beene soe lowe brought, 
and throughly subjected, they after- 
wardes lifted themselves soe strongly 
agayne, and sithence doe stand soe stifly 
agaynst all rule and government ? 

Iren. They say that they continued in 
that lowlyness, untill the time that the 
division betweene the two howses of 
Lancaster and Yorke arose for the 
crowne of England : at which time all 
the great English Lordes and Gentellmen, 
which had great possessions in Ireland, 
repayred over hither into England, some 
to succour theyr freendes heere, and to 
strengthen theyr party to obtayne the 
crowne : others to defend theyr landes 
and possessions heere agaynst such as 



764 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



hovered after the same upon hope of 
alteration of the kingdome, and succes- 
sion of that side which they favoured and 
affected. Then the Irish, whom they be- 
fore had banished into the mountaynes, 
where they lived onely upon white meates, 
as it is recorded, seing now theyr landes 
soe dispeopled, and weakened, came 
downe into all the playnes adjoyning, 
and thence expelling those fewe English 
that remayned, repossessed them agayne; 
since which they have remayned in them, 
and, growing greater, have brought 
under them many of the English, which 
were before theyr Lordes. This was one 
of the occasions by which all those coun- 
tryes which, lying neere unto any moun- 
taynes or Irish desertes, had bene planted 
with English, were shortly displanted 
and lost. As namely in Mounster all the 
landes adjoyning to Slewloghir, Arlo, 
and the bogg of Allone. In Connaught all 
the Countryes bordering uppon the Cul- 
uers, Mointerolis and Oroirke countrey. 
In Leinster all the landes neighbouring 
unto the mountaynes of Glaunmaleerih, 
unto Shillelah, unto the Briskelah, and 
Polmonte. In Ulster, all the countreys 
neere unto Tyrconnel, Tyrone, and the 
Scotts. 

Eudox. Surely this was a greate vio- 
lence ; but yet by your speach it seemeth 
that only the countreyes and vallyes neere 
adjoyning unto those mountaynes and 
desertes, were thus recovered by the Irish ; 
but how comes it no we that we see almost 
all that realme repossessed of them ? Was 
there any more such evill occasions growen 
by the troubles of England ? Or did the 
Irish, out of those places soe by them got- 
ten, breake further and stretch themselves 
through out the whole land ? for now, for 
ought that I can understand, there is noe 
part but the bare English pale in which 
the Irish have not greatest footing. 

Iren. But out of these small begin- 
ninges by them gotten neere the moun- 
taynes, did they spredd themselves into 
the Inland ; and also, to theyr further 
advauntage, there did other like unhappy 
accidentes happen out of England, which 
gave hart and good opportunitye to them 
to regayne theyr old possessions. For, in 
the raigne of King Edward the fowrth, 
thinges remayned yet in the same state 
that they were after the late breaking out 
of the Irish, which I spoke of ; and that 
noble prince began n to cast an eye unto 
Ireland, and to mynd the reformation of 
thinges there runn amiss : for he sent over 
his brother the woorthy Duke of Clarence, 



whoe having marryed the heyre of the 
Earle of Ulster, and by her having all the 
Earledome of Ulster, and much in Meath 
and Mounster, very carefully went about 
the redressing of those late evills; and 
though he could not beate out the Irish 
agayne, by reason of his short continu- 
aunce, yet he did shutt them up within 
those narrowe corners and glinnes under 
the mountaynes foote, in which they 
lurked; and soe kept them from break- 
ing any further, by buylding of strong 
holdes upon every border, and fortifying 
all passages. Amongest which he builded 
the castle of Clare in Tomond, of which 
countrey he had the inheritaunce, and of 
Mortimers landes adjoyning, which is now 
(by the Irish) called Killalowe. But the 
times of that good King growing also 
troublesome did lett the thorough refor- 
mation of all thinges. And therunto 
soone after was added another fatall mis- 
cheif , which wrought a greater calamitye 
then all the former. For the said Duke 
of Clarence, then Lord Lieutenant of Ire- 
land, was by practise of evill persons 
about the King, his brother, called thence 
away ; and soone after by sinister meanes 
was cleane made away. Presently after 
whose death all the north revolting did 
sett up O'neale for theyr Captayne, being 
before that of small power and regard : 
and there arose in that part of Tomond, 
one of the 0-Briens, called Murroh en- 
Ranah, that is, Morrice of the Fearne, or 
wast wilde places, whoe gathering unto 
him all the relicks of the discontented 
Irish, eftsones surprised the said castle of 
Clare, burnt all, and spoyled all the Eng- 
lish dwelling there, and in short space 
possessed all that countrey of beyond the 
River of Shannon and neere adjoyning: 
whence shortly breaking foorth, like a 
suddayne tempest, he over-rann all Moun- 
ster and Connaght; breaking downe all 
the holdes and fortresses of the English, 
defacing and utterly subverting all cor- 
porat townes that were not strongly 
walled : for those he had noe meanes nor 
Engines to overthrowe, neither indeede 
would he stay at all about them, but 
speed ely rann forward, accounting his 
suddajmness his most advauntage, that 
he might overtake the English before 
they could fortifye or gather themselves 
togither. Soe in short space he cleane 
wiped out many great townes, as first 
Inshequinn, tlien Killaloih, before called 
Clarifort, afterwardes, Thurles, Mourne, 
Buttevant, and many others, whose names 
I cannot remember, and of some of which 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



765 



there is now noe memory nor signe re- 
mayning. Uppon report wherof then 
flocked unto him all the scumm of the 
Irish out of all places, that ere long he 
had a mighty army, and thence marched 
foorth into Leinster, where he wrought 
great ontradges, wasting all the countreys 
where he went ; for it was his pollicye to 
leave noe holdes behind him, but to make 
all playne and wast. In the which he 
soone after created himself King, and 
was called King of all Ireland ; which be- 
fore him I doe not remember that any did 
soe generally, but onely Edward le Bruce. 

Eudox. What ! was there ever any gen- 
erall King of all Ireland ? I never heard 
it before,"but that it was allwayes (whilst 
it was under the Irish) divided into fowre, 
and sometimes into five kingdomes or 
dominions. But this Edward le Bruce, 
what was he, that he could make him- 
self King of all Ireland ? 

Iren. I would tell you, in case you 
would not challenge me anone for forget- 
ting the mattere which I had in hand, that 
is, the inconvenience and unfitnes which 
I suppose he to be in the lawes of the land. 

Eudox. No surely, I have no occasion, 
for neither is this impertinent therunto ; 
for sithence you did sett your course (as 
I remember) in your first part to treate 
of the evills which hindereth the peace 
and good ordering of that land, amongest 
which that of the inconvenience of the 
lawes was the first which you had in 
hand, this discourse of the over-running 
and wasting of the realme is very mate- 
riall therunto, for that it was the begining 
of all the other evills, which sithence 
have afflicted that land, and opened a way 
unto the Irish to recover they r possession, 
and to beate out the English which had 
formerly wonne the same. And besides, 
it will give a great light both unto your 
second and third part, wliich is the re- 
dressing of those evills, and planting of 
some good forme and pollicye therin, by 
renewing the remembraunce of those occa- 
sions and accidentes by which those ruines 
happened, and laying before us the en- 
samples of those times, to be compared 
with ours, and to be warned by those 
which shall have to do in the like. There- 
fore, I pray you, tell them unto us, and 
as for the poynt where you left, I will not 
forget afterwardes to call you back agayne 
thereunto. 

Iren. This Edward le Bruce was brother 
to Robert le Bruce, who was King of Scot- 
land at such time as King Edward the 
Second raigned here in England, and bare 



a most malicious and spitefull mynd 
agaynst King Edward, doing him all the 
hurt he could, and annoying his territo- 
ryes of England, whilest he was troubled 
with civill warres of his Barrons at home. 
He also, to woorke him the more mischeif , 
sent over his sayd brother Edward with a 
power of Scottes and Redd-shankes into 
Ireland, where, by the meanes of the 
Lacyes and of the Irish with whom he 
combined, they gott footing, and gather- 
ing to him all the scatterlinges and 
out-lawesoutof all thewoodes and moun- 
taynes, in which they long had lurked, 
marched foorth into the English Pale, 
which then was cheifly in the north, from 
the poynt of Donluce, and beyond unto 
Dublin: having in the middest of her 
Knockfargus ; Belfast, Armagh, and Car- 
lingfoord, which are now the most out- 
boundes and abandoned places in the 
English Pale, and indeede not counted of 
the English Pale at all; for it stretches 
now no further then Dundalke towardes 
the north. There the sayd Edward le 
Bruce spoyled and burnt all the olde Eng- 
glish inhabitauntes, and sacked and razed 
all cittyes and corporat townes noe lesse 
then Murroghe en Ranagh, of whom I 
earst told you: for he wasted Belfast, 
Green-Castle, Kelles, Belltalbot, Castle- 
towne, Newton, and many others good 
townes and strong holdes : he rooted out 
the noble familyes of the Audleys, the 
Talbots, the Touchets, the Chamberlains, 
the Mandevils, and the Savages out of 
Ardes, though of the Lord Savage there 
remayne yet an heyre, that is now a very 
poore gentellman of very meane condition, 
yet dwelling in the Ardes. And coming 
lastly to Dundalke, he there made himself 
Khig, and raigned by the space of one 
whole yeare, by the name of Edward 
King of Ireland, untill that King Edward 
of England, having sett somequiett in his 
affayres at home, sent over the Lord John 
Breinmegham to be generall of the warres 
agaynst him, whoe, encountringhim neere 
to Dundalke, over-threwe his armye, and 
slewe himself, and presently followed 
the victorye soe hottly upon the Scottes, 
that he suffered them not to breathe, or 
to gather themselves togither agayne, till 
they came to the sea-cost. Notwithstand- 
ing", all the way that they fledd, for very 
rancour and dispite in theyr returne they 
utterly consumed and wasted whatsoever 
they liad before left unspoyled ; soe that 
of all townes, castels, fortes, bridges, and 
liabitations, they left not any stick stand- 
ing, nor any people remayning ; for those 



766 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



fewe which yet survived, fledd from their 
furie further iuto the English Pale. Thus 
was all that goodly countrey utterly 
wasted, aud left desolat as yet it remayn- 
eth to this day, which before hath beene 
the cheif ornament and beautye of Ire- 
land, for that of the north sometimes was 
as populous and plentif ull as any part of 
England, and yeelded unto the K. of Eng- 
land as it appeareth by good reeordes, 
thirty thousand markes of old mony by 
the yeare, besides many thousandes of 
able men to serve them in theyr warres. 
And sure it is yet a most beautifull and 
sweet countrey as any is under heaven, 
seamed throughout with many goodly 
rivers, replenished with all sortes of fish, 
most aboundantly sprinckled with many 
sweet Ilandes and goodly lakes, like litle 
Inland Seas, that will carry even ships 
upon theyr waters, adorned with goodly 
woodes Utt for building of howses ancl 
shippes, soe comodiously, as that yf 
some princes in the world had them, they 
would soone hope to be lordes of all the 
seas, and ere long of all the world ; also 
full of good portes and havens opening 
upon England and Scotland, as inviting 
us to come to them, to see what excellent 
comodityes that countrey can affoord, be- 
sides the soyle it self most fertile, fitt to 
yeeld all kind of fruite that shal be com- 
itted therunto. And lastly, the heavens 
most milde and temperat, though some- 
what more moyst then the part toward 
the West. 

•..^.^Eudox. Truly Irenseus, what with your 
prayses of the countrey, and what with 
your discourse of the lamentable desola- 
tion therof made by those ragtayle Irish 
Scottes, you have filled me with great 
compassion of theyr calamityes, that I 
doe much pittye that sweete land, to be 
subject to soe many evills as every day 
I see more and more throwen uppon her, 
and doe half beglnn to thinke, that it is 
(as you sayd in the beginning) her fatall 
misfortune, above all countreys that I 
knowe, to be thus miserably tossed and 
turmoyled with these variable stormes of 
afflictions. But since we are thus farr 
entred into the considerations of her mis- 
haps, tell me, have there bene any more 
such tempests, as ye terme them, wherin 
she hath thus wretchedly beene wracked ? 
Iren. Many more, God wote, have 
there bene, in which her principall partes 
have bene rent and torne asunder, but 
none that I can remember soe universall 
as these. And yet the rebellion of Thomas 
Fitz Gerrald did well-nygh stretch itself 



into all partes of Ireland. But that, 
which was in the time of the government 
of the Lord Gray, was surely noe less 
generall then all those; for there was no 
part free from the contagion, but all con- 
spired in one to cast of theyr subjection 
to the crowne of England. Nevertheless, 
through the most wise and valiaunt hand- 
ling of that right noble Lord, it gott not 
that head which the former evills found ; 
for in them the realme was left, like a 
shipp in a stornie amiddest all the raging 
surges, unruled, and undirected of any: 
for they to whom she was comitted either 
faynted in theyr labour, or forsooke theyre 
charge. But he (like a most wise pilots) 
kept her course carefully, and held her 
moste strongly even agaynst those roring 
billowes, that he brought her safely out 
of all ; soe as long after, even by the 
space of twelve or thirtene yeares, she 
rode in peace, through his only paynes 
and excellent enduraunce, how ever envye 
list to bluster agaynst him. But of this 
we shall have more occasion to speake in 
another place : now (if you please) lett 
us returne agayne unto our first course. 

Eudox. Truely I am very gladd to 
heare your judgement of the government 
of that honorable man soe soundly ; for I 
have indeede oftentimes hard it maligned, 
and his doings depraved of some, wboe (I 
perceave) did rather of malicious mynd, 
or private greevaunce, seeke to detract 
from the honour of his deedes and coun- 
sells, then of any just cause: but he was 
nevertheless, in the judgement of all good 
and wise men, defended and mayntayned. 
And now that he is dead, his immortall 
fame surviveth, and flourisheth in the 
mouthes of all people, that even those 
that did backbite him, are choaked with 
theyr owne venome, and breake theyre 
galles to heare his soe honorable report. 
But lett him rest in peace ; and turne we 
to our more troubleous matters of dis- 
course, of which I am right sorye that ye 
make soe short an end, and covett to pass 
over to your former purposes ; for there 
be many other partes of Ireland, which I 
have heard have bene noe less vexed with 
the like stormes, then these which you 
have treated of, as the countrey of the 
Birnes and Tooles neere Dublin, with the 
insolent outrages and spoyles of Feugh 
mac Hughe, the countreys of Kater- 
lagh, Wexford, and Waterford, of the 
Ke\anaghs. The countreys of Leis, Kil- 
kenny, and Kildare of the Moores. The 
countreys of Ofalye and Longfoord of the 
Connors. The countreys of Westmeath, 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



767 



Cavan, and Louth of the O Reyleys, 
the Kellyes, and many others, soe as the 
discoursing of them, besides the pleasure 
which would redounde out of theyr his- 
tory, be also very profitable for matter of 
pollicye. 

Iren. All this w^hich ye have named, 
and many moe besides, often times have 
I right well knowen, (and yet often times 
doe) kindle great fires of tumultuous 
broyles in the countreys bordering upon 
them. All which to rehearse should 
rather be to chronicle times, then to 
search into reformation of abuses in that 
realme : and yet very needfull it wil be 
to consider them, and the evills which 
they have often stirred up, that some re- 
dress therof, and prevention of the evills 
to come, may thereby the rather be 
devised. But I suppose we shall have a 
fitter opportunity for the same, when we 
shall speake of the particular abuses and 
enormityes of that government, which wil 
be next after those generall defectes and 
inconveniences which I sayd were in the 
lawes, customes, and religion. 

Eudox. Goe to then, a Godes name! 
and followe the course which you have 
promised to your self, for it fitteth best, I 
must confess, with the purpose of your 
discourse. Declare your opinion, as you 
begann, about the lawes of that realme, 
what incomodity you have conceaved to 
be in them, cheitly in the Common Lawe, 
which I would have thought to be most 
free from all such dislike. 

Iren. The Common Law is (as before I 
sayd) of itself most rightfull and very 
convenient (I suppose) for the kingdome 
for the which it was first devised; for 
this (I thinke) as it seemes reasonable, 
that out of the manners of the people, 
and abuses of the countrey, for which 
they were invented, they take theyr first 
beginning, or els they should be most un- 
just ; for noe lawes of man (according to 
the straight rule of right) are just, but 
as in regard of the evills which they pre- 
vent, and the safety of the common-weale 
which they provide for. As for example, 
in the true ballauncing of justice, it is a 
flatt wrong to punish the thought or pur- 
pose of any before it be enacted ; for true 
Justice pimnisheth nothing but the evill 
act or wicked woord ; yet by the lawes of 
all kingdomes it is a capitall crime to de- 
vise or purpose the death of the King : 
the reason is, for that when such a pur- 
pose is effected, it should then be to late 
to devise therof, and should turne that 
common-weale to more hurt by such loss 



of theyr Prince, then such punuishment 
of the malefactours. And therfore the 
lawe in that case punnisheth the thought ; 
for better is a mischeif, then an incon- 
venience. &oe thsit jus politicum, though 
it be not of it self just, yet by application, 
or rather necessitye, it is made just; and 
this only respect maketh all law^es just. 
Now then, yf these lawes of Ireland be 
not likewise applyed and fitted for that 
realme, they are sure very inconvenient. 

Eudox. You reason strongly : but what 
unfittness doe you finde in them for that 
realme ? shewe us some particulars. 

Iren. The Common Lawe appoynteth 
that all try alls, as well of crimes as titles 
and rights, shal be made by verditt of a 
Jurye, choosen out of the honestest and 
most substantiall free-holders. Now, 
most all the free-holders of that realme" 
are Irish, which when the cause shall fall 
betwixt an Englishman and an Irish, or 
betweene the Queene and any fre-holder 
of that countrey, they make noe more 
scruple to pass agayust an Englishman, 
and the Queene, though it be to strayne 
theyr othes, then to drinke milke un- 
strayned. Soe that, before the Jurye goe 
togither, it is well knowen what the ver- 
dict will be. The try all herof have I 
soe often scene, that I dare confidently 
avouch the abuse therof. Yet is the lawe 
of itself, I say, good ; and the first institu- 
tion therof, being given to all naturall 
Englishmen, very rightfull, but now that 
the Irish have stept into the roomes of 
the English, (whoe are now become soe 
heedful! and provident to keepe them out 
from henceforth that they make noe 
scruple of conscience to passe against 
them) yt is good reason that either that 
course of the lawe for tryall be altered or 
other provision for juryes made. 

Eudox. In sooth, Irenseus, you have 
discovered a poynt woorthy the considera- 
tion; for heer'by not only the English 
subject findeth noe indifferency in decid- 
ing of his cause, be it never soe just; but 
alsoe the Queene, as well in all pleas of 
the crowne, as also in inquiry es for Es- 
cheates, landes attaynted, wardships, 
concealmentes, and all such like, is abused 
and exceedingly dammaged. 

Iren. You say very true; for I dare 
undertake, that at this day there are 
more attaynted landes, concealed from 
her Majestic, then she hath now posses- 
sions in all Ireland : and it is noe small 
inconvenience ; for, beside that she looseth 
soe much land as should turne her to 
great profitt, she besides looseth soe many 



768 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



good subjectes, which might be assured 
unto her, as those landes would yeld in- 
habitautes and living unto. 

Eudox. But doe that people (say you) 
make noe more conscience to perjure 
themselves in theyr verdictes, and damne 
theyr sowles ? 

Iren. Not only soe in theyr verdictes, 
but also in all other theyr dealinges; es- 
pecially toward the English, they are 
most willfully bent : for though they will 
not seeme manifestly to doe it, yet will 
some one or other suttle-headed fellowe 
amongest them pike some quirke, or de- 
vise some evasion, wherof the rest will 
lightly take hold, and suffer themselves 
easely to be ledd by him to that them- 
selves desired. For in the most appa- 
rauut matter that may be, the least ques- 
tion or doubt that can be moved will 
make a stopp unto them, and putt them 
quite out of the way. Besides that, of 
themselves they are (for the most part) 
soe cautelous and wylye-headed, specially 
being men of soe small experience and 
practize in lawe matters, that you would 
wonder whence they borrowe such sub- 
tiltyes and slye shiftes. 

Eudox. But, me thinkes, this incon- 
venience mought be much helped by the 
Judges and Cheif IVIagestrates which have 
the "choosing and nominating of those 
juryes, yf they would have care to ap- 
poynt either most Englishmen, or such 
Irishmen as were of the soundest judge- 
mente and disposition ; for noe doubt but 
some there be incorruptible. 

Iren. Some there be indeede as you 
say ; but then would the Irish party crye 
out of partialitv^, and complayue he hath 
noe justice, thai he is not used as a sub- 
ject, that he is not suffred to have the free 
benefitt of the lawe ; and these outcryes 
the ^Magistrates there doe much shunn, as 
they have cause, since they are soe readily 
hearkened unto heere: neither can it be 
indeede, allthough the Irish party would 
be see contented to be soe compassed, that 
such English freeholders, which are but 
fewe, and such faythful Irishmen, which 
are indeede as fewe, shall all way es be 
chosen for tryalls; for being soe fewe, 
thej^ should be made weary of theyr free- 
holdes. And therfore a good care is to be 
had by all good occasions to encrease 
theyr numbers, and to plant more by 
them. But were it soe, that the juryes 
could be piked out of such choyse men as 
you desire, there would nevertheless be as 
badd corruption in the tryall; for the 
evidence being brought in by the base 



Irish people, wil be as deceitfull as the 
verdictes ; for they care much lesse then 
the others what they sweare, and sure 
their Lordes may compell them to sale 
any thiuge ; for I myself have heard, 
when one of that base sort (which they 
call churles) being challenged, and re- 
proved for his false oth, hath answered 
confidently. That his Lord comaunded 
him, and it was the least thing he could 
doe for his Lord to sweare for him ; soe 
inconscionable are these common people, 
and so litle feeling have they of God, or 
theyr owne sowles good. 

Eudox. It is a most miserable case, but 
what helpe can there be in this? for 
though the manners of the tryalls should 
be altered, yet the proof of every thing 
must needes be by testimonyes of such 
persons as the partyes shall produce ; 
which yf they shall corrupt, how can 
there ever any light of the trueth appeare ? 
what remedye is there for this evill, but 
to make hea\'y lawes and penaltyes 
agaynst jurours? 

Iren. I thinke sure that will doe small 
good; for when a people are inclined to 
any vice, or have noe touch of conscience, 
nor seuce of theyr evill doings, it is boote- 
less to thinke to restrayne them by any 
penaltyes or feare of punnishment; but 
either the occasion is to be taken away, 
or a more understanding of the right, and 
shame of the fault to be imprinted. For 
yf that Licurgus should have made it 
death for the Lacedemonians to steale, 
they being a people which naturally 
delighted in stealth; or yf it should be 
made a capitall crime for the Flemmings 
to be taken in drounkenness, there should 
have bene few Lacedemonians then left, 
and fewer Flemmings. Soe impossible it 
is to remove any fault, soe general 1 in a 
people, with terrour of lawes or most 
sharpe restrayntes. 

Eudox. What meanes may there then 
be to avoyde this mconvenience ? for the 
case sure seeraes very hard. 

Iren. We are not yet come to that 
poynt to devise remedyes for the evills, 
but only are now to recount them ; of the 
which, this that I have told you is one 
defect in the Common Lawes. 

Eudox. Tell us then (I pray you) 
further, have you any more of this sort 
in the Common Lawes. 

Iren. By rehearsall of this, I remember 
also of an other like, which I have often 
observed in tryalls to have wrought great 
hurt and hindraunce, and that is, the 
exceptions which the Common Law 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



769 



alloweth a fellon in his try all ; for he may 
have (as you kno\ve) thirty-six exceptions 
peremptorye agaynst the jurours, of 
which he shall shelve noe cause. By 
which shift there being (as I have shewed 
you) small store of honest jurye men, he 
will either putt of his tryall, or leave it to 
such men as (perhaps) are not of the 
soundest sort, by whose meaues, yf he 
can acquitt himself of the crime, as he is 
likely, then will he plague such as were 
brought first to be of his jurye, and all 
such as made any party against him. And 
when he comes foorth, he will make theyr 
cowes and garrans to walke, yf he doe noe 
other mischeif to theyr persons. 

Eudox. This is a slye devise, but I 
thinke it might soone be remedyed ; but 
we must leave it awhile with the rest. In 
the'meauewhile goe ye forward with others. 

Iren. There is an other noe less incon- 
venient then this, which is the tryall of 
accessoryes to f ellony ; for, by the Common 
Lawe, the accessoryes cannot be proceeded 
agaynst, till the principall receave his 
tryall. Now the case often falleth out iu 
Ireland that a stealth being made by a 
rebell, or an outlawe, the stollen goodes 
are convayed to some husbandman or 
gentellman, which hath well to take to, 
and yet liveth most by the receit of such 
goodes stoln, where they are found by the 
owner, and handled : wherupon the party 
is perhaps apprehended and committed to 
goale, or putt upou suretyes, till the ses- 
sions, at which time the owner, preferring 
a bill of indictment, prooves sufficiently 
the stealth to have bene made upon him 
by such an outlaw, and to have bene found 
in the possession of the prisoner, agaynst 
whom, nevertheless, noe course of lawe 
can proceede, or tryall can be had, for 
that the principall theif is not to be gotten, 
notwithstanding that he likewise standeth 
perhaps indited at once with the receaver, 
being in rebellion, or in the woodes, 
whereunto peradventure he is flowne be- 
fore he can be gotten, and soe the receaver 
clean acquitted and discharged of the 
crime. By which meanes the theeves are 
greatly encouradged to steale, and theyr 
mayntayners emboldened to receave theyr 
stealths, knowing liowe hardly they can 
be brought to any tryall of lawe. 

Eudox. Truly this is a great inconven- 
ience, and a great cause (as you say) of 
the majiitenaunce of theeves, knowing 
theyr receavers allwayes readye : for, 
were there noe receavers, there would be 
noe theeves : but this (me seemes) might 
easely be provided for by some Act of 



Parliament, that the receaver, being con- 
victed by good proofe, might receave his 
tryall without his principal!. 

Iren. You say very true, Eudoxus, but 
it is allmost impossible to be compassed. 
And herin also you discover another 
imperfection in the course of the Common 
Lawe, and first ordinaunceof the realme; 
for ye knowe that the sayd Parliament 
must consist of the peeres, gentellmen, 
freeholders, and burgesses of that realme 
it self. Nowe perhaps these being them- 
selves, or the most part of them (as may 
seeme by their stiff with-standing of this 
Act) culpable of this crime, or favourers 
of theyr f rendes, which are such by whom 
theyr kitchins are sometime amended, 
will not suffer any such Statut to pass. 
Yet hath it oftentimes beene attempted, 
and in the time of Sir John Perrot very 
earnestly (I remember) laboured, but by 
noe meanes could be effected. And not 
only this, but many other like, which are 
as needfull for the reformation of that 
realme. 

Eudox. This also is surely a great 
defect, but we must not talke, you sale, 
of the redressing of this, untill our second 
part come, which purposely therfore is 
appoynted. Therfore proceede to the 
recounting of more such evills, yf you 
have any more. 

Iren. There is also a great inconven- 
ience which hath wrought great dammage 
both to her Majesty, and to the common 
wealth, through close and colourable con- 
veyaunces of" the landes and goodes of 
traytors, fellons, and fugitives. As, when 
one of them myndeth to goe into rebellion, 
he will convay away all his landes and 
lordships to feoffees of trust, wherby he 
reserveth unto himself but an estate for 
terme of life, which being determined 
either by the swoord or by the halter, 
theyr landes cometh straight unto theyr 
heyres, and the Queue is defrauded of the 
intent of the lawe, which layd that 
grevous punnishment upon traytours to 
forfeit all theyr landes to the Prince, to 
the end that men might be the rather 
terrifyed from committing treasons; for 
manye which would litle esteeme of theyr 
owne lives, yet for remorse of theyr wives 
and children should be withheld from 
those hayuous crimes. Tiiis appeareth 
playnly in the late Earle of Desmond ; 
for, before his breaking foorth into his 
open rebellion, he had convayed secretly 
all his landes to feoffees of trust, in hope 
to have cutt of her Majestic from the 
escheat of his landes. 



77P 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



Eudox. Yea, but this was well enough 
avoyded ; for that Act of Parliament 
which gave all his landes to the Queue 
did (as I have heard) cut of and f rustrat 
all such conveyauuces, as had any time 
by the space of twelve yeares before his 
rebellion, bene made ; within the compass 
wherof, that fraudulent feoffement, and 
many other the like of his accomplices 
and fellowe traytors, which were at- 
taynted, hath bene made voyd. 

Iren. Very true, but how hardly that 
Act of Parliament was wronge out of 
them, I can witness; and were it to be 
passed agayne, I dare undertake it would 
never be compassed. But were it soe that 
such Acts might easely be brought to pass 
agayust traytors and fellous, yet were it 
not an endless trouble, that noe tray tour 
nor fellon should be attaynted, but a 
Parliament must be called for bringing 
his landes to the Queue, which the 
Coramon-Lawe givetli her. 

Eudox. Then this is noe fault of the 
Common-Lawe, but of the parsons which 
woorke this fraud unto her Majestic. 

Iren. Yes, mary! for the Common- 
La we hath left them this benefitt, wherof 
they make advauntage, and wrest it to 
theyr badd purposes. Soe as they are 
therby the bolder to enter into evill 
actions, knowing that, yf the woorst be- 
fall them, they shall loose nothing but 
themselves, wherof they seeme surely to 
be very careless, like as all barbarous 
people are, as Caesar in his Comentaryes 
sayth, very feareless of daunger. 

Eudox. But what meane you of fugitives 
herin ? Or how doth this concerne tliem ? 

Iren. Yes, very greatly; for ye shall 
understand that there be many ill dis- 
posed and undutifull parsons of that 
realme, like as in this poynt there are 
also in this realme of England to many, 
which being men of good inheritaunce, 
are for dislike of religion, or daunger of 
the la we into which they are runn, or dis- 
contented with the present government, 
fledd beyond the seas, where they live 
under Princes, that are her Majesties pro- 
fessed enemyes, and converse and are 
confederat with other traytors and fugi- 
tives which are there abiding. The which 
nevertheless have the benefitt of theyr 
Umdes heere, by pretence of such colour- 
able conveyauuces therof, formerly made 
by them to theyr privy frendes heere of 
trust, whoe secretly doe send over unto 
them the sayd revennues, wherwith they 
are there mayntayned and enabled 
agaynst her Majestic. 



Eudox. I doe not thinke that there be 
any such fugitives which are releved by 
the profltit of theyr landes in England, for 
there is a straighter order taken. And yf 
there be any such in Ireland, it were good 
it were likewise looked unto, for this evill 
may easely be remedyed. But proceede. 

Iren. It is also inconvenient in that 
realme of Ireland, that the wardes and 
mariadges of gentellmens children should 
be in the disposition of any of those Irish 
Lordes, as nowe they are, by reason that 
theyr landes are held by knightes service 
of those Lordes. By which meanes it 
cometh to pass that those sayd gentell- 
mens children, being thus in the ward of 
those Lordes, are not only therby brought 
up lewdly, and Irish-like, but also for 
ever after soe bound to theyr services, as 
they will runn with them into any dis- 
loyall action. 

Eudox. This greevaunce, Irenseus, is 
also complayned of in England, but ho we 
can it be remedyed? since the service 
must follow the tenure of the landes, and 
the landes were given away by the Kinges 
of England to those Lordes, when they 
first conquered that realme; and, to say 
trouth, this also would be some prejudice 
to the Prince in her wardships. 

Iren. I doe not meane this by the 
Princes wardes, but by such as fall into 
the handes of Irish Lordes; for I could 
wish, and this I would enforce, that all 
those wardships were in the Princes dis- 
position ; for then it might be hoped, that 
she, for the universal! reformation of 
that realme, would take better order for 
the bringing up of those wardes in good 
nurture, and not suffer them to come into 
soe badd handes. And though these 
thinges be allready passed away, by her 
progenitours former grauntes, unto those 
sayd Lordes ; yet I could find a way to 
remedye a great part therof, as herafter, 
when fitt time serveth, shall appeare. 
And since we are entred into speach of 
such grauntes of former Princes, to sun- 
dry parsons of this realme of Ireland, I 
will mention unto you some other, of like 
nature to this, and of like inconvenience, 
by which the former Kinges of England 
passed unto them a great part of theyr 
prerogative; which though then it was 
well intended, and perhaps well deserved 
of them which receaved the same, yet 
now such a gapp of mischeif lyeth open 
therby, that I could wish it wore well 
stopped. Of this sort are the grauntes of 
Countyes Palen tines in Ireland, which 
though at first were graunted upon good 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



771 



consideration when tliey were first con- 
quered, for that these landes lay then as 
a verj"^ border to tlie wild Irish, subject to 
continuall invasion, soe as it was neede- 
full to give them great privileges for the 
defence of the inhabitaiuites therof ; yet 
now for that it is noe more a border, nor 
frontyerd with enemyes, why should such 
privileges be any more contynued ? 

Eudoxus, I would gladly knowe what 
ye call a County Palentiue, and whence 
it is soe called. 

Iren. It was (as I suppose) first named 
Palentine of a pale, as it were a pale and 
defence to theyr inner landes, soe as it 
is called the English Pale, and therfore 
also is a Palsgrave named, that is, an 
Earle Palentine. Others thinke of the 
Latine, palare, that is, to forrage or out- 
ruun, because the marchers and borderers 
use comonly soe to doe. Soe as to have a 
County Palentine is, in effect, but to have 
a privilege to spoyle the enemyes borders 
adjoyning. Andsurely soe it is used at 
this day, as a privileged place of spoyles 
and stealthes ; for the County of Tipper- 
arye, which is nowe the onely Countye 
Palentine in Ireland, is, by abuse of some 
badd ones, made a receptacle to robb the 
rest of the Coimtyes about it, by meanes 
of whose privileges none will followe 
theyr stealthes, soe as it, being situat in 
the very lapp of all the land, is made 
nowe a border, which how inconvenient 
it is lett every man judge. And though 
that right noble man, that is the Lord of 
the libertye doe endevour himself all 
that he may to yeeld equall justice unto 
all, yet can there not but great abuses 
lurke in soe inward and absolute a privi- 
lege, the consideration wlierof is to be 
respected carefully, for the next succes- 
sion. And much like unto this graunte 
there are alsoe other privileges grauuted 
unto most of the corporations there ; that 
they shall not be bound to any other gov- 
ernment then theyr owne, that they shall 
not be charged with garrisons, that thej^ 
shall not be traveled foorth of theyre 
owne fraunchises, that they may buye 
and sell with theeves and rebells, that all 
amercementes and fines that shal be im- 
posed upon them shall come unto them- 
selves. All which, though at the time of 
theyr first graunt they "were tollerable, 
and perhaps reasonable, yet nowe are 
most unreasonable and inconvenient ; but 
all these will easely be cutt of with the 
superiour power of her Majesties preroga- 
tive, agaynst which her owne grauntes are 
not to be pleaded or enforced. 



Eudox. Nowe truly, Iren?eus, ye have 
(me seemes) very well handled this poynt, 
touching the inconveniences in the Com- 
mon Lawe there, by you observed ; and it 
seemeth that you have a myudfull regard 
unto the thiuges tliat may concerne" the 
good of that realme. And'yf you c in as 
well goe through with the statute I.awes 
of that land, I will thinke you have not 
lost all 5'our time there. Therfore, I pray 
you, now take them in hand, and tell us 
what you thinke to be amiss in them. 

Iren. The Statutes of that realme are 
not many, and therfore we shall the 
sooner runn through them. And yet of 
these fewe there are sundrye impertinent 
and unnecessary e : the which perhaps, 
though at the time of the making of them 
were very needefull, yet nowe through 
chaunge of time are cleane antiquated, 
and altogither idle : as that which forbid- 
deth any to weare theyr beardes on the 
upper lipp, and none under the chinn : 
that w^hich putteth away saffron shirtes 
and smockes ; that which restraj'neth the 
use of gilt bridles and petronells; that 
which is appoynted to the recorders and 
clarkes of Dublin and Drogheda, to take 
but two pence for the copye of a playnt ; 
that which commauudeth bowes and 
arrowes; that which maketh that all 
Irishmen that shall converse amougest 
the English shal be taken for spyes, and 
soe punnished ; that which forbiddeth 
persons ameanable to lawe to enter and 
distrayne in the landes in which they 
have \itle; and many other the like I 
could rehearse. 

Eudox. These, which you have re- 
peated, seeme very frivolous and fruite- 
less ; for by the breach of them litle 
dammage or inconvenience can come to 
the Common-wealth: Neither, indeede, 
yf any transgress them, shall he seeme 
woortliy of punnishment, scarce of blame, 
saving "for that they beare the name of 
lawes. But lawes ought to be such, as that 
the kee]-)ing of them should be greatly 
for the behoofe of the Common-wealth, 
and the vyolating of them should be very 
haynous, and sharply pmmished. But 
tell us of some more waighty dislikes in 
the Statutes then these, and that may 
more behoof ully import the reformation 
of them. 

Iren. There is one or two Statutes 
which make the wrongfuU distrayning of 
any mans goodes agaynst the forme of the 
Common Lawe to be felony. The which 
Statutes seeme surely to have bene at 
first ment for the great good of the 



772 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



realme, and for restrayiiing of a fowle 
abuse, which then raigiied commonly 
among that people, and yet is not alto- 
gither layed aside ; that when any one 
was indetted to another, he would first 
demaund his dett, and, yf he were not 
payr^i, he would straight goe and take a 
dist -. ss of his goodes and chattels, where 
he could fiad them, to the valewe: the 
which he would keepe till he were satis- 
fyed, and this the simple churle (as they 
call him) doth commonly use to doe yet 
through ignoraunce of his misdoing, or 
evill use that hath long settled amongest 
them. But this, though it he sure most 
unlawf ull, yet surely (me seemes) to hard 
to make it death, since there is noe pur- 
pose in the other party to steale the 
others goodes, or to conceale the distress, 
hut doth it openly, for the most part be- 
fore witnesses. And agayne, the same 
Statutes are soe slacklye penned (besides 
the later of them is soe unsensibly con- 
tryved that it scarce carryeth any reason 
in it) that they are often and very easely 
wrested to the fraud of the subject; as 
yf one going to distrayne upon his owne 
land or tenement, where lawfully he may, 
yet yf in doing therof he transgress the 
least poynt of - the Common Lawe, he 
straight committeth felonye. Or yf one 
by any other occasion take any thing 
from another, as holes use sometymes to 
cappe on another, the same is straight 
felonye. This is a verye hard lawe. 

Eudox. Nevertheless the evill use in 
distrayning another mans goodes, you 
will not denye but it is to be abolished 
and taken away. 

Iren. It is soe, but not by taking away 
the subject withall ; for that is to violent 
a medicine, especially this use being per- 
mitted, and made lawfull unto some, and 
to other some death. As to most of the 
corporat townes, there it is graunted by 
theyr charter, that they may, every man 
by himself, without any officer (for that 
were more tolerable) for any dett, to dis- 
trayne the goodes of any Irish, being 
found within theyr liberty e, or but pass- 
ing through theyr townes. And the first 
permission of this was for that in those 
times when that graunt was made, the 
Irish were not ameanable to lawe, soe as 
it was not safetye for the townesmen to 
goe to them foorth to demaund theyr dett, 
nor possible to drawe him into lawes, 
so that he had leave to be his owne bayliff, 
to arrest his dettors goodes within his 
owne fraunchise. The which the Irish 
seeing thought it was lawfull for them to 



distrayne the townesmens goodes in the 
countrey where they found it. And soe, 
by the example of that graunte of the 
townes-nien, they thought it lawfull, and 
made it a use to distrayne one anothers 
goodes for small detts. And to say 
trueth, me thinkes it is hard for everye 
tryfling dett, of two or three shillings to 
be driven to lawe, which is soe farr from 
them sometimes to be sought ; for which 
me thinkes it an heavye ordinaunce to 
give death, especially to a rude man that 
is ignoraunt of lawe, and thinketh a 
common use or graunte to other men is 
a lawe for himself. 

Eudox. Yea, but the judge, when it 
cometh before him to tryall, may easelye 
decide this doubt, and lay open the intent 
of the lawe by his better discretion. 

Iren. Yes, but it is daungerous to 
leave the sence of the lawe unto the 
reason or will of the judges, whoe are 
men and may be miscarryed by affec- 
tions, and many other meanes. But the 
lawes ought to be like unto stonye tables, 
playne, stedfast, and immoveable. There 
is also such another Statute or two, 
which make Coygnye and Liverye to be 
treason, noe less inconvenient then the 
former, being, as it is penned, how ever 
the first purpose therof were expedient ; 
for therby now noe man can goe into 
another mans howse for lodgings, nor to 
his owne tenaunts howse to take victuall 
by the way, notwithstanding that there 
is noe other meanes for him to have 
lodging, nor horse meate, nor mans 
meate, there being noe Innes, nor none 
otherwise to be bought for mony, but that 
he is endammaged to the Statute of trea- 
son, whensoever he shall happen to fall 
out with his tenaunt, or that his sayd 
host list to compla,yne of grevaunce, as 
oftentimes I have scene them very mali- 
ciously doe through the least provocation. 

Eudox. I doe not well knowe, but by 
gess, what you doe meane by these termes 
of Coygnye and Liverye : therf ore I pray 
you explane them. 

Iren. I knowe not whether the woordes 
be English or Irish, but I suppose them 
rather to be auncient' English, for the 
Irishmen can make noe derivation nor 
analogye of them. "What Liverye is, we 
by common use in England knowe well 
enough, namelye, that it is allowamice 
of horse-meate, as they commonly use 
the woord in stabling, as to keepe horses 
at liverye ; the which woord, as I gess, is 
derived of livering or delivering foorth 
theyr nightlye foode. Soe in great 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



773 



lu>w'ses, the livorye is sayd to be served 
up for ivll nightj that is theyr nyjjhtes 
alUnvaunee for driiike. And Liverye is 
also called the upper garment whieli 
servinji: men wt>areth, soe called (as I 
suppose) for that it is delivered and 
taken from him at pleasure: soe it is 
apparaunt, that by the woord Liverye is 
meant horse-meate, like as by the woord 
Ooygnye is understood mans-meate ; but 
how the woord is derived is very hard to 
tell : some say of coyne, because they 
used commonly in theyr Coygnyes, not 
only to take nieate, but coyne also ; and 
that taking of uiony -was specially ment 
to be prohibited by' that Statute .•• but I 
think rather that this woord Coiguye is 
derived of the Irish. The which is a 
common use amongest the Irish land- 
loi'des, to have a common spending upon 
theyr tenauntes; for all theyr teuauntes, 
beliig commonly but tenauntes at will, 
they use to take of them what victualls 
they list, for of victualls they were wont 
to make small reckning : neither in this 
were the tenauntes wronged, for it was 
an ordinarye and knowen custome, and 
his Lord commonlye used soe to cove- 
nauntwith him, which yf at any time the 
tenaunt misliked, he \inght I'Veelye de- 
part at his pleasure. But now by this 
Statute the sayd Irish Lord is wronged, 
for that he is cutt of from his customarye 
services, of the which this was one, be- 
sides many more of the like, as Cuddeehih, 
Cosshirh, Bonaught. Shragh, Sorehim, and 
such like ; the which (I think) at tirst 
were customes brought in by the English 
upon the Irish, for they were never woont, 
and yet are very loth to yeld any eer- 
tayne rent, but onely sucii spendinges, 
saying coinmouly, * Spend me and defend 
me.' 

FauIox. Surely I take it as you say, 
that therin the Irish Lordes hath greate 
wronge, since it was an auncient cus- 
tomed and nothing contrarye to lawe, for 
to the willing there is noe wrong done. 
And this right well I wote, that even 
heere iu England, there are in many 
places as large customes as that of 
Coignye and Liverye. But I suppose by 
your speach, that it was the first mean- 
ing of the Statute to forbidd the violent 
taking of victualls upon other mens 
tenauntes agaynst theyr willes, which 
surely is a great outrage, and yet not soe 
great (me seemes) as that it" should be 
made treason : for considering that the 
nature of treason isconcerningthe realme, 
estate or person of the King, or practis- 



ing with his enemyes, to the derogation 
and daunger of his erowue and dignitye ; 
it is hardly wrested to make this treason. 
But (as you earst sayd) ' better a mis- 
cheif then aii inconvenience.' 

Inn. Another Statute I remember, 
which having beene an auncient English 
custome is now upon advisement made 
an Irish lawe, an^l that is called the 
Custome of Kin-cogish, which is, that 
every head of every sept, and every cheif 
of every kinred or familye, should be 
answerable and bound to bring foorth 
every one of that kinred or sept under 
hym at all times to be justifyed, wIk^ii he 
should be required or charged with any 
treason, felonye, or other haynous crime. 

Eudox. "NViiy, surely this seemes a 
very necessary lawe. For considering 
that many of them be such losells and 
scatterlings, as that they cannot easely by 
any shei-itf, constable, bayliif, or other 
ordinarye othcer be gotten, when tliey 
are challenged for any such fact ; this is 
a very good meane to gett them to be 
brought in by him, that is the head of 
that sept, or cheif of that howse: wher- 
fore I wonder what just exception you 
can make agaynst the same. 

Iren. Trewe, Eudoxus, in the pre- 
tence of the good of that Statute you 
have nothing erred, for it seemeth verj'- 
expedient and necessarye ; but the hurt 
Avhich Cometh therby is' greater then the 
good. For, whilest every cheif of a sei>t 
standeth soe bound to the lawe for every 
one of his blond or sept that is under him, 
inclusive everie one of his sept is put 
under him, and he made greate by the 
commaunding of them all. For yf he 
may not comaunde them, then' that 
lawe doth wrong which bindeth him to 
bring them foorth to be justifyed: and 
yf he may comaunde them, then he may 
comaunde them aswell to ill as to good, 
whereby the lordes and captayns of 
countreyes, and the principall and lieades 
of septs, are made stronger, when it 
should be a most speciall care in policye 
to Aveakeu them, and to set up and 
strengthen divers of his underlinges 
agaynst him, which, whensoever he shall 
oifter to swarve from dutj-^e may be able 
to beard him; for it is veiy da'ungerous 
to leave the comaund of soe many as 
some septs are, being five or six thousand 
persons, to the will of one man, whoe may 
leade them to what he will, as he himself 
shal be inclyned. 

Eudox. In very deede, Irenreus, it is very 
daimgerous, especially seing the dispo- 



774 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



sitioii of those people is not allwayes in- 
clinable to the best. And theriore I hold 
it noe wisedome to leave unto them to 
much comaund over theyr kinred, but 
rather to withdrawe theyr followers from 
them asmuch as may be, and to gatlier 
them under the comauude of lawe by 
some better meane then this custome of 
Kin-cogish. The which woord I woulde 
be gladd to knowe what it namely signi- 
fyeth, for the meaning therof I seeme to 
understand reasonable well. 

Iren. It is a woord mingled of the 
English and Irish togither, soe as I am 
partly ledd to thinke, that the custome 
therof was first English, and afterwardes 
made Irish ; for such an other lawe they 
had heere in England, as I remember, 
made by King Alured, that every gentell- 
man should continually bring foorth his 
kinred and followers to the lawe. Soe 
Kin is English, and Cogish signify eth 
affinity in Irish. 

Eudox. Siththen we have thus reason- 
ably handled the inconvenience in the 
lawes, lett us now pass unto the second 
part, which was, as I remember, of the 
abuses of customes ; in which, me seemes, 
you have a fayre champian layd open 
unto you, in which you may at large 
stretch out your discourse into many 
sweete remembraunces of antiquityes, 
from whence it seemeth that the customs 
of that countrey proceeded. 

Iren. Indeede, Eudoxus, you say very 
true ; for alle the customes of the Irish, 
which I have often noted and compared 
with that I have reade, would minister 
occasion of most ample discourse of the 
first originall of them, and the antiquitye 
of that people, which in trueth I doe 
thinke to be more auncient then most 
that I knowe in this end of the world; 
soe as yf it were in the handling of some 
man of sound judgement and plentifuU 
reading it would be most pleasaunt and 
profitable. But it may be we may, at 
some other time of meeting, take occasion 
to treat therof more at large. Heere 
onely it shall suffice to touche such cus- 
tomes of the Irish as seeme offensive, and 
repugnaunt to the good government of 
that real me. 

Eudox. Followe then your owne course, 
for I shall the better content my self to 
forbeare my desire nowe, in hope that you 
will, as you say, some other time more 
aboundantly satisfye it. 

Iren. Before we enter into the treatise 
of theyr customes, it is first needfull to 
consider from whence they first sprong; 



for from the sundry manners of the na- 
tions, from whence that people which 
now are called Irish were derived, some 
of the customes that now remayne 
amongest them have bene first fetcht, and 
since they have bene continued amongest 
them ; for not of one nation was that 
people, but of many and of different con- 
ditions and manners. But the cheifest 
which have first possessed, and inhabited 
it, I suppose to be Scythians, which at 
such time as the Northerne Nations over- 
flowed all Christendome, came downe to 
the sea-cost, where enquiring for other 
countreyes abrode, and getting intelli- 
gence of this countrey of Ireland, finding 
shipping convenient, passed over thither, 
and arrived in the North-part therof, 
which is now called Ulster, which first 
inhabiting, and afterwardes stretching 
themselves further into the land as theyr 
numbers encreased, named it all of them- 
selves Scuttenland, which more breifly is 
called Scutland, or Scotland. 

Eudox. I wonder (Irenseus) whither 
you runne soe farre astraie ; for whylest 
wee talke of Ireland, me thinkes you rip 
upp thoriginall of Scotlande, but what is 
that to this ? 

Iren. Surelye verye much, for Scotlande 
and Ireland are all one and the same. 

Eudox. That seemeth more straunge ; 
for we all knowe right well they are 
distinguished, with a great sea running 
betwene them; or els there are two 
Scotlands. 

Iren. Never the more are there two 
Scotlands, but two kindes of Scotts 
there were indeede (as ye may gather out 
of Buckhanan) the one Irin, or Irish 
Scotts, the other Albin-Scotts ; for those 
Scotts or Scythyans arrived (as I sayd) in 
the North partes of Ireland, where some 
of them afterwardes passed into the next 
coast of Albin, now called Scotland, which 
(after much trouble) they possessed, and 
of themselves named it Scotland ; but in 
process of time (as is commonly scene) 
the denomination of the part prevayled in 
the whole, for the Irish Scottes putting 
away the name of Scottes, were called 
onely Irish, and the Albin Scottes, leav- 
ing the name of Albin, were called onely 
Scottes. Therfore it cometh that of some 
writers Ireland is called Scotia-major, and 
that which nowe is called Scotland, is 
named Scotia-minor. 

Eudox. I doe now well understand your 
distinguishing of the two sortes of Scottes, 
and two Scotlandes, how that this which 
is now called Ireland was aunciently called 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



775 



Irin, and afterwardes of some writers 
Scotland, and that which now is called 
Scotland was formerly called Albin, be- 
fore the coming of the Scottes thither : but 
what other nation inhabited the other 
partes of Ireland? 

Iren. After this people thus planted in 
the North, or before, (lor the certayntye 
of times in thinges soe farr from all 
knowledge cannot be justly avouched) 
another nation coming out of Spayne 
arrived in the West part of Ireland, and 
finding it wast, or weakely inhabited, 
possessed it: who whether they were 
native Spaynyards, or Gaules, or Affri- 
cans, or Gothes, or some other of those 
Northerne Nations which did overspredd 
all Christendome, it is impossible to af- 
firme, onely some naked conjectures may 
be gathered, but that out of Spayne cer- 
taynly they came, that doe 'all the Irish 
Chronicles agree. 

Eudox. You doe very boldly, Irenaeus, 
adventure upon the history'e of soe aun- 
cient times, and leane to confidently unto 
those Irish Chronicles which are most 
fabulous and forged, in that out of them 
you dare take in hand to lay open the 
originall of such a nation soe antique, as 
that noe monument remajiieth of her be- 
ginning and first inhabiting there; spe- 
cially having bene in those times allwayes 
without letters, but onely bare traditions 
of times and remembraunces of Bardes, 
which use to forge and falsifye every thing 
as they list, to please or displease any man. 

Iren. Truly I must confess I doe soe, 
but yet not soe absolutely as you suppose. 
I doe heriu relye upon those Bards or 
Irish Chroniclers, though the Irish them- 
selves, through theyr ignoraunce in mat- 
ters of learning and deepe judgement, doe 
most constantly beleve and avouch them, 
but unto them besides I add my owne 
reading; and out of them both togither, 
with comparison of times, likewise of 
manners and customes, atfinitye of woordes 
and names, propertyes of natures and 
uses, resemblances of rytes and ceremo- 
nyes, monumentes of churches and tombes, 
and many other like circumstaunces, I doe 
gather a likelihood of trueth; not cer- 
taynly affirming any thing, but by con- 
ferring of times, languages, monumentes, 
and such like, I doe hunte out a proba- 
bilitye of thinges, which I leave to your 
judgement to beleve or refuse. Never- 
theless there be some very auncient au- 
thors which make mention of these thinges, 
and some moderne. which by comparing 
them with present times, experience, and 



theyr owne reason, doe open a windowe 
of great light unto the rest that is yet 
unseene; as namely, of the older Cssar, 
Strabo, Tacitus, Ptolomie, Pliuie, Pom- 
peius Mela, and Berosus : of the later, 
Vincentius, iEneas Silvius, Luddus, Buok- 
hanan : of all which I doe give most credit 
unto Buckhanan, for that he himself, be- 
ing an Irish Scott or Picte by nation, and 
being yery excellently learned, and indus- 
trious to seeke out the trueth of these 
thinges concerning the originall of his 
owne people, hath both sett downe the 
testimonyes of the auncientes truely, and 
his owne opinion, withall very reasonably, 
though in some thinges he doth somewhat 
flatter. Besides, the Bards and Irish 
Chroniclers themselves, though throughe 
desire of pleasing perhaps to much, and 
through ignoraunce of arte and purer 
learning, they have clouded the trueth of 
those times ; yet there appeareth amongest 
them some reliques of the true antiquitye, 
though disguised, which a well-eyed man 
may happely discover and find out. 

Eudox. Howe can there be any trueth 
in them at all, since the auncient nations 
which first inhabited Ireland were alto- 
gither destitute of letters, much more of 
learning, by which they might leave the 
veritye of thinges written. And those 
Bards, coming alsoe soe many hundred 
yeares after, could not knowe what was 
done in former ages, nor deliver certayn- 
tye of any thing, but what they fayned 
out of theyr unlearned heades. 

Iren. Those Bardes indede, Caesar writ- 
eth, deliver noe certayne trueth of any 
thing, neither is there any certayne hold 
to be taken of any antiquitye which is 
receaved by tradition, since all men be 
lyars, and may lye when they will; but 
yet for the antiquitye of the written 
Chronicles of Ireland give me leave to 
say something, not to justifye them, but 
to shewe that some of "them might 
say trueth. For where ye say that the 
Irish have allwayes bene without letters, 
ye are therin much deceaved, for it is 
certajnie, that Ireland hath had the use 
of letters veiy aunciently, and long be- 
fore England. 

Eudox. Is it possible? Howe comes it 
then that they are soe barbarous still and 
soe unlearned, being soe old schollers? 
For learning (as the Poet sayth) * Emollit 
mores, nee sinit esse feros : ' whence then (I 
pray you) could they have those letters ? 

Iren. It is hard to say: for whether 
they at theyr first coming into the land, 
or afterwardes by trading with other na- 



776 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



tions wMch had letters, learned them of 
them, or devised them amongest them- 
selves, it is very doubtfull; but that they 
had letters aunciently it is nothing doubt- 
full, for the Saxons of England are sayd 
to have theyr letters, and learning, and 
learned men, from the Irish, and that 
also appeareth by the likeness of the 
characters, for the Saxons character is 
the same with the Irish. Now the Scitli- 
yans never, as I can reade, of old had 
letters amongest them : therf ore it seemeth 
that they had them from that nation which 
came out of Spayne, for in Spayne ther 
was (as Strabo writeth) letters aunciently 
used, whether brought unto them by the 
Phcenesians, or Persians, which (as it ap- 
peareth by him) had some footing there, 
or from Marseilles, which is sayd to have 
bene inhabited first by the Greekes, and 
from them to have had the Greeke charac- 
ter; of which Marsilians it is sayd, that 
the Gaules learned them first, and used 
them only for the furtheraunce of theyr 
trades and private business: for the 
Gaules (as is strongly to be prooved by 
many auncient and authentycal writers) 
did first inhabite all the sea-cost of Spayne, 
even unto Gales and the mouth of the 
Streits, and peopled also a great parte of 
Italye, which appeareth by sundrye cittyes 
and havens in Spayne called of them, as 
Portingallia, Gallicia, Galdunum ; and 
alsoe by sundrye nations therin dwelling, 
which yet have receaved theyr owne 
names of the Gaules, as the Rhegui, 
Presamarci, Tamariti, Nerii, and divers 
others. All which Pompeius Mela, being 
himself a Spanyard, yet sayeth to have 
discended from the Celtics of Fraunce, 
wherby it is to be gathered, that that 
nation which came out of Spayne -into 
Ireland were aunciently Gaules, and that 
they brought with them those letters 
which they had learned in Spayne, first 
into Ireland, the which some also say doe 
much resemljle the old Phoenician charac- 
ter, being likewise distinguished with 
pricke and accent, as theyrs aunciently; 
but the further enquirye therof needeth a 
place of longer discourse then this our 
short conference. 

Eudox. Surely you have shewed a great 
probabilitye of that which I had thought 
impossible to have bene proved ; but that 
which you now say, that Ireland should 
have bene peopled with the Gaules, seem- 
eth much more straunge, for all theyr 
Chronicles doe say, that the west and 
south was possessed and inhabited of 
Spanyards: and Cornelius Tacitus also 



doth strongly affirme the same, all which 
you must overthrowe and falsifye, or 
renounce your opinion. 

Iren. Neither soe, nor soe ; for the Irish 
Chronicles (as I sayd unto you) being 
made by unlearned men, and writing 
thinges according to the appearaunce of 
the trueth which they conceaved, doe err 
in the circumstaunces, not in the matter. 
For all that came out of Spayne (they 
being noe diligent searchers into the differ- 
ences of nations) supposed them to be 
Spanyards, and soe called them ; but the 
groundwoorke therof is nevertheless as 
I sayd true and certayne, however they 
through ignoraunce disguise the same, or 
through their owne vanitye (while they 
would not seeme to be ignoraunt), doe 
therupon build and enlarge many forged 
historyes of theyr owne antiquity e, which 
they deliver to fooles, and make them 
believe them for trewe : as for example, 
that first of one Gathelus the sonn of 
Cecrops or Argos, who having marry ed the 
King of -^gipts daughter, thence sayled 
with her into Spayne, and there inhab- 
ited ; Then that of Nemed and his fowre 
sonnes, who coming out of Scythia peopled 
Ireland, and inhabited it with his sonnes 
two hundred and fif tye yeares untill he 
was overcome of the Gyauntes dwelling 
then in Ireland, and at last quite banished 
and rooted out, after whom two hundred 
yeares, the sonnes of one Dela, being 
Scythyans, arrived there agayne, and pos- 
sessed the whole land, of which the young- 
est, called Slevius, in the end made himself 
monarch. Lastly, of the fowre sonnes of 
Mylesius King of Spayne, which conquered 
that land from the Scythyans, and inhab- 
ited it with Spanyardes, and called it of 
the name of the youngest, Hiberus, Hy- 
bernia: all which are in very trueth 
fables, and very Mylesian lyes (as the 
Latine proverbe is) , for never was there 
such a King of Spayne called Mylesius, 
nor any such colonie seated with his 
sonnes, as they fayne, that can ever be 
prooved; but yet under these tales ye 
may in a manner see the trueth lurke. 
For Scythians, heere inhabiting, they 
name and doe put Spanyards, wherby 
appeareth that both those nations heere 
inhabited, but whether very Spanyards, 
as the Irish greatlye affect, is noe wayes 
to be prooved. 

Eudox. Whence cometh it then that 
the Irish doe soe greatly covett to fetch 
themselves from the Spayniards, since 
the old Gaules are a more auncient and 
much more honorable a nation ? 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



777 



Iren. Even soe of a very desire of new 
fangleness and vanitye, for being as tliey 
are nowe acconuted tlie most barbarous 
nation in Cliristendonie they to avoyde 
that reproche would derive themselves 
I'rora the Spanyards, whom they nowe see 
to be a very honorable people, and next 
bordering unto them : but all that is most 
vayne ; for from the Spauyard that nowe 
is, or that people that nowe inhabites 
Spayne, they noe wayes can approove 
themselves to discend ; neither should it 
be greatly glorious unto them; for the 
Spanyard, that nowe is, is come from as 
rude and savage nations as they, there 
being, as it may be gathered by course of 
ages and viewe of theyr owne historyes, 
(though they tlierin laboure much to en- 
npble themselves) scarce any dropp of 
the old Spanish blond left in them; for 
all Spayne was first conquered by the 
Romains, and filled with colonyes from 
them, which were still encreased, and the 
native Spanyard still cutt of. After- 
wardes the Carthagenians in all the long 
Punicke Warres (having spoyled all 
Spayne, and in the end subdued it wholye 
to themselves) did, as it is likelye, roote 
out all that were affected to the Romayns. 
And lastly the Romaynes, having agayne 
recovered that countrey and bett out Han- 
niball, did doubtless cutt of all that fav- 
oured the Carthagenians, soe that betwixt 
them both, to and froo, there was scarce a 
native Spanyard left, but all inhabited of 
Romayns. All which tempestes of trou- 
bles being overblowen, there long after 
arose a newe storme, more dreadf all tlien 
all the former, which over-raun all Spayne, 
and made an infinite confusion of all 
thinges; that was, the coming downe of 
the Gothes, the Hunnes, and the Vandals : 
And lastly all the nations of Scythya, 
which, like a mountayne flnde, did over- 
fiowe all Spayne, and quite drowne and 
wash away whatsoever relickes there 
were left of the land-bredd people, yea, 
and of all the Romayns to. The which 
Northerne nations finding the complexion 
of that soyle, and the vehement heate 
there farr differing from theyr natures, 
tooke noe felicitye in that countrey, but 
from thence passed over, and did spredd 
themselves into all countreys in Christen- 
dome, of all which there is none but hath 
some mixture and sprinckliug, yf not 
through peopling of them. And yet after 
all these the Moores and Barbarians, 
breaking over out of Africa, did finally 
possess all Spayne, or the most part 
therof, and did tredd downe under theyr 



heathenish feete whatever litle they found 
there yet standing. The which, though 
afterward they were beaten out by Ferdi- 
nando of Aragon and Isabell his wife, yet 
they were not soe clensed, but that through 
the marriadges which they had made, and 
mixture with the people of the land, dur- 
ing theyr long continuaunce there, they had 
left noe pure dropp of Spanish blond, noe 
more of Romayne, nor of Scythyau. Soe 
that of all nations under heaven (I sup- 
pose) the Spanyard is the most mingled, 
most uncertayne, and most bastardly ; 
wherfore most foolishlye doe the Irish 
thinke to ennoble themselves by wresting 
theyr auncientrye from the Spaynyarde, 
who is unable to derive himself from any 
certayne. 

Exidox . You speake very sharpely , Ira3- 
neus, in dishonour of the Spanyard, whom 
some other boast to be the only brave 
nation under the skye. 

Iren. Soe surely he is a very brave 
man ; neither is that which I speake any- 
thing to his derogation, for in that I sayed 
he is a mingled nation, it is noe disprayse, 
for I thinke there is noe nation nowe in 
Christendome, nor muche further, but is 
mingled, and compounded with others: 
for it was a singular providence of God, 
and a most admirable purpose of his wise- 
dome, to drawe those northerne heathen 
nations downe into these Christian partes, 
where they might receave Christianitye, 
and to mingle nations soe remote myracu- 
lously, to make, as it were, one kinred 
and blond of all people, and ech to have 
knowlege of him. 

Eudox. Neither have you sure any 
more dishonoured the Irish, for you have 
brought them from very great and aun- 
cient nations, as any were in the world, 
how ever fondly they affect the Spanish. 
For both Scythians and Gaules were two 
as mightye nations as ever the world 
brought foorth. But is there any token, 
denomination, or monument of the Gaules 
yet remaynyng in Ireland, as there is of 
the Scythians? 

. Iren. Yea surely very many woordes 
of the Gaules remayning, and yet daylye 
used in common speache. 

Eudox. Why what was the .Gaulish 
speach ? is there any part of it still used 
amongest any nation ? 

Iren. The Gaulish speach is the very 
Brittish, the which was very generally 
used heere in all Brittayne before the 
coming in of the Saxons; and yet is re- 
tayned of the Walshmen, the Cornishmen, 
and tbe Brittons of Fraunce, though time, 



778 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



woorking the alteration of all thiuges, 
and the trading and interdeale with other 
nations rounde about, have chaunged and 
greatly altered the dialect therof: but 
yet the origiuall woordes appeare to be 
the same, as whoe that list to read in 
Camden and Buckhanan, may see at large. 
Besides, ther be many places, as havens, 
hills, townes, and castles, which yet beare 
names from the Gaules, of the which 
Buchanan reherseth above 300 in Scot- 
land, and I can (I thinke) recount neere 
as manie in Ireland which retaine the old 
denomination of the Gaules, as the Mena- 
pii, the Cauci, the Venti, and others ; by 
all which and many other very reasonable 
probabilityes (which this short course will 
not suffer to be layed foorth) it appeareth 
that the cheif inhabitauntes in Ireland 
were Gaules, coming thither first out of 
Spayne, and afterwardes from besides 
Tanais, where the Gothes, the Hunnes, 
and the Getes sate downe, they also being 
(as it is sayd of some) auncient Gaules ; 
and lastly passing out of Gallia it self, 
from all the sea-coste of Belgia and Cel- 
tica, into al the southerne coastes of Ire- 
land, which they possessed and inhabited, 
wherupon it is at this day, amongest the 
Irish a common use to call any straunge 
inhabitaunt there amongest them, Gaull, 
that is, discended from the Gaules. 

Eudox. This is very likely, for even 
see did those Gaules aunciently possess 
and people all the southerne coastes of our 
Brittayne, which yet retayne theyr old 
names, as the Belgae in Sommersettshire, 
Wiltshire, and part of Hampshire, the 
Atrebatii in Barkshire, Regni in Sussex 
and Surrey, and many others. Nowe 
thus farr then I understand your opinion, 
that the Scythians planted in the North 
partes of Ireland ; the Spanyards (for soe 
we will call them, what ever they were 
that came from Spayne) in the West ; the 
Gaules in the South : soe that there nowe 
remayneth the East partes towardes Eng- 
land, which I would be gladd to under- 
stand from whence you thinke they were 
peopled. 

Iren. Mary, I thinke from the Brittons 
themselves, of which though there be litle 
footing now remayning, by reason that 
the Saxons afterwardes, and lastly the 
English, driving out all the inhabitauntes 
therof, did possess and people it them- 
selves. Yet amongest the Tooles, the 
Brinnes, the Kavanaghs, and other nations 
in Leinster, there is some memorye of the 
Brittons remayning; as the Tooles are 
called of the old Brittish woord Tol, that 



is, an hill countrey, the Brinnes of the 
Brittish woord Brin, that is, woodes, and 
the Kavanaghs of the woord Kaun, that 
is, stronge ; soe that in these three people 
the very denomination of the old Brittons 
doth still remayne. Besides, when any 
flyeth under the succour or protection of 
any agaynst an enemye, he cryeth unto 
him, Cummurreeih, that is in Brittish 
helpe, for they call theyr owne language, 
Cummeraig. Furthermore to proove the 
same, Ireland is by Diodorus Siculus, and 
by Strabo, called Britannia, and a part of 
Great Brittayne. Finally it appeareth by 
good record yet extant, that King Arthur, 
and before him Gurgunt, had all that 
Hand in his alleageaunce and subjection : 
herunto I could add manye probabilityes 
of the names of places, persons, and 
speeches, as I did in the former, but they 
should be to longe for this time, and I 
reserve them for another. And thus you 
have had my opinion, howe all that realme 
of Ireland was first peopled, and by what 
nations. After all which the Saxons suc- 
ceeding, subdued it wholy unto themselves. 
For first Egfrid, Kinge of Northumber- 
lande, did utterly wast and subdue it, as 
it appeareth out of Bede his complaynt 
agaynst him ; and afterwardes King Edgar 
brought it under his obedience, as it ap- 
peareth by an auncient record, in which 
it is found written that he subdued all the 
Hands of the North, even unto Norway, 
and them the king did bring into his sub- 
jection. 

Eudox . This ripping up of auncient his- 
toryes, is very pleasing unto me, and in- 
deede savoureth of good conceite, and 
some reading withall. I see heerby howe 
profitable travell, and experience of for- 
reine nations, is to him that will applye 
them to good purpose. Neither indeede 
would I have thought, that any such an- 
tiquityes could have bene avouched for 
the Irish, that maketh me the more to 
long to see some more of your observa- 
tions, which ye have gathered out of that 
countrey, and have erst half promised to 
putt foorth : and sure in this mingling of 
nations appeareth (as you erst have well 
noted) a wonderfull providence and pur- 
pose of Allmightye God, that stirred up 
that people of the farthest partes of the 
woorld to seeke out those regions so re- 
mote from them, and by that meanes both 
to restore theyr decayed habitations, and 
to make himself knowen to the Heathen. 
But was there, I pray you, noe more gen- 
erall winning of that Hand, then first by 
the Scythians, which you say were the 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



779 



Scotts, and afterwardes by Spanyards, 
besides the Gaules, Brittous, and Saxons? 

Iren. Yes, there was an othei-, and that 
the last and the greatest, which was by 
the English, when the Earle Strangbowe, 
having conquered that laud, delivered up 
the same unto the handes of Henry the 
second, then King, whoe sent over thither 
great store of gentellmen, and other war- 
lick people, amongest whom he distributed 
the land, and settled such a strong col- 
onye therin, as never since could, with all 
the subtill practises of the Irish, be rooted 
out, but abide still a mighty people, of 
soe many as remayne English of them. 

Exidox. What is this that you say, of 
soe many as remayne English of them? 
Why, are not they that were once English 
abiding English still ? 

Iren. Noe, for the most part of them 
are degenerated and gro wen allmostmeere 
Irish, yea and more malicious to the Eng- 
lish then the very Irish themselves. 

Eudox. What heare I ? And is it pos- 
sible that an Englishman, brought up 
naturally in such sweete civilitye as Eng- 
land affoordes, can find such liking in 
that barbarous rudeness, that he should 
forgett his owne nature, and forgoe his 
owne nation ? how may this be, or what 
(I pray you) may be the cause hereof ? 

Iren. Surely nothing but the first evill 
ordinaunce and institution of that Com- 
mon-wealth. But therof now is here noe 
fitt place to speake, least, by the occasion 
therof offering matter of a long discourse, 
we might be drawen from this that we 
have in hand, namely, the handling of 
abuses in the customes of Ireland. 

Eudox. In trueth, Irenseus, you do 
well remember the plott of your first pur- 
pose ; but yet from that (me seemes) ye 
have much swarved in all this long dis- 
course, of the first inhabiting of Ireland ; 
for what is that to your purpose ? 

Iren. Truly e very materiall ; for yf ye 
marked the course of all that speach well, 
it was to shewe by what meanes the cus- 
tomes, that nowe are in Ireland, being 
some of them indeede very straunge and 
allmost heathenish, were first brought in : 
and that was, as I sayd, by those nations 
from whom that countrey was first peo- 
pled; for the difference of manners and 
customes doeth followe the difference of 
nations and people : the which I have de- 
clared unto you to have bene thre speciall, 
which seated themselves there; to witt, 
first the Scythians, then the Gaules, and 
lastly the English. Notwithstanding that 
I am not ignoraunt, that there were sun- 



drye other nations which gott footing in 
that land, of the which there yet remayne 
diverse great familyes and septs, of whom 
I will also in theyr proper places make 
mention. 

Eudox. You bring your self, Iraeneus, 
very well into the way agayne, notwith- 
standing that it seemeth that ye were 
never out of the way, but nowe that ye 
have passed through those antiquityes, 
which I could have wished not soe soone 
ended, beginn, when you please, to de- 
clare what customes and manners have 
bene derived from those nations to the 
Irish, and which of them you find fault 
withall. 

Iren. I will then begin to count theyr 
customes in the same order that I counted 
theyr nations, and first with the Scythian 
or Scottish manners. Of the which there 
is one use amongest them, to keepe theyr 
cattell, and to live themselves the most 
part of the yeare in bolyes, pasturing 
upon the mountayn, and wast wild places ; 
and removing still to fresh land, as they 
have depastured the former. The which 
appeareth plajaie to be the manner of the 
Scj^thians, as you may reade in Olaus 
Magnus, and Jo. Boheraus, and yet is 
used amongest all the Tartarians and the 
people about the Caspian Sea, which are 
naturally Scythians, to live in heardes as 
they call them , being the very same that 
the Irish bolyes are, driving theyr cattell 
continually with them, and feeding onely 
upon theyr milke and white meates. 

Eudox. What fault can ye find with 
this custome? for though it be an old 
Scythian use, yet it is very behoof ull in 
that countrey of Ireland, where there are 
greate mountaynes, and wast desartes 
full of grasse, that the same should be 
eaten downe, and nourish many thousand 
of cattell for the good of the whole realme, 
which cannot (me thinkes) be well any 
other way, then by keeping those Bolyes 
there, as ye have shewed. 

Ireyi. But by this custome of bolyes 
there growe in the meane time many great 
enormityes unto that Common-wealth. 
For first, yf there be any out-lawes, or 
loose people, (as they are never without 
some) which live upon stealthes and 
spoyles, they are evermore succoured and 
find relief onely in those Bolyes, being 
upon the wast places, wheras els they 
should be driven shortly to starve, or to 
come downe to the townes to steale relief, 
where, by one meane or other, they would 
soone be caught. Besides, such stealthes 
of cattell as they make, they bring com- 



78o 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



monly to those Bolyes, where they are 
receaved readilye, and the theif harboured 
from daimger of lawe, or such officers as 
might light uppon him. Moreover, the 
people that thus live in those Bolyes growe 
therby the more barbarous, and live more 
licentiously then they could in townes, 
using what meanes they list, and practis- 
ing what mischeives and villanyes they 
will, either agaynst the government there, 
by theyr combinations, or agaynst privat 
•men, whom they maligne, by stealing 
theyr goodes, or murdering themselves. 
For there they thinke themselves halfe 
exempted from lawe and obedience, and 
having once tasted freedome, doe, like a 
steere that hath bene long out of his yoke, 
grudge and repyne ever after to come 
under rule agayne. 

Eudox. By your speache, Irenaeus, I 
perceave more evills come by this use of 
bolyes, then good by theyr grazing; and 
therfore it may well be reformed: but 
that must be in his due course: do you 
proceed to the next. 

Iren. They have another custome from 
the Scythians, that is the wearing of 
Man tells and long glibbes, which is a 
thick curled bush of heare, hanging downe 
over theyr eyes, and monstrously disguis- 
ing them, which are both very badd and 
hurtfull. 

Eudox. Doe you thinke that the man- 
tell came from the Scythians? I would 
surely thinke otherwise, for by that which 
I have read, it appeareth that most nations 
in the world aunciently used the mantell. 
For the Jewes used it, as you may reade 
of Ellas mantell. The Chaldseans also 
used it, as you may reade in Diodorus. 
The JEgiptians likewise used it, as ye may 
reade in Herodotus, and may be gathered 
by the description of Berenice, in the 
Greeke Comentaryes upon Calimachus. 
The Greekes also used it aunciently, as 
appeareth by Venus mantell lined with 
starres, though af terwardes they chaunged 
the forme therof into their cloakes, called 
Pallia, as some of the Irish also doe. 
And the auncient Latines and Romayns 
used it, as ye may reade in Virgill, who 
was a very auncient antiquary e, — that 
Evander, when iEnaeas came unto him at 
his feast, did entertayne and feast him, 
sitting on the grounde, and lying on man- 
tells. In soemuch as he useth this very 
woord Mantile for a mantell. 

' Mantilia humi sternunt.' 

Soe as it seemeth that the mantell was a 
generall habite to most nations, and not 



proper to the Scithians onely, as you 
suppose. 

Iren. I cannot denye but that aun- 
ciently it was common to most, and yet 
since disused and layed away. But in 
this later age of the world, since the 
decay of the Romayne Empire, it was 
renewed and brought in agayne by those 
Northern nations when, breaking out of 
theyr cold caves and frozen habitations 
into the sweete soyle of Europe, they 
brought with them theyr usuall weedes, 
fitt to sheild the cold, and that continuall 
frost, to which they had at home bene 
enured : the which yet they left not of, 
by reason that they were in perpetual! 
warres with the nations whom they had 
invaded, but, still removing from place 
to place, carryed allwayes with them 
that weede, as theyr howse, theyr bedd, 
and theyr garment; and, coming lastly 
into Ireland, they found there more spe- 
ciall use therof, by reason of the rawe 
cold climate, from whence it is no we 
growen into that generall use in which 
that people no we have it. After whom 
the Gaules succeeding, yet finding the like 
necessitye for that garment, continued 
the like use therof. 

Eudox. Sith then the necessitye therof 
is soe comodious, as ye alleage, that it is 
insteedeof bowsing, bedding, and clothing, 
what reason have ye then to wish soe 
necessary a thing cast of ? 

Iren. Because the comoditye doth not 
countervayle the discomoditie, for the 
inconveniences that therby doe arise are 
much more many; for it is a fitt howse 
for an out-lawe, a meete bedd for a rebell, 
and an apt cloke for a theif. First the 
out-lawe being for his many crimes and 
villanyes bannished from the townes and 
bowses of honest men, and wandring in 
wast places, furr from daunger of lawe, 
maketh his mantell his howse, and under 
it covereth himself from the wrath of 
heaven, from the offence of the earth, and 
from the sight of men. When it rayneth 
it is his pent-howse ; when it blowes it is 
his tent ; when it f reezeth it is his taber- 
nacle. In Sommer he can weare it loose, 
in winter he can weare it close; at all 
times he can use it; never heavy, never 
combersome. Likewise for a rebell it is 
as serviceable ; for in his warre that he 
maketh (yf at least it besemeth the name 
of warr) when he still flyeth from his foe, 
and lurketh in the thick woodes and 
straite passages, way ting for advantages, 
it is his bedd, yea, and allmost his howse- 
hold stuff. For the wood is his howse 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



781 



agaynst all weathers, and his mautell is 
his cave to sleeps in. Therin he wrappeth 
himself rounde, and eueloseth himself 
strongly agaynst the gnattes, which in 
that countrey doe more aunoj'e the naked 
rebelles, whilest they keepe the woodes, 
and doe more sharply woimd them then 
all theyr enemyes swoordes or speares, 
which can come seldome nigh them: yea, 
and oftentimes theyr mantell serve th 
them when they are neere driven, being 
wrapt about theyr left arine in steede of a 
Targett, for it isas hard to cutt through it 
with a swoord ; besides it is light to beare, 
light to thro we away, and, being (as they 
then commonly are) naked, it is to them all 
in all. Lastly, for a theif it is soe hand- 
some, as it may seeme it was first invented 
for him ; for under it he can cleanly con- 
vay any fitt pillage that cometh hand- 
somely in his way, and when he goeth 
abrode in the night on free-booting, it is 
his best and surest frend ; for lying, as 
they often doe. two or thre uightes togither 
abrode to watch for theyr bootye, with 
that they can pretelye shrowde them- 
selves under a bush or bankes side, till 
they may conveniently doe theyr errand : 
and when all is done, he can in his mantell 
pass through any towne or company, 
being close hooded over his head, as he 
nseth, from knowledge of any to whom 
he is eudauugered. Besides all this, yf 
he be disposed to doe mischeif or villanye 
to any man, he may under his mantell 
goe privilye armed "without suspicion of 
any, carrying his head-peece, his skeane, 
or pistollyfhe please, to be allwaye in 
readiness. "^ Thus uecessarye and fitting 
is a mantell for a badd man, and surely 
for a badd howsewif e it is noe less conven- 
ient, for some of those that be wandring 
women, there called of them Beantoolhe, 
it is half a wardrobe ; for in Sommer you 
shall have her arrayed commonlye but in 
her smocke and mantle, to be more readye 
for her light services : in Winter, and in 
her travell, it is her best cloke and safe- 
gard, and also a coverlett for her lewde 
exercise. And when she hath filled her 
vessell, under it she can hide both her 
burden and her blame ; yea, and when 
her bastard is borne it serves insteede of 
a craddle and all her swadling cloutes. 
And as for all other good women which 
love to doe but litle woorke, howe hand- 
some it is to lye and sleepe, or to lowze 
themselves in the sunnshine, they that 
have bene but a while in Ireland can well 
witness. Sure I am that ye will thinke it 
very unfitt for good howsewives to stirre 



in, or to busy them selves about theyr 
howse-wiverye in such sort as they should. 
These be some of the abuses for which I 
would thinke'^it meete to forbidd all 
man tells. 

Eudoz. O evill mynded man, that hav- 
ing reckned up soe many uses of a mantell, 
will yet wish it to be abandoned ! Sure I 
thinke Diogenes dish did never serve his 
master more turnes, notwithstanding that 
he made it his dish, his cupp, his measure, 
his waterpott, then a mantell doth an 
Irish man. But I see they be all to badd 
intentes, and therfore I will joyne with 
you in abolishing it. But what blame lay 
you to the glibb ? Take heede (I pray you) 
that you be not to busye therwith for 
feare of your owne blame, selng our 
Englishmen take it up in such a generall 
fashion to weare theyr heare so un- 
measurably long, that some of them ex- 
ceede the longest Irish glibbes. 

Iroi. I feare not the blame of any 
undeserved dislikes ; but for the Irish 
glibbes, I say that, besides theyr savage 
brutishness and lothsome tilthiness which 
is not to be named, they are as fitt maskes 
as a mantell is for a thief. For whenso- 
ever he hath ruun himself into that perill 
of lawe that he will not be knowen, he 
either cutteth of his glibbe quite, by 
which he becometh nothing like himself, 
or pulleth it soe lowe downe over his 
eyes, that it is very hard to discerne his 
tiieivish countenaunce ; and therfore fitt 
to be trussed up with the mautell. 

Eudox. Truly these thre Scythian 
abuses, I hold most fitt to be taken away 
with sharpe penaltyes ; and surely I won- 
der how they have bene kept thus long, 
notwithstanding soe many good provisions 
and orders as have bene devised for the 
reformation of that people. 

Iren. The cause therof shall appeare 
to you hereafter ; but left us now goe for- 
ward with our Scythian customes, of 
which the next that I have to treate of is 
the manner of theyr raysing the crj'e in 
theyr conflictes, and at other troublesome 
times of uproare: the which is very 
natnrall Scythian, as you may reade in 
Diodorus Si'culus, and m Herodotus, de- 
scribing the manner of the Scythians and 
Persians coming to give the charge at 
theyr battells : at the which it is sayd, 
they cojue running with a terrible yell 
an(i hubbabowe, as yf heaven and earth 
would have gone togither, which is the 
very image of the Irish hubbabowe, which 
theyr kerne use at theyr first encounter. 
Besides, the same Herodotus writeth, that 



782 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



they used in theyr battells to call upon 
the names of theyr captaynesor generalls, 
and sometimes upon theyr greatest king 
deceased, as in the batteil of Tomyris 
agaynst Cyrus : which custome to this day 
manifestly appeareth araongest the Irish. 
For at theyr joyning of batteil, they like- 
wise call upon theyr captaynes name, or 
the name of his auncestours: As they 
under Oneale crye Landargabowe, that is, 
the bloudye hand, which is Oneales badge : 
they under O Brien call Launlaider, that 
is, the strong hand. And to theyr en- 
sample, the old English also which there 
remayneth have gotten up theyr cryes 
Scythian-like, as the Geraldins Croum- 
abowe, and the Butlers Butleaur-abowe. 
And herin also lyeth open an other 
manifest proof that the Irish be Scythes 
or Scotts, for in all theyr encounters they 
use one very common woord, crying 
Farrih, Farrih, which is a Scotish woord, 
to weete, the name of one of the first 
Kinges of Scotland, called Fargus, Fergus, 
or Ferragus, which fought against the 
Pictes, as ye may reade in Buckhanan 
De rebus Scoficis ; but as others write, it 
was long before that, the name of theyr 
cheif Captayne, under whom they fought 
agaynst the Africans, the which was then 
soe fortunate unto them, that ever si th- 
ence they have used to call upon his 
name in theyr battells. 

Eudox. Beleve me, this observation of 
yours, Irenseus, is very good and delight- 
full: farr beyond the blunt conceit of 
some, who (I remember) have upon the 
same woord Farrih, made a very gross 
conjecture ; as namely Mr. Stanihurst, 
who though he be the same country man 
borne, that should searche more neerely 
into the secrett of these thinges, yet hath 
strayed from the trueth all the heavens 
wide (as they say,) for he therupon 
groundeth a very gross imagination, that 
the Irish should discend from the ^Egyp- 
tians which came into that iland, first 
under the leading of one Scota the 
daughter of Pharao, wherupon they use 
(sayth he) in all theyr battells to call 
upon the name of Pharao, crying Farrih, 
Farrih. Surely he shootes wyde on the 
bowe hand, and very farr from the marke. 
For I would first knowe of him what aun- 
cient ground of authoritye he hath for 
such a senceless fable, and yf he found it 
in any of the rude Irish bookes, as it may 
be he had, yet (me seemes) that a man of 
his learning should not soe lightly have 
bene carryed away with old wives tales 
from approovaunce of his owns reason; 



for whether Scota be an Egyptian woord 
or smacke of any learning or judgement 
lett the learned judge. But this Scota 
rather cometh of the Greeke scotos, that 
is, darkeness, which hath not lett him see 
the light of the trueth. 

Iren. You knowe not, Eudoxus, how 
well Mr. Stanihurst could see in the darke ; 
perhaps he hath owles or cats eyes, but 
well I wote he seeth not well the light of 
the trueth in matters of more waight. 
But as for Farrih I have told you my con- 
jecture onely, and yet thus much more I 
have to proove a likelyehoode, that there 
are this day yet in Ireland, many Irish 
men (cheifly in the North partes) called 
by the name of Farreehs. But lett that 
nowe be : this onely for this place suffis- 
eth, that it is a common woord used in 
theyr Hubbobowes, the which (with all 
the rest) is to be abolished, for that it 
discovereth an affectation of Irish cap- 
taynrye, which in this plattforme I en- 
devour specially to beate downe. There 
be other sortesof cryes also used amongest 
the Irish, which savoure greatly of the 
Scythian barbarisme, as theyr lamenta- 
tions at theyr burialls, with dispayrefull 
out-cryes, and immoderate waylinges, the 
which Mr. Stanihurst also might have 
used for an argument to prove them iEgip- 
tians, which lamented for the death of 
Joseph. Others thinke this custome to 
come from the Spayniardes, for that 
they doe soe unmeasurably likewise be- 
wayle theyr dead; but the same is not 
proper Spanish, but altogither heathenish, 
brought in thither first either by the Scyth- 
ians, or the Moores, which were Afri- 
cans, that long possessed that countrey. 
For it is the manner of all Pagans and 
Infidells to be intemperate in theyr way- 
linges of the dead, for that they had noe 
fayth nor hope of salvation. And this ill 
custome also is specially noted by Diodorus 
Siculus, to have bene in the Scythians, and 
is yett amongest the Northern Scotts. 

Eudox . This is sure an ill custome also , 
but it doth not soe much concerne civill 
reformation, as an abuse of religion. 

Ire7i. I did not rehearse it as one of the 
abuses which I thought most woorthy of 
reformation ; but having made mention 
of Irish cryes I thought this manner of 
lewd crying and howling not impertinent 
to be noted as uncivill and Scythian-like : 
for by these old custoraes, and other like 
coi.jecturall circumstaunces, the discents 
of nations can onely be prooved, where 
other monumentes of writinges be not 
remayning. 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



783 



Eudox. Then (I pray you) wheusoever 
in your discourse you meete with them 
by the way, doe not shuune, but boldly 
touche them ; for besides theyr greate 
pleasure and delight for theyr antiquitye, 
they bring also great profitt and helpe 
unto civilitye. 

Iren. Then sith you will have it soe, I 
will heere take occasion, since I lately 
spake of theyr manner of cryes in joyning 
battell, to speake also somewhat of the 
manner of theyr armes, and array in bat- 
tell, with other custom es perhaps woorthy 
the noting. And first of theyr armes and 
weapons, amongest which theyr brode 
swoordes are proper Scythian, for such 
the Scythes used comouly, as ye may 
reade in Olaus Magnus. And the same 
also used the old Scottes, as ye may reade 
inBuckhanan, and in Solinus, where the 
pictures of them are in the same forme 
expressed. Also theyr short bowes, and 
litle quivers with short bearded arrowes, 
are also very Scythian, as ye may reade 
in the same Olaus. And the same sort, 
both of bowes, quivers, and arrowes, are 
at this day to be sene commonly amongest 
the Northern Irish-Scotts, whose Scottish 
bowes are not past thre quarters of a yard 
longe, with a string of wreathed hemp 
slackly bent, and whose arrowes are not 
much above half an ell longe, tipped with 
Steele heades, made like common brode 
arrowe heades, but much more sharpe and 
slender, that they enter into an armed 
man or horse most cruelly, notwithstand- 
ing that they are shott foorth weakelye. 
Moreover, theyr long brode shieldes, made 
but of wicker roddes, which are com- 
monly used amongest the sayd Northern 
Irish, but specially of the Scottes, are 
brought from the Scythians, as ye may 
reade in Olaus Magnus, Solinus, and 
others: likewise theyr going to battell 
without armour on theyr bodyes or 
heades, but trusting onely to the thick- 
ness of theyr glibbes, the which (they 
say) will sometimes beare of a good stroke, 
is mere savage and Scythian, as ye may 
see in the sayd Images of the old Scythes 
or Scottes, sett foorth by Herodianus and 
others. Besides, theyr confused kind of 
marche in heapes, without any order or 
array, theyr clashing of swoordes togither, 
theyr fierce running upon theyr enemyes, 
and theyr manner of fight, resembleth all- 
togither that which is reade in historyes 
to have bene used of the Scythians. By 
which it may allmost infallibly be gath- 
ered, togither with other circumstaunces, 
that the Irish are very Scotts or Scythes 



originally, though sithence intermingled 
with many other nations repayriug and 
joining unto them. And to these I may 
add also another very stronge conjecture 
which cometh to my mynd, that I have 
often there observed amongest them ; that 
is, certayne religious ceremonyes, which 
are very superstitiously yet used amongest 
them, the which are also written by sun- 
drye authours, to have bene observed 
amongest the Scythians, by the which it 
may very vehemently be presumed that 
both the nations were aunciently all 
one. For Plutark (as I remember) in his 
Treatise of Homer, endevouring to searche 
out the truthe, what countryman Homer 
was, proveth it most strongly (as he 
thinketh) that he was an ^olian borne ; 
for that in describing a sacrifice of the 
Greekes, he omitted the chinbone, the 
which all the other Grecians (saving 
the iEolians) doe use to burne in theyre 
sacrifices: allso for that he maketh the 
intralls to be rosted on five spittes, the 
which was the proper manner of the ^o- 
lians whoe onely, of all nations andcoun- 
treys of Grecia, used to sacrifice in that 
sort, whereas all the rest of the Greekes 
used to rost them on thre spittes. By 
which he inferreth, necessarily e, that 
Homer was an ^olian. And by the same 
reason may I (as reasonablie) conclude, 
that the Irish are discended from the Scitli- 
yans ; for that they use to this day 
some of the same ceremonyes which the 
Scythians aunciently used. As for ex- 
ample, ye may reade in Lucian, in that 
sweete dialogue which is intituled Toxaris 
or of frendship, that the common oath of 
the Scythians was by the swoord, and by 
the fire, for that they accounted these 
two speciall divine powers, which should 
woorke vengeaunce on perjurours. So 
doe the Irish at this day, when they goe 
to any battell, say certayne prayers or 
charmes to theyr swoordes, making a cross 
therewith upon the earth, and thrusting 
thepointes of theyr blades in to the ground ; 
thinking therby to have the better success 
in fight. Also they use commonly to 
sweare by theyr swoordes. Likewise at 
the kindling of the fire, and lighting of 
candells, they say certayne prayers or use 
some other superstitious rites, which shew- 
eth that they honoure the fire and the 
light ; for all those Northern nations, hav- 
ing bene used to be annoyed with much 
cold and darkenes, are wonte therfore to 
have the fire and the sunn in great vener- 
ation : like as contrariwise the Moores and 
iEgiptians, which are much offended and 



784 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



greived with much extreme heate of the 
simn, doe every moriiiug, when the sunn 
riseth, fall to cursiug and banning of him 
as theyr plague and cheif scourge. Also 
the Scythians used, when they would 
binde any solempne vowe or combination 
amongest them, to drinke a bowle of bloud 
togither, vowing therby to spend theyr last 
bloud in that quarrell: and even soe doe 
the wild Scotts, as ye may reade in Buck- 
hanan; and some of the Northern Irish 
likewise. As ye may also reade in the 
same booke, in the Tale of Arsacomas, 
that it was the manner of the Scyth- 
ians, when any one of them was heavely 
wronged, and would assemble unto him 
any forces of people to joyne with him in 
his revenge, to sitt in some publick place 
for certayne dayes upon an oxe hide, to 
which there would resort all such persons 
as being disposed to take armes, would 
enter into his pay, or joyne with him in 
his quarrell ; and the same ye may like- 
wise reade to have bene the auncient 
maTiner of the wild S-;otts, which are in- 
deede the verynaturall Irish. Moreover, 
the Scythians used to sweare by theyr 
Kinges hand, as Olaus sheweth. And soe 
doe the Irish no we use to sweare by theyr 
Lordes hand, and, to forsweare it, hold it 
more criminall then to sweare by God. 
Also the Scythians sayd, that they were 
once every yeare turned into wolves, and 
soe is it written of the Irish: though Mr. 
Camden in a better sence doth suppose it 
was a disease, called Lycanthropia, soe 
named of the wolfe. And yet some of the 
Irish doe use to make the wolfe theyr gos- 
sip. The Scythians also used to seeth 
theyr flesh in the hide ; and soe doe the 
Northern Irish yet. The Scythians like- 
wise used to boyle the bloud of the beast 
yet living, and to make meate thereof : 
and soe doe the Irish still in the North. 
Many such customes I could recount unto 
you, as of theyr old manner of marrying, 
of burying, of daunciug, of singing, of 
feasting, of cursing, though Christians 
have wiped out the most part of them, by 
resemblaunce wherof it might playnly ap- 
peare unto you that the nations are the 
same, but that by the reckning of these 
fewe which I have told unto you, I find 
my speach drawen out to a greater length 
then I purpo.sed. Thus much onely for 
tliis time, I hope, shall suffise you, to 
tliiuke that the Irish are aunciently dis- 
cended from the Scythians. 

Eudox. Surely, Ireneus, I have, in 
these fewe woordes, herd that from you 
which I would have thought had bene im- 



possible to have bene spoken of times soe 
remote, and customes so auncient: with 
delight wherof I was all that while as it 
were entramiced, and carryed soe farr 
from my self, as that I am no we right 
sorye that you ended soe soone. But I 
marvell much howe it cometh to pass, 
that in soe long continuaunce of time, 
and many ages come betwene, yet any 
jote of those old rites and superstitious 
customes should remayne amongest them. 

Ire7i. It is noe cause of wonder at all ; 
for it is the manner of all barbarous na- 
tions to be very superstitious, and diligent 
observers of old customes and antiqui- 
tyes; which they receave by continuall 
tradition from theyr parentes, by record- 
ing of theyr Bards and Chronicles, in theyr 
songes, and by daylye use and example 
of theyr elders. 

Eudox. But have you I pray you ob- 
served any such customes amongest them, 
brought likewise from the Spanyardes or 
Gaules, as these from the Scythians ? that 
may sure be very materiall to your first 
purpose. 

Iren. Some perhaps I have; and who 
that will by this occasion more diligently 
marke and compare theyr customes shall 
find many more. But there are fewer I 
thiuke remayning of the Gaules or Spayn- 
yardes then of the Scythians, by reason 
that the partes, which they then possessed, 
lying upon the coast of the "Westerne and 
Southerne Sea, were sithence continually 
visited with straungers and forrein peo- 
ple, repay ring thither for traffick, and for 
fishing, which is very plentif nil upon these 
coastes: for the trade and enterdeale of 
sea-cost nations one with another woork- 
etli more civilitye and good fashions in 
them, all sea men being naturally desir- 
ous of new fashions, then amongst the 
inland dwellers, which are seldome seene 
of forreiners ; yet some of such as I have 
noted, I will recounte unto you. And 
first I will, for the better creditt of the 
rest, shewe you one out of theyr Statutes, 
amongest which it is enacted that noe 
man shall weare his bearde but onely on 
the upper lipp like muschachoes, shavinge 
all the rest of his chinn. And this was / 
the auncient manner of Spaynyardes, as 1 
yet it is of all the Mahometans to cutt of J 
all theyr beardes close, save only theyr 
muschachoes, which they weare long. 
And the cause of this use was for that 
they, being bredd in ahotecountiy.founde 
much haire on theyr faces and other 
partes to be noysome unto them : for 
which cause they did cutt it most away, 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



78; 



like as contrarily all other uations, brought 
up iu cold couutryes, doe use to nourish 
theyr haire, to kepe them warme, which 
was the cause that the Scythians and 
Scottes weare Glibbes (as I shewed you) 
to keepe theyr heades warme, and long 
beardes to defend theyr laces from cold. 
From them also (I thinke) came saffron 
shirtes and smockes, which was devised 
by them in those bote countryes, where 
saffron is very common and rife, for 
avoyding that evill which commeth by 
much sweating, and longe wearing of 
linnen : also the women amongest the old 
.Spanyardes had the charge of all house- 
hold affayres, both at home and abrode, 
(as Bohemus writeth) though nowe the 
Spanyardes use it quite otherwise. And 
soe have the Irish women the trust and 
care of all thinges, both at home, and in 
the fieldes. Likewise rounde leather tar- 
getts is the Spanish fashion, whoe used it 
(for the most part) paynted, which in Ire- 
land they use also, in many places, col- 
oured after theyr rude fashion. Moreover 
the manner of theyr womens riding on the 
wrong side of theyr horse, I raeane with 
theyr faces towardes the right side, as 
the Irish use, is (as they say) old Spanish, 
and, as some say, Affricane, for amongest 
them the women (they say) use so to ride 
acrosse : Also the deepesniock sleeve hang- 
ing to thegrounde, which the Irish women 
use, they say, it was old Spanish, and is 
used yet in Barbarye : and yet that should 
seeme rather to be an old English fashion ; 
for in armory the fashion of tlie Manche, 
which is given in armes by many, being 
indede nothing els then a sleeve, is fash- 
ioned much like to that sleeve. And that 
Knightes in auncient times used to weare 
theyr mistress or loves sleeve, upon theyr 
armes, as appeareth by that which is 
written of Sir Launcelott, that he wore 
the sleeve of the Fayre Maydeof Asteloth 
in a turney, whereat Queene Guenever 
was much displeased. 

Eudox. Yourconceite isgood, and well 
fitting for thinges soe farr growen from 
certaynte of knowledge and learning, 
onely upon likelyhoodes and conjectures. 
But have you any customes remayning 
from the Gaules or Brittons? 

Tren. I have observed a fewe of either ; 
and whoe will better searohe into them 
may finde more. And first the profession 
of llieyr Bards who (as Cfesar writeth) 
were usuall amongest the Gaules; and 
the same was also common amongest the 
Brittons, aud isnotyetaltogitherleftof by 
the Welsh which are theyr posteritye. 



For all the fashions of the Gaules and 
Brittons, as hetestifyeth, were much like. 
The long dartes came also from the Gaules, 
as ye may reade in the same Caesar, and 
in Jo. Bohemus. Likewise the said IBo- 
hemus writeth, that the Gaules used 
swoordes a hand full broade, and soe doe 
the Irish nowe. Also that they used long 
wicker sheildes in battayll that should 
cover theyr whole bodyes, and so doe 
the Northern Irish ; but because I have 
not scene such fashioned targets used in 
the Southerne parts, but onely amongst 
the Northern people, and Irish-Scotts, I 
doe thinke that they were rather brought 
in by the Scythians, then by the Gaules. 
Also the Gaules used to drinke theyr 
enemyes blond, and paynte themselves 
wdth it : soe also they write, that the old 
Irish were wonte, and soe I have scene 
some of the Irish doe, not theyr enemyes 
but theyr frendes bloud. As namely at 
the execution of a notable traytour at 
Limmericke, called Murrogh 0-Brein, I 
sawe an old woman, which was his foster 
mother, take up his head, whilest he was 
quartered, and sucked up all the bloud 
running thereout, saying, that the earth 
was not woorthye to drinke it, and there- 
with also steeped her face and breast, and 
tore her hayre, crying out and shreeking 
out most terriblye. 

Eudox. You have very well runne 
through such customes as the Irish have 
derived from the first old nations which 
inhabited that land: namely, the Scyth- 
ians, the Spanyardes, the Gaules, and 
the Brittons. It noAve remayneth that 
you take in hand the customes of the old 
English which are amongest the Irish : of 
M'hich I doe not thinke that you shall have 
much to finde fault with, considering that 
by the English most of the old badd Irish 
customes were abolished, and more civill 
fashions brought in theyr steede. 

Iren. You think otherwise, Eitdoxus, 
then I doe ; for the cheifest abuses which 
are nowe in that realme, are growen from 
the English that were, but are nowe 
much more lawless and licentious then 
the very wild Irish : soe that as much care 
as was then by them had to reforme the 
Irish, soe much and more must nowe be 
used to reform them ; soe much time doth 
alter the manners of men. 

Eudox. That seemeth very straunge 
which you say, that men should soe much 
degenerate from theyr first natures as to 
growe wilde. 

Iren. Soe much can libertye and ill 
example doe. 



786 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



Eudox. What libertye had the English 
there, more then they had heere at home ? 
Were not the lawes plaunted amongest 
them at the first, and had not they gov- 
ernours to courbe and keepe them still in 
awe and obedience ? 

Iren. They had, but it was, for the 
most part, such as did more hurte then 
good ; for they had governours for the 
most part of themselves, and commonly 
out of the two bowses of the Geraldhis 
and the Butlers, both adversaryes and 
corryvals one agaynst the other. Whoe 
though, for the most parte, they were but 
as deputyes under some of the King of 
Englandes sonnes, brethren, or other neere 
kinsemen, whoe were the Kinges lieuten- 
auntes, yet they swayed soe much, as 
they had all the rule, and the others but 
the title. Of which Butlers and Geraldins, 
albeit (I must confess) theye were very 
brave and woorthye men, as also of other 
the Peeres of that realrae, made Lord 
Deputyes and Lord Justices at sundry 
times, yet thorough greatnes of their late 
conquests and seignories they grewe in- 
solent, and bent both that regall author- 
itye, and also theyr private powers, one 
agaynst another, to the utter subversion 
of themselves, and strengthening of the 
Irish agayne. This ye may see playnly 
discovered by a letter written from the 
cittizens of Corke out of Ireland, to the 
Earle of Shrewsbury then in England, 
and remayning yet upon record, both in 
the Towre of Loudon, and also amongest 
the Chronicles of Ireland. Wherein it is 
by them complained, that the English 
Lords and Gentlemen, who then had great 
possessions in Ireland, beganne, through 
pride and insolencye, to make private 
warres one agaynst another, and when 
either parte was weake they would wage 
and drawe in the Irish to take theyr parte, 
by which meanes they both greatlie en- 
couraged and enabled the Irish, which 
till that time had bene shutt up within 
the Mountayne of Slewloghir, and weak- 
ened and disabled themselves, insoemuch 
that theyr revenues were wonderfully 
impayred, and some of them, which are 
there reckoned to have bene able to have 
spent 12 or 13 hundred poundes per annum, 
of old rent, (that I may say noe more) 
besides theyr commodityes of creekes and 
havens, were nowe scarce able to dispend 
the third part. From which disorder, an 
other huge calamitye came upon them, as 
that, they are nowe growen to be allmost 
as lewde as the Irish : I meane of such 
English as Avere planted above toward the 



West ; for the English Pale hath preserved 
it self, through neereness of their state, in 
reasonable civilitye, but the rest which 
dwell above Conaught and in Mounster, 
which is the sweetest soyle of Ireland, 
and some in Leinster and Ulster, are de- 
generate, and growen to be as very pat- 
chokes as the wild Irish, yea and some of 
them have quite shaken of theyr English 
names, and put on Irish that they might 
be alltogither Irish. 

Eudox. Is it possible that any should 
soe farre growe out of frame that they 
should in soe short space, quite forgett 
theyr countrey and theyr owne names? 
That is a most dangerous lethargic, much 
woorse then that of Messala Corvinus, 
who, being a most learned man, through 
sickness forgate his owne name. But can 
you counte us any of this kinde ? 

Iren. I cannot but by reporte of the 
Irish themselves, who report, that the 
Mack-mahons, in the North e, were aun- 
ciently English ; to witt, discended from 
the Fitz Ursulas, which was a noble 
familye in England, and that the same 
appeareth by the signification of theyr 
Irish names. Likewise that the Mack- 
swines, nowe in Ulster, were aunciently 
of the Veres in England, but that they 
themselves, for hatred of English, soe 
disguised theyr names. 

Eudox. Could they ever conceave any 
such develish dislike of theyr owne 
natural 1 countrey, as that they would be 
ashamed of her name, and byte of her 
dugg from which they sucked life ? 

Iren. I wote well there should be none ; 
but proude hartes doe oftentimes (like 
wanton coltes) kickeat theyr mothers, as 
we reade Alcibiades and Theraistocles did, 
whoe, being bannished out of Athens, 
fledd unto "the King of Asia, and there 
stirred them up to warr agaynst theyr 
owne countrey, in which warres they 
themselves were cheiftaynes. So they 
say did these Mack-swines and Mack- 
mahons, or rather Veres and Fitz Ursulas, 
for private despite, turne themselves 
agaynst England. For at such time as 
Ko. Vere, Earle of Oxford, was in the 
Barons warres agaynst King Richard the 
Second, through the malice of the Peeres, 
banished the realme and proscribed, he 
with his kinseman Fitz Ursula fledd into 
Ireland, where being prosecuted, and 
afterwardes putt to death in England, his 
kinseman, there remayning behind in 
Ireland, rebelled, and, conspiring with the 
Irish, did quite cast of the English name 
and alleageaunce, since which time they 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



787 



have ever soe remayned, aud have ever 
sitheace bene counted meere Irish. Tlie 
verye like is also reported of tlie Mack- 
swiues, Mack-mahous, and Mack-sheeheis 
of Mounster, whoe likewise were aun- 
ciently English, and old followers of the 
Earle of Desmonde, untill the raigne of 
King Edward the Fourth: at which time 
the Earle of Desmonde that then was called 
Thomas, being through false subornation 
(as they say) of the Queene lor some 
offence by her agaynst him couceaved, 
brought to his death at Drogheda most 
unjustly, notwithstanding that he was a 
very good and sound subject to the Kiug. 
Thereupon all his kinsmen of the Geral- 
dins, which then was a mightye familye 
in Mounster, in revenge of that huge 
wronge, rose into armes agaynst the King, 
and utterly renounced and forsooke all 
obedience to the crowne of England; to 
whom the sayd Mack-s wines, Mack-shee- 
heis, and Mack-mahons, being then ser- 
vauntes and followers, did the like, and 
have ever sithence soe continued. And 
with them (they say) all the people of 
Mounster went out, and many others of 
them, which were meere English, thence- 
foorth joyned with the Irish agaynst the 
King, and termed themselves meere Irish, 
taking on them Irish habits and customes, 
which could never siuce be cleane wiped 
away, but the contagion therof hath re- 
mayned still amongest theyr posterityes. 
Of which sorte (they say) be most of the 
surnames which end in an, as Hernan, 
Shenan, Mau4,an, &c. the which now 
accounte themselves meere Irish. Other 
greate bowses there be of the old English 
in Ireland, which through licentious con- 
versing with the Irish, or marrying, or 
fostering them, or lacke of good nurture, 
or other such unhappye occasions, have 
degenerated from theyr auncient dignity e, 
and are nowe growen as Irish as Ohanlans 
breeche, as the proverbe there is; of 
which sorte there are two most pityfull 
examples above the rest, to witt the Lord 
Bremechame, whoe being the most aun- 
cient barren, I thinke, in England, nowe 
waxen the most savage Irish amongest 
them, naming himself Irishlike, Noccorish ; 
and the other is the greate Mortimer, whoe 
forgetting ho we greate he was once in Eng- 
land, or English at all, is nowe become the 
most barbarous of them all, and is called 
Mack-nihmarrih ; and not much better 
then he is the old Lo. Courcye, who, having 
lewdly wasted all the landes and signoryes 
that he had, allyed himself unto the Irish 
and is himself also nowe growen quite Irish. 



Eudox. In trueth this which you tell is 
a most shamefull hearing, and to be re- 
formed with most sharpe censures in soe 
greate personages, to the terror of the 
meaner: for where the lordes and cheif 
men wax soe barbarous and bastardlike, 
what shal be hoped of the pesantes, and 
base people ? Aud hereby sure you have 
made a fayre way unto your self to lay 
open the abuses of theyr evill customes, 
which you are nowe nexte to declare, the 
which, noe doubt, are very badd and bar- 
barous, being borrowed from the Irish, as 
theyr apparrell, theyr language, theyr rid- 
ing, and many other the like. 

Iren. You cannot but thinke them sure 
to be very brute and uncivill; for were 
they at the best that they were of old, 
when they were brought in, they should 
in soe long an alteration of time seeme very 
slraunge and wonderfull. For it is to be 
thought, that the use of all England was 
in the raigne of Henry the Second, when 
Ireland was first planted with English, 
veiy rude and barbarous, soe as yf the 
same should be nowe used in England by 
any, it would seeme woorthy of sharpe 
correction, and of newe lawes for refor- 
mation, for it is but even the other day 
since England grewe to be civlll: ther- 
fore in counting the evill customes of the 
English there, I will not have regard 
whether the beginning therof were English 
or Irish, but will have respect onely to the 
inconvenience therof. And first I have to 
finde fault with the abuse of language, 
that is, for the speakmg of Irish amongest 
the English, which as it is unnaturall that 
any people should love anothers language 
more then theyr owne, soe it is very incon- 
venient, and the cause of many other evills. 

Eudox. It seemeth straunge to me that 
the English should take more delight to 
speake that language then theyr owne, 
wheras they should (me thinkes) rather 
take scorne to acciuaynte theyr tonges 
therewith : for it hath bene ever the use of 
the eonquerours to dispise the language of 
the conquered, and to force him by all 
meanes to learne his. Soe did the Ro- 
mayns alwayes use, in soe much as there 
is almost noe nation in the worlde, but it 
is sprinckled with theyr language. It 
were good therf ore (me thinkes) to searche 
out the originall cause of this evill ; for, 
the same being discovered, a redress therof 
wil be the more easely provided. For I 
thinke it were straunge, that the English 
being soe many, and the Irish soe fewe as 
they then were left, they being the fewer 
should drawe the more unto theyr use. 



788 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



Iren. I suppose that the eheifest cause 
of the bringing in of the Irish language, 
amongest them, was specially theyr tos- 
tring, and marrying with the Irish, tlie 
which are two most daungerous infections : 
for first the child that sucketh the niilke 
of the nurse, must of necessitye learuchis 
first speache of her, the which being the 
first that is enured to his tongue, is ever 
after most pleasing unto him, in soe much 
as though he afterward be taught English, 
yet the smacke of the first will allwayes 
abide with him ; and not onely of the 
speache, but also of the manners and con- 
ditions. For besides that yong children 
be like apes, which will affect and imitate 
what they see done afore them, specially 
of theyr nurses whom they love soe well, 
they moreover drawe unto themselves, to- 
gither with theyr sucke, even the nature 
and disposition of theyr nurses : for the 
mynd followeth much the temperature of 
the bodye ; and also the woordes are the 
Image of the mynd, soe as, they proceed- 
ing from the mynd, the mynd must needes 
be affected with the woordes. Soe that the 
speache being Irish, the harte must needes 
be Irish ; for out of the aboundaunce of the 
harte, the tonge speaketh. The next is the 
marriadge with the Irish, which how daun- 
gerous a thing it is in all common-wealthes 
appeareth to every simplest sence ; and 
though some greate ones have perhaps 
used such matches with theyr vassals, and 
have of them nevertheless raysed woorthy 
issue, as Telamon did with Termessa, 
Alexander the Great with Roxane, and 
Julius Cfesar with Cleopatra, yet the ex- 
ample is soe perilous, as it is not to be 
adventured: for in steede of these fewe 
good, I could counte unto them infinite 
many evill. And indeede how can such 
matching but bring foorth an evill race, 
seing that commonly the child taketh most 
of his nature of the mother, besides 
speache, manners, and inclination, which 
are (for the most part) agreable to the 
conditions of theyr mothers? For by 
them they are first framed and fashioned, 
soe as what they receave once from them, 
they will hardly ever after forgoe. Ther- 
fore are these evill customes of fostring 
and marrying with the Irish most care- 
fully to be restrayned ; for of them two, 
the third evill, that is the custome of 
language (which I speake of) cheifly pro- 
ceedeth. 

E'udox. But are there not Lawes all- 
ready appoynted, for avoyding of this 
evill? 

Iren. Yes, I thinke there be, but as 



good never a whitt as never the better. 
For what doe statutes avayle without 
penalty es, or lawes without charge of exe- 
cution? For soe there is another like 
lawe enacted agaynst wearing of Irish 
apparrell, butneverthemore is it observed 
by any, or executed by them that have 
the charge: for they in theyr private 
discretions thinke it not fitt to be forced 
upon the poore wretches of that countrey, 
which are not woorth the price of English 
apparrell, nor expedient to be practised 
agaynst the abler sorte, by reason that 
the bare countrey (say they) doth yeelde 
noe better: and were there better to be 
had, yet these were fitter to be used, as 
namely, the mantell in traveling, be- 
cause there be noe Innes where meete 
bedding might be had, soe that his man- 
tell serves him then for a bedd and the 
leather quilted jacke in journeying and 
in camping, for that it is fittest to be 
under his shirte of mayle, for any occa- 
sion of soden service, as there happen 
many, and to cover his thinn breeche on 
horsebacke: the greate linneu rowle, 
which the women weare, to keepe theyr 
heades warme after cutting theyr haire, 
which they use in any sickness ; besides 
theyr thicke folded linnen shirtes, theyr 
longe-sleeved smockes, theyr half-sleeved 
coates, theyr silken filletts, and all the 
rest they will devise some colourable 
reason for them, either of necessitye, or 
of antiquitye, or of comeliness. 

Eudox. But what coloure soe ever they 
alleage, me thinkes it is not expedient, 
that the execution of a lawe once or- 
dayned should be left to the discretion of 
the judge or oflicer, but that, without 
partialitye or regarde, it should be ful- 
filled as well on English, as Irish. 

Iren. But they thinke this precisenes 
in reformation of apparrell not to be soe 
materiall, or greatly pertinent. 

Eudox. Yes surely but it is; for mens 
apparrell is commonly made according to 
theyr conditions, and theyre conditions 
are oftentimes governed by theyr gar- 
ments: for the person that is gowned is 
by his gowne putt in mynd of gravitye, 
and also restrayned from lightnes by the 
very unaptness of his weede. Therfore it 
is written by Aristotle, that when Cyrus 
had overcome the Lydians that were a 
warlicke nation, and devised to bring 
them to a more peaceable life, he chaunged 
theyr apparrell and musick, and insteede 
of theyr shorte warlicke coates, clothed 
them in long garments like women, and 
in steede of theyr warlick musick, ap- 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



789 



poynted to them certayne lascivious layes, 
and loose gigges, by which in shorte space 
theyr myudes were so mollyfyed and 
abated, that they forgate theyr former 
lierceness, and became most tender and 
effeminate : wherby it appeareth, that 
there is not a litle in the garment to the 
fashioning of the mynde and conditions. 
But be all these, which you have described, 
the fashions of the Irish weede? 

Iren. Noe; all these that I have re- 
hearsed unto you, be not Irish garments, 
but English ; for the quilted leather Jacke 
is old English ; for it was the proper weede 
of the horseman, as ye may reade in 
Chaucer, where he describeth Sir Thopas 
his apparrell and armoure, when he went 
to fight agaynst the Gyant, in his robe of 
shecklaton, which scheoklaton is that kind 
of guilded leather with which they use to 
embroder theyr Irish jackes. And there 
likewise by all that description jq may 
see the very fashion and manner of the 
Irish horseman most lively set foorth, his 
long hose, his shooesof costly cordewayne. 
his hacqueton, and hishabberjon, with all 
the rest therto belonging. 

Eudox. I surely thought that that 
manner had bene kindly Irish, for it is 
farr differing from that we have nowe; 
as also ail the furniture of his horse, his 
stronge brasse bitt, his slyding raynes, 
his shannckpillion without stirrops, his 
manner of mounting, his fashion of rid- 
ing, his charging of his speare aloft above 
head, and the forme of his speare. 

Iren. Noe sure ; they be native Eng- 
lish, and brought in by the Englishmen 
first into Ireland: neither is the same 
counted an uncomelye manner of riding, 
for I have heard some greate warriours 
say, that, in all the services which they 
had seene abroade in forrayne countreys, 
they never sawe a more comely horse- 
man then the Irish man, nor that cometh 
on more bravely in his charge : neither 
is his manner of mounting unseemely, 
though he wante stirrops, but more ready 
then with stirrops ; for in his getting up 
his horse is still going, wherby he gayneth 
way. And therfore the stirrops were 
called soe in scorne, as it were a stayre 
to gett up, being derived of the old Eng- 
lish woord sty, which is, to gett up, or 
niounte. 

Eudox. It seemeth then that ye finde 
noe fault with this manner of riding : 
why then would you have the quilted 
Jacke layed away? 

Iren. I would not have that layed 
away, but the abuse therof to be putt 



away; for being used to the end that it 
was framed, that is, to be worne in warre 
under a sbirte of mayle, it is allowable, 
as also the sliirte of mayle, and all his 
other furniture : but to be worne daylye 
at home, and in townes and civill places, 
it is a rude habite and most uncomely, 
seeming like a players paynted coate. 

Eudox. But it is worne (they say) 
likewise of Irish footemeu ; how doe you 
allowe of that? for I should thinke it 
were unseemely. 

Iren. Noe, not as it is used in warre, 
for it is then worne likewise of a footeman 
under a shirte of mayle, the which foote- 
man thay call a Galloglass, the which 
name doth discover him to be also aun- 
cient English, for Gallogla signif5'es an 
English servitour or yeoman. And he 
being soe armed, in a long shirt of mayle 
dowue to the calfe of his legg, with a long 
brode axe in his hand, was then pedes 
gravis annaturae, and was insteede of the 
armed footeman that nowe weareth a 
corselett, before the corseletts were used, 
or allmost invented. 

Eudox. Then him belike ye likewise 
allow in your straight reformation of old 
customes. 

I}-en. Both him and the kearne also 
(whom onely I tooke to be the proper 
Irish souldiour) can I allowe, soe that 
they use that habite and custome of 
theyrs in the warres onely, when they are 
ledd foorthe to the service of theyr 
Prince, and not usually at home, and in 
civill places, and besides doe lay aside 
the evill and wild uses which the gallo- 
glass and kearne doe use in their common 
trade of lyfe. 

Eudox. What be those? 

Iren. Marye, those be the most loth- 
some and barbarous conditions of any 
people (I thinke) under heaven ; for, from 
tbe time they enter into that coiirse, they 
doe use all the beastly behaviour that 
may be to oppress all men ; they spoyle 
as well the subject as the enemy; they 
steale, they are cruell and bloudye, full 
of revenge and delighting in deadly ex- 
ecution, "licentious, swearers, and blas- 
phemers, common ravishers of women, 
and murtherers of children. 

Eudox. These be most villenous con- 
ditions; I marvayle then that ever they 
be used or employed, or allmost suffred 
to live : what good can there then be in 
them ? 

Iren. Yet sure they are very valiaunte 
and hardye, for the most part great en- 
durours of cold, labour, hunger, and all 



790 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



hardiness, very active and stronge of 
hand, very swift of foote, very vigilaunte 
and circumspect in theyr enterprises, 
very present in perrills, very great 
scorners of death. 

Eudox. Truly, by tliis that ye saie, it 
seeraes the Irishman is a very brave 
souldiour. 

Iren. Yea surely, even in that rude 
kind of service he beareth himself very 
couragiously. But when he cometh to 
experience of service abroade, and is putt 
to a peece, or a pike, he maketh as 
woorthy a souldiour as any nation he 
meeteth with. But lett us (I pray you) 
turne agayne to our discourse of evill 
customes amongest the Irish. 

Eudox. Me thinkes, all this which you 
speake of, concerneth the customes of the 
Irish verey mateviallie ; for their uses in 
warre are of no small importance to be 
considered, as well to reforme those 
which are evill, as to confirme and con- 
tinue those which are good. But followe 
you your owne course, and shewe what 
other their customes ye have to dislike 
of. 

Iren. There is amongest the Irish a 
cevtayne kind of people called Bards, 
which are to them insteede of poetts, 
whose profession is to sett foorth the 
prayses and disprayses of men in theyr 
poems and rimes ; the which are had in 
soe high request and estimation amongest 
them, that none dare to displease them 
for f eare of running into reproche through 
theyr offence, and to be made infamous 
in the mouthes of all men. For theyr 
verses are taken up with a generall ap- 
plause, and usually songe at all feasts and 
meethiges, by certayne other persons, 
whose proper function that is, which 
also receave for the same greate rewardes 
and reputation besides. 

Eudox. Doe you blame this in them, 
which I would otherwise have thought 
to have bene woorthy of good accounte, 
and rather to have bene mayntayned and 
augmented amongest them, then to have 
bene misliked ? For I have reade that in 
all ages Poettes have bene had in speciall 
reputation, and that (me seemes) not 
without greate cause ; for besides theyr 
sweete inventions, and most wittye layes, 
they have all wayes used to sett foortli the 
prayses of the good and vertuous, and to 
beate downe and disgrace the badd and 
vicious. Soe that many brave yong 
myndes have oftentimes, through hearing 
of the prayses and famous Eulogies of 
woorthy men song and reported unto 



them, bene stirred up to affect like com- 
endacions, and soe to strive to like de- 
sertes. Soe they say the Lacedemonians 
were more enclined to desire of honour 
with the excellent verses of the Poet 
Tirtseus, then with all the exhortations 
of their Captaiues, or authoritye of theyr 
Rulers and Magistrates. 

Iren. It is most true that such Poetts, 
as in theyr writings doe laboure to better 
the manners of men, and through the 
sweete bayte of theyr numbers, to steale 
into yonge spiritts a desire of honour and 
vertue, are worthy to be had in great 
respect. But these Irish Bards are for 
the most part of another mynd, and soe 
farr from instructing yong men in morall 
discipline, that they themselves doe more 
desarve to be sharpely disciplined ; for 
they seldome use to choose unto them- 
selves the doinges of good men for the 
ornaraentes of theyr poems, but whomso- 
ever they find to be most licentious of 
life, most bold and lawless in his doinges, 
most daungerous and desperate in all 
partes of disobedience and rebellious dis- 
position, him they sett up and glorifye in 
theyr rimes, him they prayse to the 
people, and to yong men make an example 
to followe. 

Eudox. I marvayle whate kind of 
speeches they can find, or what face they 
can putt on, to prayse suchlewde persons 
as live soe lawleslye and licentiouslye 
upon stealthes and spoyles, as most of 
them doe ; or how can they thinke that 
any good mynde will applaude or approve 
the same? 

Iren. There is none soe badd, Eudoxus, 
but shall finde some to favoure his do- 
inges ; but such lycentious partes as 
these, tending for the most parte to the 
hurte of the English, or mayntenaunce of 
theyre owne lewde libertye, they them- 
selves, being most desirous therof, doe 
most allowe. Besides this, evill thinges 
being decked and suborned with the gay 
attyre of goodly woordes, may easely 
deceave and carrye away the affection of 
a yong mynd, that is not well stayed, but 
desirous by some bold adventure to make 
proofe of himself ; for being (as they all 
be) brought up idelly without awe of 
parentes, without precepts of masters, 
without feare of offence, not being 
directed, or employed in any course of 
life, which may carrye them to vertue, 
will easely be drawen to followe such as 
any shall sett before them: for a yong 
mynd cannot rest ; and yf he be not still 
busyed in some goodness, he will find 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



791 



himself such busines as shall soone busye 
all about him. lu which yf he sliall tinde 
any to prayso him, and to give him 
encouragement, as those Bards and rimers 
doe for a litle reward, or a share of a 
stollen cowe, then waxeth he most inso- 
lent and half madd with the love of him- 
self, and his owne lewde deedes. And as 
for woordes to sett loorth such lewdness, 
it is not hard for them to give a goodly 
glose and paynted she we thereunto, 
borrowed even from the prayses which 
are proper to vertue itself. As of a most 
notorious theif and wicked outlawe, which 
had lived all his lifetime of spoyles and 
robberyes, one of these Bardes in his 
praj'se sayd, That he was none of those 
idell milk-sops that was brought up by 
the fire side, but that most of his dayes 
he spent in armes and valyaunt enter- 
prises ; that he did never eate his meate 
before he had wonne it with his swoorde ; 
that he was not slugging all night in a 
cabin under his manteil, but used comonly 
to keepe others waking to defend theyr 
lives, and did light his candell at the 
flames of theyr liowses to leade him in 
the darkeness ; that the day was his night, 
and the night his day : that he loved "not 
to lye long wooing of wenches to yeeld 
unto him, but where he came he tooke by 
force the spoyle of other mens love, and 
left but lamentations to theyr lovers ; that 
his musicke was not the harpe, nor layes 
of love, but the cryes of people, iind 
clashing of armour ; "^and that finally, he 
died not bewayled of many, but made 
many wayle when he died that dearely 
bought his death. Doe not you thinke 
(Eudoxus) that many of these prayses 
might be applyed to men of best desarte ? 
yet are they all yeelded to a most notable 
traytoure, and amongest some of the Irish 
not smally accounted of. For the songe, 
when it was first made and songe unto a 
pei-son of high degree, they were bought 
(as their manner is) for forty cro^iies. 

Eudox.. And well worthye sure! But 
tell me (I pray you) have they any arte in 
theyr compositions ? or be they any thing 
wittre or well savoured, as Poems should 
be?" 

Iren. Yea truly; I have caused diverse 
of them to be translated unto me that I 
might understand them; and surely they 
savoured of sweete witt and good inven- 
tion, but skilled not of the goodly or- 
namentes of Poetrye : yet were they 
sprinckled with some prety flowers of 
theyr ovrne naturall devise, which gave 
good grace and comliness unto them, the 



which it is greate pittye to see soe abused, 
to the gracing of wickedness and vice, 
which would with good usage serve to 
beautifye and adorne vertue. This evill 
custome therfore needeth reformation. 
And no we next after the Irish Kearne, me 
seemes the Irish Horse-boyes or Cuilles 
(as they call them) would come well in 
order, the use of which, though necessitye 
(as times nowe be) doe enforce, yet in the 
thorough reformation of that realme they 
should be cutt of. For the cause why 
they must nowe be permitted is the wante 
of convenient Lines for lodging of travel- 
lers on horsebacke, and of Ostelers to 
tende theyr horses by the waye. But 
when thinges shalbe reduced to a better 
pass, this needeth specially to be reformed ; 
for out of the frye of these rakehelle 
horse-boyes. growing up in knaverye and 
villanye, are theyr kearne continually 
supplyed and mayntayned. For having 
bene once brought up an idle horse-boy, 
he will never alter fall to laboure, but "is 
onely made fitt for the halter. And these 
also (Avhich is one fowle over-sight) are 
for the most parte bredd up amongest 
Englishmen and souldiours, of whom 
learning to shoote in a peece, and being 
made acquaynted with all the trades of 
the English, they are afterwardes, when 
they become kerne, made more fitt to cutt 
theyr throtes. Next to this there is 
another much like, but much more leude 
and dishonest ; and that is, of theyre 
Kearrooghs, which are a kind of people 
that wander up and downe to gentell-mens 
bowses, living onely upon cardes and dice, 
the which, though they have litle or noth- 
ing of theyr owne, yet will they playe for 
much money, which yf they wiuue^ they 
waste most"^ lightlie, and if they loose, 
they paie as slenderlie, but make recom- 
pence with one stealth or another, whose 
onely hurte is not, that they themselves 
are idle lossels, but that through gaming 
they drawe others to like lewdness and 
idleness. And to these may be added 
another sorte of like loose fellowes, which 
doe pass up and downe amongest gentell- 
men by the name of Jesters, but are 
(indeede) notable rogues, and partakers 
not onely of many stealthes by setting 
foorth other mens goodes to be stollen, 
but also privy to many trayterous prac- 
tises, and common carrj-ers of newes, 
with desire wherof you would woonder 
howe much the Irish are fedd : for they 
use commonlye to send up and downe to 
knowe newes, and yf any meete with 
another his second woorde is, What newes ? 



792 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



Insoeinuch that herof is told a prety jest 
of a Frenche-iiiau, whoe having bene 
sometimes in Ireland, where he marked 
theyr greate enquirye for newes, and 
meeting afterwardes iu Fraunee an Irish- 
man, whom he knewe in Ireland, first 
saluted him, and afterwardes thus merely : 
Sir, I pray you, quoth he, tell me of 
curtesy, have ye hearde yet anything of 
the newes that ye soe much enquired for 
in your couutrey ? 

Euclox. This argueth in them sure a 
greate desire of Innovation, and therfore 
these occasions that nurrish the same are 
to be taken away, as namely, these Jest- 
ers, Kearrooghs, Beantooilhs, and all 
such straglers, for whom (me seemes) the 
shorte riddauuce of a marshall were 
meeter then any ordinaunce or prohibi- 
tion to restrayne them. Therfore (I pray 
you) leave all these rabbi ementes of such 
loose runnagates, and pass to some other 
customes. 

Iren. There is a great use amongest the 
Irish to make greate assemblyes togither 
upon a rath or hill, there to parley (they 
say) about matters of wronge betwene 
towneship and towneship, or one private 
person and another. But well I wote, and 
true it oftentimes hath bene prooved, that 
in these meetings many mischeifs have 
bene both practised and wrought ; for to 
them doe commonly resorte all the scumme 
of base people and loose, where they may 
freely meete and conferr of whate they 
list, which els they could not doe without 
suspition or knowledge of others. Besides, 
at these parleyes I have diverse times 
knowen, that many Englishmen, and good 
Irish subjectes, have bene villanously 
murthered by moving one quarrell or 
another agaynst them. For the Irish 
never come to those rathes but armed, 
whether on horse or on foote, which the 
English nothing suspecting, are then com- 
monly taken at advauntage like sheepe in 
the pin-folde. 

Eudox. It may be, Irenseus, that an 
abuse may be in those meetings. But 
these rounde hills and square "bawnes, 
which ye see soe strongly trenched and 
throwen up, were (they say) at first or- 
dayned for the same purpose, that people 
might assemble theron; and therefore 
aunciently they were called Folkemotes, 
that is, a place for people to meete or 
talke of any thing that concerned any 
difference betwene partyes and towne- 
ships, which seemes yet to me very requi- 
site. 

Iren. Ye say very true, Eudoxus: the 



first making of these high hilles was at 
first indeed to verye good purpose for 
people to meete; but though in the times 
when they were first made they might 
well serve to good occasions, as perhaps 
they did then in England, yet thinges 
being since altred, and nowe Ireland much 
differing from that state of England, the 
goode use that then was of them is nowe 
turned to abuse ; for these hilles wherof 
you speake were (as ye may gather by 
reading) appointed for two special uses, 
and built by two severall nations. The 
one is those which you call Folke-motes, 
the which were builte by the Saxons, as 
the woorde bewraieth ; for it signifyeth 
in Saxone a meeting of folke or people, 
and those are for the most parte in forme 
fowre square, well trenched for meeting: 
the others that are rounde were cast up by 
the Danes, as the name of them doeth be- 
token, for they are called Dane-rathes, 
that is, hills of the Danes, the which were 
by them devised, not for parlyes and 
treatyes, but appoynted as fortes for them 
to gather unto in troublesome time, when 
any trouble arose; for the Danes, being 
but f ewe in comparison of the Saxons in 
England used this for theyr safetye : they 
made these small rounde hilles, soe strongly 
fenced, in every quarter of the hundred, 
to the end that if in the night, or at any 
other time, any troublous crye or uprore 
should happen, they might repaj^re with 
all speede unto theyr owne forte, which 
was appoynted for theyr quarter, and 
there remayne safe, till they could assem- 
ble themselves in greate strength: for 
they were made soe stronge with one 
small entraunce, that whosoever came 
thither first, were he one or twoe, or like 
fewe, he or they might there rest safe, and 
defend themselves agaynst many, till 
more succoure came unto them: And 
when they were gathered to a sufiicient 
number they marched to the next forte, 
and soe forwardes till they mett with the 
perrill, or knewe the occasions therof. 
But besides these two sortes of hilles, 
there were aunciently diverse others ; for 
some were raysed, where there had bene a 
greate battayll fought, as a memorye or 
trophee therof ; others, as monumentes of 
burialls of the carcasses of all those that 
were slayne in any fight, upon whom they 
did throwe up such rounde mountes, as 
memorialls for them, and sometimes did 
cast up greate heapes of stones, as ye 
male reade in many places of the Scrip- 
ture, and other whiles they did throwe 
upp many round heapes of earth in a 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



793 



Circle, like a garland, or pitch mauie 
longe stones on ende in compasse, every 
of "which (they say) betokened some 
woorthy person of note there slayne and 
buryed ; for this was theyr auncient cus- 
tome, before Christianity e caiue in 
amongest them that church-yardes were 
inclosed. 

Eudox. Ye have very well declared the 
originall of these mountes and greate 
stones incompassed, which some vayulye 
terme the old Gyaunts Trivetts, and 
thiuke that those huge stones could not 
els be brought into order or reared up 
without the strength of gyaunts or others. 
And some vayulye thiuke that they were 
never placed there by mans hand or arte, 
but onely remayued there suice the begin- 
ning, and were af terwardes discovered by 
the deluge, and layed open as then by the 
washing of the waters, or other like casu- 
altye. But lett them with those dreames 
and vayne imaginations please them- 
selves; for you have satysfied me much 
better, both by that I see some confir- 
mation therof in Holye Writt, and also 
remember that I have reade in many His- 
toryes and Chronicles the like mounts and 
stones oftentimes mentioned. 

Iren. Tliere be many greate authorityes 
(I assure you) to proove the same ; but as 
for these meetings on hilles, wherof we 
were speaking, it is very inconvenient that 
any such should be permitted, specially in 
a people soe evill mynded as they nowe be 
and diversly shewe themselves. 

Eudox. But yet it is very needefuU (me 
seemes) for many other purposes, as for 
the countrye to gather togither when there 
is any imposition to be layed upon them, 
to the which they then may all agree at 
such meetinges to cutt and devide among- 
est themselves, according to theyr hold- 
inges and abilityes. Soe as yf at those 
assemblyes there be any officers, as Con- 
stables, or Bayliffs, or such like amongest 
them, there can be noe perrill nor doubt of 
such badd practises. 

Iren. Nevertheless, daungerous are such 
assemblyes, whether for Cesse or ought 
els, the Constables and Officers being also 
of the Irish ; and yf any happened to be 
there of the English, even to them they 
may proove perrillous. Therfore for 
avoyding of all such evill occasions, they 
were best to be abolished. 

Eudox. But what is that which ye call 
Cesse? It is a woorde sure not iised 
amongest us heere, therfore (I pray you) 
expounde the same. 

Iren. Cesse is none other but that which 



your selfe called imposition, but it is in a 
kind perhaps unacquaynted unto you. For 
there are cesses of suudrye sortes ; one is, 
the cessing of souldiours upon the coun- 
trey; for Ireland being a countrey of 
warre (as it is handled) and alwayes full 
of souldiours, they which have the govern- 
ment, whether they find it the most ease 
to the Queenes purse, or most readye 
meaues at hand for the victualling of the 
souldiours, or that necessitye enforceth 
them therunto, doe scatter the armye 
abrode the countrey, and place them in 
townes to take theyr victualls of them, at 
such vacant times as they lye not in 
campe, nor are otherwise imployed in ser- 
vice. Another kinde of cesse, is the im- 
posing of provision for the Governours 
house-keeping, which though it be most 
necessarye, and be also (for avoyding of 
all the evills formerly therin used) lately 
brought to a composition, yet it is not 
without greate inconveniences, noe lesse 
then heere in England, or rather much 
more. The like cesse is also charged upon 
the countrey sometimes for victualling of 
the souldiours, when they lye in garrison, 
at "such times as there is none remayning 
in the Queenes store, or that the same 
cannot convenientlye be conveyed to theyr 
place of garrison. But those two are not 
easye to be redressed when necessitye 
thereunto compelleth; but as for the 
former, as it is not necessarye, soe is it 
most hurtfuU and offensive to the poore 
countreye, and nothing convenient for the 
souldiours themselves, whoe, during theyr 
lying at cesse, use all kind of outragious 
disorder and villanye both towardes the 
poore men that vittell and lodge them, 
and also to all the rest of the countrey 
about them, whom they abuse, oppresse, 
spoyle, and afflicte by all the meaues they 
can invente : for they will not onely not 
content themselves with such victualls as 
theyre hostes doe provide for them, nor 
yet as the place perhaps will affoorde, but 
they will have other nieate provided, and 
aqua vitse sent for ; yea and monye besides 
layed at theyr trenchers, which if they 
wante, then aboute the house they walke 
with the wretched poore man and the 
sillye poore wife, whoe are gladd to pur- 
chase theyr peace with any thing. By 
which vile manner of abuse, the countrey 
people, yea and the very English which 
dwell abrode and see, and sometimes feele 
these outrages, growe into greate detesta- 
tion of the souldiours, and thereby into 
hatred of the very government, which 
draweth upon them such evills : And ther- 



794 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



fore this ye may also joyne unto the 
former evill customes which we have to 
reproove in Ireland. 

JEudox. Trulye this is one not the leaste, 
and though the persons, hy whom it is 
used be of better note then the former 
rogish sorte which ye reckned, yet the 
faulte (me seemes) is noe lesse woorthy of 
a Marshall. 

Iren. That were a harde course, Eu- 
doxus, to redresse every abuse by a Mar- 
shall: it would seeme to you very evill 
surgery to cutt of every unsounde or sicke 
parte of the bodye, which, being by other 
due meanes recovered, might aftervvardes 
doe very good service to the bodye agayne, 
andhappelyhelpe to save the whole : Ther- 
fore I thinke better that some good salve 
for the redresse of this evill be souglit 
foorthe, then the least parte suffred to 
perrishe ; but herof we have to speake in 
another place. Nowe we will j)roceede to 
other like defectes, amoiigest which there 
is one generall inconvenience which raign- 
eth alimost throughout all Ireland : that 
is, of the Lordas of laudes and Free- 
holders, whoe doe not there use to sett 
out theyr landes to farme, or for terme of 
yeares, to theyr tenauntes, but only from 
yeare to yeare, and some daring pleasure ; 
neither indede will the Irish tenaunt or 
husbandman otherwise take his land then 
soe louge as he list himselfe. The reason 
herof in the tenaunte is, for that the land- 
lordes there use most shamefully to racke 
theyr tenauntes, laying upon him Coyguye 
and Liverye at pleasure, and exacting 
of him (besides his covenaunte) what 
he please. Soe that the poore husband- 
man either dare not binde himselfe to him 
for longer time, or that he thiuketh by 
his continuall libertye of chaunge to keepe 
his land-lord the rather in awe for wrong- 
ing him. And the reason why the Land- 
lord will not longer covenaunte with him 
is, for that he dayly looketh after 
chaunges and alterations, and hovereth in 
expectation of newe worldes. 

Eudox. But what evill commeth heerby 
to the common-wealth ; or what reason is 
it that any landlord should not set, nor 
any tenaunt take his land as himself list? 

Iren. Marye! the evills which cometh 
thereby are greate, for by this meane both 
the land-lord thiuketh that he hatli his 
tenaunte more at comaunde, to folio we 
him into what action soever he shall enter, 
and also the tenaunte, being left at his 
libertye, is fitt for everye occasion of 
chaunge that shal be off red by time ; and 
soe much also the more readye and willing 



is he to runne into the same, for that he 
hath noe such estate in any his holding, 
noe such building upon any farme, noe 
such costes imployed in fencing and hus- 
bandring the same, as might with-hold 
him from any such willfull course, as his 
lordes cause, or his owne lewde disposi- 
tion may carrye him unto. All which he 
hath forborne, and spared so much ex- 
pence, for that he had noe firme estate in 
his tenement, but was onely a tenaunt at 
will or litle more, and soe at will may 
leave it. And this inconvenience may be 
reason enough to grounde any ordmaunce 
for the good of a common-wealth, against 
the private behoofe or will of any land- 
lord that shall refuse to graunte any such 
terme or estate unto his tenaunte as may 
tende to the good of the whole realme. 

JEudox. Indeede (me seemes) it is a 
greate willf ullnes in any such land-lordes 
to refuse to make any longer farmes unto 
theyr tenauntes, as may, besides the gen- 
erall good of the realme, be also greatly 
for theyr owne proifitt and avayle: For 
what reasonable man will not thinke that 
the tenement shalbe made much better- 
for the lordes behoofe, yf the tenaunte 
may by such good meanes be drawen to 
builde himself some handsome habitation 
theron, to ditche and enclose his grounde, 
to manure and husband it as good farmors 
use ? For when his tenauntes terme shalbe 
expired, it will yeeld him, in the renewing 
of his lease, both a good fine, and also a 
better rente. And also it wil be for the 
goode of the tenaunte likewise, whoe by 
such huildmges and inclosures shall re- 
ceave many benefitts : first, by the hand- 
somnes of his house, he shall take greate 
comforte of his life, more safe dwelling, 
and a delighte to keepe his sayde howse 
neate and cleanlye, which nowe being, as 
they commonly are, rather swynes-steades 
then bowses, is the cheifest cause of his 
soe beastly manner of life, and savadge 
condicion, lying and living togither with 
his beaste in one hoAvse, in one roome, and 
in one bedd, that is, the cleane strawe, or 
rather the fowle dongehill. And to all 
these other commodityes he shall in shorte 
time finde a greater added, that is his 
owne wealth and riches encreased, and 
wonderfully enlarged, by keeping his 
cattell in inclosures, where they shall all- 
wayes have fresh pasture, that nowe is all 
trampled and over-runne ; warme coverte, 
that nowe lyeth open to all weather; safe 
being, that nowe are continually filched 
and stollen. 

Ire7i. Ye have well, Eudoxus, counted 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



795 



the comodityes of tJiis one good ordi- 
naunce, aiiiougest which this that ye 
named hist is'not the least; for all to- 
gither heing most heneficiall both to the 
laud-lovd aud teuaunte, this cheifly re- 
doundeth to the good of the common- 
wealth, to have the laud thus inclosed, 
and well fenced. For it is both a princi- 
pal! barre and impeachement unto theeves 
from stealing of cattell in the night, and 
also a gall agaynst all rebells, and out- 
lawes, that shall rise up 'in any number 
agaynst the government; for the theif 
thereby shall have much adoe, first to 
bring foorth, and ai'terwardes to drive 
away his stolleu prey through the common 
high wayes, where he shall soone be dis- 
cried and mett withall: And the rebell or 
open enemye, yf any such shall happen, 
either at home, or from abrode, shall 
easely be found when he eometh foorthe, 
and also be well encountred withall by a 
fewe in soe straite passa:;-cs and stronge 
inclosures. This therfore, when we 
come to the reforming of all these evill 
customes before mentioned, is needefuU 
to be remembred. Butnowe by this time 
me seemes that I have well runne throughe 
the evill uses which I have observed in 
Ireland. And howbeit there be many 
more abuses woorthye, the reformation 
both in publicke and in private amongest 
them, yet these, for that they are the 
more generall, and most tending to the 
hurte of the common-M-ealthe, as they 
have come to my remembrance, I have, as 
breiliy as I could, rehearsed them unto 
you. Wherfore nowe I thinke it best 
that we pass unto our thirde parte, in 
■which we noted inconveniences that are 
in religion. 

Eudox. Surely you have very well 
handled these two' former, and yf you 
shall as well goe thoroughe the thirde 
likewise, ye shall merite a very good 
meede. 

• Ire a. Litle have I to say of religion, 
both because the partes therof be not 
many, (it self being but one) and my self 
have not beene much conversauntein that 
calling, but as lightly passing by I have 
seene or heard : Therfore the faulte which 
I finde in Religion is but one, but the 
same is univefsall throughe out all the 
countrey; that is. that they are all Pa- 
pistes by theyre profession , but in the same 
soe blindely and brntishly enformed, (for 
the most parte) as that you would rather 

• thinke them Atheistes or Infidells for not 
one amongest an hvmdred knoweth any 
grounde of religion, or any article of his 



faythe, but can perhaps say his Pater 
noster, or his Ave Maria, without any 
knowledge or understanding what one 
woorde therof meaneth. 

Eudox. This is truly a most pitifull 
hearing that soe many sowles should fall 
into tbe devills handes at once and lacke 
the blessed comforte of the sweete gospell 
and Christes deare passion. Aye me ! 
how Cometh it to pass that being a people, 
as they are, trading with soe many nations, 
and frequented of soe manye, yet they 
have not tasted any parte of these happye 
joyes nor once bene lightened with the 
morning starre of trueth but lye weltring 
in such spiritual! darkenesshaVde by helf- 
mouth, even readj'e to fall in yf God 
happely help not ? 

Iven. The general faulte eometh not of 
any late abuse either in the people or 
theyr preistes, whoecan teache noe better 
then they knowe, nor shewe noe more 
light then they have scene, but in the first 
institution and planting of religion in all 
that realme, which was as I reade in the 
time of Pope Celestine, whoe, as it is 
written, did first send over thither Pai- 
ladius, whoe there deceasinge, he after- 
wardes sent over St. Patricke, being by 
nation a Britton, who converted the 
people (being then Infidells) from pagan- 
isme and christened them. In which 
Popes time and longe before it is certayne 
that religion was generally corrupted 
with theyr popish trumperye, therfore 
what other could tbey learne them, then 
such trashe as was taughte them, and 
drinke of that cup of fornication with 
which the purple harlott had then made all 
nations drunken ? 

Eudox. What! doe you then blame and 
finde faulte with soe good an Acte in that 
good pope as the reducing of such a 
greate people to Christianitye, bringing 
soe manye sowles to Christ? Yf that was 
ill, what is good? 

Iren. I doe not blame the christening 
of them, for to be sealed with the marke 
of the Lambe, by what hand soever it be 
done rightlye, I hold it a good and gra- 
cious woorke, for the generall profession 
which they then take" upon them of the 
Cross and faythe of Christ. I nothing 
doubte but that through the powerfull 
grace of that mighty Saviour it will 
woorke salvation in many of them ; but 
nevertheless since they drinke not from 
the pure spring of life but onely tasted of 
such troubled waters as were brought 
unto them, the dregges therof have bredd 
greate contagion in theyr sowles, the 



796 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



which dayly encreasing and being still 
more augmented with their owns lewde 
lives and faulty conversation hath nowe 
bredd in them this generall disease that 
can not, but onely with very stronge pur- 
gations, be clensed and carryed away. 

Eudox. Then for this defecte ye finds 
noe faults with the people themselves 
nor with the priestes which take the 
charge of sowles, but with the first ordi- 
naunce and institution therof ? 

Iren. Not soe, Eudoxus, for the sinne 
or ignoraunce of the preistes shall not 
excuse the people, nor the authoritye of 
their greate pastour, Peters successor, 
shall not excuse the preist, but they all 
shall dye in theyr sinnes for they have all 
erred and gone out of the way togither. 

Eudox. But yf this ignoraunce of the 
people be such a burden to the pope, is it 
not a blott unto them that nowe hold the 
place of government, in that they which 
are in the lighte themselves suffer a people 
under theyr charge to wallowe in such 
deadly darkeness, for I doe not see that 
the faulte is chaunged but the faulte- 
master. 

Iren. That which you blame, Eudox., 
is not (I suppose) any faulte of will in 
these godly fathers which have the charge 
therof, but the inconvenience of the time 
and troublesome occasions, wherewith 
that wretched realme hath continually 
bene turmoyled ; for instructions in 
religion needeth quiett times, and ere we 
seeke to settle a sounde discipline in the 
clargye, we must purchase peace unto the 
layetye ; for it is an ill time to preach e 
amongest swoordes, and most harde, or 
rather impossible, it is to settell a good 
opinion in the myndes of men for matters 
of religion doubtfull, which have a doubt- 
less evill opinion of ourselves ; for ere the 
newe be brought in, the old must be 
removed. 

Eudox. Then belike it is meete that 
some fitter time be attended, that God 
send peace and quietness there in civill 
matters before it be attempted in ecclesi- 
asticall. I would rather have thought that 
(as it is sayde) correction should begin at 
the bowse of God, and that the care of 
the sowle should have bene preferred be- 
fore the care of the bodye. 

Iren. Most true, Eudoxus, the care of 
the sowle and sowles matters are to be 
preferred before the care of the bodye in 
consideration of the woorthyness therof, 
but not till the time of reformation ; for 
yf you should knowe a wicked person 
daungerously sicke, having nowe both 



sowle and bodye greatly diseased, yet 
both recoverable, would ye not thinke it 
ill advisement to bring the preacher be- 
fore the phisition ? For yf his bodye were 
neglected, it is like that his languishing 
sowle being disquieted by his diseasef ull 
bodye, would utterly refuse and lothe all 
spirituall comforte; but yf his bodye 
were first recured, and brought to good 
frame, should there not then be founde 
best time to recure his sowle also ? Soe 
it is in the state of the realme : Therfore 
(as I sayde) it is expedient, first to settle 
such a course of government there, as 
therby both civil! disorders and also 
ecclesiasticall abuses may be reformed 
and amended, wherto needeth not any 
such great distaunce of times, as ye sup- 
pose I require, but one joynte resolution 
for both, that eche might seconde and 
confirme the other. 

Eudox. That we shall see when we 
come therunto : in the meane time I con- 
sider thus much, as ye have delivered, 
touching the generall faulte which ye sup- 
pose in religion, to weet, that it is popish ; 
but doe ye finde noe particular abuses 
therin, nor in the ministers therof ? 

Iren. Yes verely; for what ever dis- 
order you see in the Churche of England 
ye may finde there, and many more: 
Namely, grosse Simonye, greedy covet- 
ousness, fleshly incontinence, careless 
slouthe, and generally all disordered life 
in the common cleargyeman. And be- 
sides all these, they have theyr owne 
particular enormityes; for all the Irish 
priestes, which nowe enjoye the churche 
livinges there, are in a manner meere 
layemen, go lyke laymen, live like laye 
men, and followe all kinde of husbandrye, 
and other worldly affayres, as thother 
Irish men doe. They neither reade scrip- 
tures, nor preache to the people, nor 
minister the sacrament of communion; 
but the baptisme they doe, for they chris- 
ten yet after the popish fashion, and with 
popish ministration, onely they take the 
tithes and offringes, and gather what 
fruites els they may of theyr livinges, the 
which they convert as badly, and some of 
them (they say) paye as due tributes and 
shares of theyr livinges to theyr Bishops 
(I speake of those which are Irish) as 
they receave them duelye. 

Eudox. But is it suffered amongest 
them? It is wonderfull but that the 
governours doe redresse such shamefull 
abuses. 

Iren. Howe can they, since they knowe 
them not? For the Irish bishops have 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



797 



theyr cleargye in such awe aud subjec- 
tion under them, that they dare not 
complayne of them, soe as they may doe 
unto them what they please, for they, 
knowing theyr owne unwoorthyuess aud 
incapacitye, "and that they are therfore 
still removable at theyr bishops will, 
yeeld what pleaseth hiui, and he taketh 
w^hat he list: yea, and some of them 
whose diocese are in remote partes, some- 
what out of the worldes eye, doe not not 
at all bestowe the benefices, which are 
in theyr owne donation, upon anye, but 
keeps them in theyr owne handes, and 
sett theyr owne servauntes aud horse- 
boyes to take up the tithes and fruites of 
them, with the which some of them pur- 
chase greate landes, and builde fayre 
castells upon the same. Of which abuse 
yf any question be moved they have a 
very seemely colour of excuse, that they 
have noe woorthy ministers to bestowe 
them upon, but keepe them soe unbe- 
stowed for any such sufficient person as 
any shall bring unto them. 

Eudox. But is there noe lawe, or ordi- 
namace to meete with this mischeif, nor 
hath it never before bene looked into ? 

Iren. Yes, it seemes it hath ; for there 
is a statute there enacted in Ireland, 
which seemes to have bene grounded 
upon a good meaning — That whatsoever 
Englishman, being of good conversation 
and sufficiency, shal be brought unto any 
of the bishoppes, aud nominated unto 
any living within theyr dioces that is 
presently voyde, that he shall (without 
contradiction) be admitted therunto be- 
fore any Irish. 

Eudox. This is surely a very good 
lawe, and well provided for this evil], 
we speake of ; and why is not the same 
observed ? 

Iren. I thinke it is well observed, and 
that none of the bishopps transgresse 
the same, but yet it woorketh noe ref- 
ormation herof for many respectes. 
First there are noe such sufficient English 
ministers sent over as might be presented 
to any bishopp for any living, but the 
most parte of such English as come over 
thither of themselves are either un- 
learned, or men of some badd note, for 
which they have forsaken England. Soe 
as the bishop, to whom they shalbe 
presented, may justly rejecte them as 
incapable and insufficient. Secondly, 
the bishop himself is perhaps an Irish 
man, whoe being made judge by that 
lawe of the sufficiency e of the ministers, 
may at his owne will, dislike of the 



Englishman, as unwoorthye in his opin- 
ion, and admitt of any Irish whom he 
shall thinke more meete for his turne. 
And yf he shall at the instauuce of any 
Englishman of countenaunce there, whom 
he will not displease, accept of any such 
English minister as shal be teudred unto 
him, yet he will underhand carrye such 
a harde hande over him, or by his officers 
wringe him soe sore, as he will soone 
make him wearye of his poore living. 
Lastly, the benefices themselves are soe 
meane, and of soe small profitt in these 
Irish countreyes, through the ill hus- 
bandrye of the Irish people which in- 
habite them, that they will not yeelde 
any competent mayntenaunce for any 
honest minister to live on, scarcely to 
buye him a gowne. And were all this 
redressed (as happely it might be) yet 
what good shall any English minister doe 
amongest them, by preaching or teach- 
ing, which either cannot understand him, 
or will not heare him? Or what com-, 
forte of life shall he have, when all his 
parishioners are soe unsociable, soe in- 
tractable, so ill-affected-unto him, as 
they usually be to all the English ? Or 
ffiially, howe dare allmost any honest 
ministers, that are peacefull civill men, 
committ theyr safetye. into the handes 
of such neighbours, as the boldest cap- 
taynes dare scarcely dwell by ? 

Eudox. Litle good then (I see) is by 
that statute wrought, howe ever well 
intended; but the reformation therof 
must growe higher, and be brought from 
a stronger ordinaunce then the comaunde- 
ment or penalty e of a lawe, which none 
dare enforme or complayn of when it is 
broken : but have you any more of those 
abuses in the cleargj'e ? 

Iren. I could perhaps recken more, but 
I perceave my speach to growe to longe, 
and these may suffice to judge of the 
generall disorders which raigne amongest 
them ; as for the particulars, they are to 
many to be reckned. For the cleargye 
there (except some fewe grave fathers 
which are in high place about the state, 
and some fewe others which are lately 
planted in theyr newe Colledge,) are 
generally badd, licentious, and most dis- 
ordered. 

Eudox. Ye have then (as I suppose) 
gone thi-ough these three first partes 
which ye purposed unto your self; to 
weete, the Inconvenience which ye ob- 
served in the lawes, in the customes, and 
in the religion of that land; the which 
(me seemes) ye have so throughly touched 



798 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



as that nothing more remayneth to be 
spoken thereof. 

Iren. Not soe throughly as ye suppose, 
that nothing more can remayne, but soe 
generally as I purposed ; that is, to laye 
open the generall evills of that realme, 
which doe hinder the good reformation 
therof : for to counte the particular f aultes 
of private men should be a woorke to 
infinite; yet some there be of that nature, 
that though they be in private men, yet 
theyr evill reacheth to a generall hurte, as 
the extortions of sherriffs, subsherriffs, 
and theyr bayliffs; the corruption of 
vittaillors, cessors, and purveyors: the 
disorders of seneschalls, captaynes, and 
theyr souldiours, and many such like: 
All which I will ouely name heere, that 
theyr reformation may be mynded in place 
where it most concerneth. But there is 
one very fowle abuse which, by the way, 
I may not omitt, and that is in captaynes, 
who, notwithstanding that they are 
specially employed to make peace through 
strouge execution of warre, yet they doe 
soe dandle theyr doinges, and dallye in 
the service to them committed, as yf they 
would not have the Euemye subdued, or 
utterly beaten downe, for feare least after- 
wardes they should neede imployment, 
and soe be discharged of pay : for which 
cause some of them that are layed in 
garrison doe soe handle the matter, that 
they will doe noe greate hurte to the 
enemyes, yet for colour sake some men 
they will kill, even halfe with the consent 
of the enemy, being persons either of base 
regard, or enemies to the enemy, whose 
heades eftsones they send to the governour 
for a comendacion of theyr great en- 
devour, telling how waightye a service 
they have perfourmed by cutting of such 
and soe dangerous rebells. 

Eudox. Trulye this is a prettye mock- 
erye, and not to be permitted by the 
governours. 

Iren. Yea! but how can the governours 
knowe readely what persons those were, 
and what the purpose of theyr killing 
was ? Yea, and what will ye say, yf the 
captaynes doe justifye this theyr course 
by ensample of some of theyr governours, 
which (under Benedicite, I doe tell it you,) 
doe practise the like slightes in theyr 
governments ? 

Eudox. Is it possible? Take heede 
what you say, Irenaeus. 

Iren. To you onely, Eudoxus, I doe tell 
it, and that even with greate hartes greif, 
and inwarde trouble of mjaide to see her 
Majestic soe much abused by some whom 



she puttes in speciall trust of these greate 
affayres : of which some, being martiall 
men, will not doe all way es what they may 
for quieting of thinges, but will rather 
winke at some faultes, and will suffer 
them unpunished, least that they (having 
putt all thinges in that assuraunce of peace 
that they might) should seemeafterwardes 
not to be needed, nor continued in thoyr 
government with soe great a charge to 
her Majestic. And therfore they doe 
cunningly carrye theyr course of govern- 
ment, and from one hand to another doe 
handle the service like a tennis-ball, 
which they will never quite strike away, 
for feare least afterwardes they should 
wante sporte. 

Eudox . Doe you speake of under-magis- 
trates, or principall governours? 

Iren. I doe speake of noe particulars, 
but the trueth may be founde oute by 
tryalle and reasonable insight into some 
of theyr doinges. And yf I should say 
there is some blame herof in some of the 
principall governours, I think I might 
also shewe some reasonable proof of my 
speache. As for example, some of them 
seing the end of theyrgovernmentedrawe 
nigh, and some mischeifs or troublous 
practise growing up, which afterwardes 
may woorke trouble to the next succeed- 
ing governours, will not attempt the re- 
dress or cutting of therof, either for feare 
they should leave the realme unquiett at 
the end of theyr government, or that the 
next that commeth should receave the 
same to quiett, and soe happely winne 
more prayse therof then they before. 
And therfore they will not (as I sayd) 
seeke at all to redresse that evill, but will 
either by graunting protection for a time, 
or holding some imparlaunce with the 
rebell, or by treatye of commissioners, or 
by other like devises, onely smoother and 
keepe downe the flame of the mischeif, 
soe as it may not breake out in theyr time 
of government: what comes afterwardes 
they care not, or rather wish the woorst. 
This course hath bene noted in some 
governours. 

Eudox. Surely (Irenaeus) this, yf it 
were true, should be woorthy of a heavye 
judgement: but it is harde to be thought, 
that any governour would soe much either 
envye the good of that realme which is 
putt into his hand, or defraude her 
Majestic, whoe trusteth him soe much, or 
maligne his successours which shall pos- 
sess his place, as to suffer an evill to 
growe up, which he might timely have 
kept under, or perhaps to nourrish it with 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



799 



coloured counteuaunces, or such sinister 
meanes. 

Iren. I doe not certaynly avouch soe 
much, (Eudoxus) but the sequell of 
thiiiges doth in a manner proove, and 
playuly speake soe much, that the gov- 
ernours usually are envious one of an- 
others greater giorye, which yf they would 
seeke to excell by better government, it 
should be a most laudable emulation. 
But they doe quite otherwise : for this (as 
ye may marke) is the common order of 
ithem, that whoe cometh next in the place 
will not folio we that course of govern- 
ment, how ever good, which his prede- 
cessor held, either for disdayue of him, or 
doubt to have his doings drowned in an- 
other mans prayse, but will straight take 
a w.ay quite coutrarye to the former : as 
yf the former thought (by keeping under 
the Irish) to reforme them, the next, by 
discoimtenauncing the English will currye 
favour with the Irish, and soe make his 
government seeme plausible in viewe, as 
having all the Irish at his comaunde : but 
he that comes next after will perhaps 
followe neither one nor the other, but will 
dandle the one and the other in such sort, 
as he will sucke sweete out of them both, 
and leave bitterness to the poore lande, 
which yf he that comes after shall seeke 
to redress, he shall perhaps finde such 
crosses as he shall be hardly able to beare, 
or doe any good that might woorke the 
disgrace of his predecessors. Examples 
herof ye may see in the governors of late 
times sufficiently, and in others of former 
times more manifestly, when the govern- 
ment of that realme was committed some- 
times to theGeraldins, as vrhen the Howse 
of Yorke had the Crowne of England ; 
sometimes to the Butlers, as when the 
Howse of Lancaster gott the same. And 
other whiles, when an English governour 
was appoynted, he perhaps founde 
enemyes of both. And this is the wretch- 
edness of that fatall kingdome which, I 
thinke, therefore, was in old times not 
called amisse Banna or sacra Insula, tak- 
ing sacred (sacra) for accursed. 

Eudox. I am sorye to heare soe much 
as ye reporte ; and nowe I beginne to con- 
ceave somewhat more of thecause of her 
continuall wretchedness then heretofore I 
founde, and wish that this inconvenience 
were well looked mto : for sure (me 
seemes) it is more waightye then all the 
former, and more hardly to be redressed 
in the governour then in the governed ; as 
a maladye in a vitall parte is more incur- 
able then in an externall. 



Iren. You say very true ; but nowe that 
we have thus ended all the abuses and in- 
conveniences of that government, which 
was our first parte, it followes next to 
speake of the seconde, which was of the 
meanes to cure and redress the same, 
which we must laboure to reduce to the 
first beginning therof . 

Eudox. Right soe, Irenseus : for by that 
which I have noted in all this your dis- 
course ye suppose that the whole ordi- 
naunce and institution of that realmes 
government was, both at first when it w^as 
placed, evill plotted, and also since, 
through theyr other oversights, runne 
more out of square to that disorder which 
it is nowe come to ; like as two indirect 
lines, the further they are drawen out, the 
further they goe asunder. 

Iren. I doe soe, Eudoxus, and as you 
say, soe thinke, that the longer that gov- 
ernment thus continueth, in the woorse 
course will that realme be; for it is all in 
vayne that they nowe strive and endevour 
by fayre meanes and peaceable plottes to 
redress the same, without first removing 
all those inconveniences, and newe fram- 
ing (as it were in the forge) all that is 
worne out of fashion : For all other 
meanes wilbe but as lost labour, by patch- 
ing up one hole to make manye ; for the 
Irish doe strongly hate and abhorre all 
reformation and subjection to the English, 
by reason that, having bene once subdued 
by them, they were thrust out of all theyr 
possessions. Soe as nowe they feare, that 
yf they were agayne brought under, they 
should likev/ise be expelled out of all, 
which is the cause that they hate the Eng- 
lish government, according to the saying, 
' Quem metuunt oderunt:' Therfore the 
reformation must nowe be the strength of 
a greater power. 

Eudox. But, me thinkes, that might be 
by making of good lawes, and establishing 
of newe statutes, with sharpe penaltyes 
and punnishments for amendment of all 
that is presently amiss, and not (as ye 
suppose) to beginne all as it were anewe, 
and to alter the whole forme of the gov- 
ernment; whichhowedaungerous a thing 
it is to attempt you your selfe must needes 
confess, and they which have the manag- 
ing of the realmes whole pollicye cannot, 
without greate cause, feare and refrayne : 
for all Innovation is perilous, insoemuch 
as though it be mente for the better, yet 
soe many accidents and fearfull events 
may come betwene, as that it may haz- 
arde the losse of the whole. 

Iren. Very true, Eudoxus : all chaunge 



8oo 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



is to be shiuiued, where the affayres stand 
in such state as that they may continue 
in quietness, or he assured at all to abide 
as they are. But that in the realme of 
Ireland we see much otherwise, for everye 
day we perceave the troubles to growe 
more upon us, and one evill growing upon 
another, insoemuch as there is noe parte 
sounde nor ascertayned, but all have theyr 
eares upright, wayting when the watch- 
woord shall come that they should all 
rise generally into rebellion, and cast 
away the English subjection. To which 
there nowe litle wanteth ; for I thinke the 
woorde be allreadye given, and there 
wanteth nothing but opportunitye, which 
trulye is the death of one noble parson, 
whoe, being himself most stedfast to his 
most noble Queene and his countrey, coast- 
ing upon the South-Sea, stoppeth the In- 
gate of all that evill which is looked for, 
and holdeth in all those which are at his 
becke, with the terrour of his greatness, 
and the assurauuce of his honourable 
loyaltye : And therfore where you thinke, 
that good and sounde lawes might amende, 
and reforme thinges amiss, there you 
thinke surely amisse. For it is vayne to 
prescribe lawes, where noe man careth for 
keeping them, nor feareth the daunger of 
breaking them. But all the realme is 
first to be reformed, and lawes are after- 
wardes to be made for keeping and con- 
teyning it in that reformed estate. 

Eudox. Howe then doe you thinke is 
the reformation therof to be begunne, yf 
not by lawes and ordinaunces ? 

Iren. Even by the swoorde ; for all 
those evills must first be cutt away with 
a strong hand, before any good can be 
planted ; like as the corrupt braunches 
and unholsome boughes are first to be 
pruned, and the fowle mosse clensed and 
scraped away, before the tree can bring 
foorth any good fruite. 

Eudox. Did you blame me, even nowe, 
for wishing Kearne, Horse-boyes, and 
Kearrooghs, to be cleane cutt of, as to 
violent a meanes, and doe you your self 
nowe prescribe the same medicine? Is 
not the swoord the most violent redress 
that may be used for any evill ? 

Iren. It is soe ; but yet where noe other 
i-emedye may be founde, nor noe hope of 
ecoveVye had, there must needes this 
violent meanes be used. As for the loose 
kind of people which ye would have cutt 
cf I blamed it, for that they might other- 
wise be brought perhaps to good, as 
namely hy this way which I sett before 
you. 



Eudox. Is not your way all one in 
effect with the former, which you founde 
faulte with, save onely this oddes, that I 
sayd by the halter, and you say by the 
swoorde ? What difference is there ? 

Iren. There is surely greate difference 
when you shall understand it ; for by the 
swoorde which I named, I doe not meane 
the cutting of of all that nation with the 
swoorde, which f arre be it from me that I 
should ever thinke soe desperatly, or wish 
soe uncharitably, but by the swoorde I 
meane the royall power of the Prince, 
which ought to stretche it self foorthe in 
thecheifest strength to the redressing and 
cutting of of those evills, which I before 
blamed, and not of the people which are 
evill. For evill people by good ordi- 
naunces and government may be made 
goode; but the evill that is of it self evill 
will never become good. 

Eudox. I pray you then declare your 
mynde at large, how you would wish that 
sword, which you meane, to be used to the 
reformation of all those evills. 

Iren. The first thing must be to send 
over into that realme such a stronge 
power of men, as that shall perforce bring 
in all that rebellious route of loose people, 
which either doe nowe stande out in open 
armes, or in wandring companyes doe 
keepe the woodes, spoyling the good 
subject. 

Eudox. You speake nowe, Irenseus, of 
an infinite charge to her Majestic, to send 
over such an armye as should treade 
downe all that standeth before them on 
foote, and laye on the grounde all the 
stiff-necked people of that lande ; for there 
is nowe but one outlawe of any greate 
reckning, to weete, the Earle of Tyrone, 
abrode in armes, agaynst whom you see 
what huge charges she hath bene at, this 
last yeare, in sending of men, providing 
of victualls, and making head agaynst 
him : yet there is litle or nothing at all 
done, but the Queenes treasure spent, her 
people wasted, the poor countrey troubled, 
and the eneraye nevertheless brought unto 
noe more subjection then he was, or list 
outwardly to shewe, which in effect is 
none, but rather a scorne of her power, 
and an emboldening of a proude rebell, 
and an encoui-adgement unto all like 
lewde disposed traytors that shall dare to 
lift up theyr heeles agaynst theyr Sov- 
craigne Ladye. Therfore it were harde 
counsell to drawe such an exceeding great 
charge upon her, whose event shal be so 
uncertayne. 

Iren. True indeede, yf the event should 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



8oi 



be uncertayne ; but the certaintye of the 
effect herof shal be soe infallible as that 
noe reason can gainsaye it, neither shall 
the charge of all this armye (the which I 
demaunde) be much greater then soe much 
as in these two last yeares warres hath 
vaynly bene expended. For I dare under- 
take, that it hath cost the Queene above 
200000 pouudes allreadye ; and for the 
present charge, that she is nowe at there, 
amounteth to verve neere 12000 poundes a 
monthe, wherof cast ye the accoumpte; 
yet nothing is done. The which somme, 
had it bene im ployed as it should be, 
would have effected all this that I nowe 
goe about. 

Eiidox. Howe meane you to have it 
imployed, but to be spent in the paye of 
souidiours, and provision of victualls ? 

Iren. Right soe, but it is nowe not dis- 
bursed at once, as it might be, but drawen 
out into a long length, by sending over 
nowe 20000 poundes, and the next halfe 
yeare 10000 poundes ; soe as the souldiour 
m the meane time, tor wante of due pro- 
vision of victuall, and good payment of 
his due, is starved and consumed ; that of 
a thousand, that goe over lustye able men, 
in half a yeare there are not left five hun- 
dred. And yet the Queenes charges are 
never a whit the lesse, but what is not 
payed in present monye is accoumpted in 
dett, which will not be long unpayed ; for 
the Captayne, halfe whose souidiours are 
dead, and the other quarter never mus- 
tered, nor scene, comes shortly to de- 
maunde payment heere of his whole 
accoumpte, where, by good meanes of 
some greate ones, and privye sharing 
with the officers and servauntes of other- 
some, he receaveth his dett, much less 
perhaps then was due, yet much more 
indeede then he justly deserved. 

Exidox. I take this, sure, to be noe 
good husbandrye ; for what must needes 
be spente as good spent at once, where is 
enough, as to have it drawen out into 
longe delayes, seing that therby both the 
service is much hindred, and yet nothing 
saved : but it may be, Irenseus, that the 
Queenes treasure m soe greate occasions 
of disbursementes (as it is well knowen 
she hath bene at latelye) is not allwayes 
soe readye nor soe plentif ull, as it can spare 
soe greate a somme togither, but being 
payed as it is, nowe some and then some, 
it is noe greate burthen to her, nor any 
greate impoverishing to her coffers, seing 
by such delaye of time, that it daylye 
Cometh in as fast as slie parteth it out. 

Iren. It may be as you sayd, but for 



the going through of so honorable a course 
I doubt not but yf the Queenes coffers be 
not soe well stored, (which we are not to 
looke into) but that the whole realme 
which nowe, as thinges be used, doe feele 
a continuall burden of that wretched 
realme hanging upon theyr backes, would, 
for a finall riddaunce of all that trouble, 
be once troubled for all ; and putt to all 
theyr shoulders, and helping handes, and 
hartes also, to the defraying of that charge, 
most gladf ullie and willinglie ; and surely 
the charge, in effect, is nothing to the 
infynite great good which should come 
thereby, both to the Queene, and all this 
realme generally, as when time serveth 
shal be shewed. 

Eudox. Howe many men then would 
you require to the finishing of this 
which ye take in hand ? and howe long 
space would you have them entertayned ? 

Iren. Verely, not above 10000 foote- 
men, and 1000 horse, and all those not 
above the space of one yeare and a halfe ; 
for I would still, as the heate of the 
service abateth, abate the number in 
paye, and make other provision for them, 
as I will she we. 

Eudox. Surely, it seemeth not much 
which ye require, nor noe long time ; but 
howe would you have them used ? Would 
you leade foorth your armye agaynst the 
Enemye, and seeke him where he is to 
fight? 

Iren. Noe,Eudoxus; it would not be, 
for it is well knowen that he is a flying 
enemye, hiding himself in woodes and 
bogges, from whence he will not drawe 
foorth, but into some straite passage or 
perillous foord, where he knowes the 
armie must needes passe; there will he 
lye in wayte, and, yf he finde advaun- 
tage fitt, will daungerously hazarde the 
troubled souldiour. Therfore to seeke 
him out that still flyeth, and followe him 
that can hardly be founde, were vayne and 
booteless ; but I would devide my men in 
garrison upon his countrey, in such 
places as I should thinke might most 
annoye him. 

Eudox. But howe can that be, Irenaeus, 
with so fewe men? For the enemye, as 
you nowe see, is not all in one countrey, 
but some in Ulster, some in Connaughte, 
and others in Leynster. Soe as to 
plaunte stronge garrisons in all these 
places should neede many more men then 
you speake of, or to plaunte all in one, and 
to leave the rest naked, should be but 
to leave them to the spoyle. 

Iren. I would wish the cheif power of 



802 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



the armye to be garrisoned in one coun- 
trey that is strongest, and thotlier upon 
the rest that are weakest : As for ex- 
ample, tlie Earle of Tyrone is nowe 
accoumpted the strongest : upon him 
would I lay 8000 men in garrison, 1000 
uppon Feughe Mac-Hughe and the Ke- 
vanaghs, and 1000 upon some parte of 
Counaughte, to he at the direction of the 
Goveruour. 

Eudox. I see nowe all your men be- 
stowed, but in what places would you sett 
theyr garrison that they might rise out 
most convenientlye to service? And 
though perhaps I am ignoraunte of the 
places, yet I will take the mappe of 
Ireland, and lay it before me, and make 
myne eyes (in the meane while) my 
schoole-master , to guide my understanding 
to judge of your plott. 

Iren. These 8000 in Ulster I would 
divide likewise into fowre partes, soe as 
there should be 2000 footemen in everye 
garrison ; the which I would thus place. 
Upon the Blackwater, in some convenient 
place, as highe uppon the River as might 
be, I would laye one garrison. Another 
would I putt at Castleliffar, or there- 
abouts, soe as they should have all the 
passages upon the river to Loghioyle. 
The thirde I would place about Fearne- 
munnaghe or Bondraise, soe as they 
might lye betwene Counaughte and 
Ulster, to serve upon both sides, as 
occasion should be offered ; and this 
therfore would I have stronger then any 
of the rest, because it should be most 
enforced, and most employed, and that 
they might put wardes at Ballashaine 
and Belike, and all those passages. The 
last would I sett about Moneham or Bel- 
terbert, soe as it should fronte both upon 
the enemye that waye, and altso keepe the 
countreys of Cavan and Meath in awe 
from passing of stragglers and outgadders 
from those partes, whence they use to 
come foorthe, and oftentimes use to 
woorke much mischeif. And to everye 
of these garrisons of 2000 footemen I 
would have 200 horsemen added, for the 
one without the other can doe but litle 
service. The fowre garrisons, thus being 
placed, I would have to be vittayled afore 
hand for halfe a year, which ye will say 
to be harde, considering the corruption 
and usuall wast of victualls. But why 
should not they be as well vittayled for 
soe long time, as the shippes are usu- 
allye for a yeare, and sometimes two, 
seing it is easyer to keepe them on 
lande then on water ? Theyr bread would 



I have in flowre, soe as it might be baked 
still to serve theyr necessary wante. 
Theyr driuke also there brewed within 
them, from time to time, and theyr beef 
before hand barelled, the which may be 
used as it is needefull ; for I make noe 
doubt but fresh victualls they will some- 
times provide for themselves amongest 
they re enemy es creete. Hereunto would 
I likewise have them have a store of hose 
and shoes, with such other necessaryes 
as may be needefull for souldiours, soe as 
they would have noe occasion to look for 
relief from abroade, or cause such trouble, 
for theyr continuall supplye, as I see and 
have often prooved in Ireland to be com- 
bersome to the Deputye, and more daun- 
gerous to them that retayne them, then 
halfe the leading of an armye ; for the 
enemye, knowing the ordinarye wayes by 
which theyr releif must be brought them, 
useth commonlye to drawe himself into 
the strayte passages thither wardes, and 
oftentimes doth daungerouslye distress 
them: Besides, the p^iye of such forces as 
should be sent for theyr convoy shall be 
spared the charge of the carriadges, and 
the exactions of the countrey likewise. 
But onely every halfe yeare the supplye 
to be broughte by the Deputye himselfe, 
and his power, whoe shall then visite and 
overlooke all those garrisons, to see what 
is needefull, to chaunge what is expedient, 
and to direct what he shall best advise. 
And these fowre garrisons issuing foorthe, 
at such convenient times as they shall 
have intelligence or espiall upon the en- 
emye, will so drive him from one side to 
another, and tennis him amongest them, 
that he shall finde no where safe to keepe 
his creete, or hide himselfe, but flying 
from the fire shall fall into the water, 
and out of one daunger into another, 
that in shorte space liis creete, which is 
his moste sustenaunce, shalbe wasted in 
praying, or killed in driving, or starved 
for wante of pasture in the woodes, and 
he himself brought soe lowe, that he 
shall have noe harte nor abilitye to endure 
his wretchedness, the which will surely 
come to pass in very shorte space; for 
one winters well following of him will soe 
plucke him on his knees, that he will 
never be able to stand up agayne. 

Eiidox. Doe you then thinke the winter 
time fittest for the service of Ireland? 
Howe falles it then that our most em- 
ploymentes be in sommer, and thearmyes 
then ledd commonly foorthe ? 

Iren. It is surely misconceaved ; for 
it is not with Ireland as it is with other 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



803 



coimtreyes, where the warres flame most in 
sommer, aud the hehnetts glister briglitest 
in the fayre suuiieshiue: But m Ireland 
the winter yeeldcth best service, for then 
the trees are bare and naked, which use 
both to cloth and howse the kearne ; the 
grounde is cold and wett, which nseth to 
be his bedding ; the ayre is sharpe and 
bitter, which usetli to blowe through his 
naked sides and legges; the kine are 
barren and without niilke, whicli usetli to 
be his onely foode, neither yf he kill them 
then, will they yeelde him any flesh, nor 
yf he keepe them will they give him any 
foode; besides then being all in calfe (for 
the most parte) they will, through much 
chasing and driving, cast all theyr calves 
and loose theyr milke, which should re- 
tayne him the next sommer. 

JEudox. I doe well understand your 
reason ; but, by your leave, I have hearde 
it otherwise sayde, of some that were out- 
lawes, that in sommer they kept them- 
selves quiett, but in winter they would 
playe theyr partes, and when the nightes 
were longest, then burne and spoyle most, 
soe that they might safely returne before 
daye. 

Iren. 1 have likewise hearde, and also 
seene proof therof trewe : But that was of 
such outlawes as were either abiding in 
well inhabited countreyes, as in Mounster, 
or bordering to the English pale, as 
Feugh Mac Hughe, the Kevanaghs, the 
Moores, the Dempsyes, the Ketins, the 
Kellyes or such like: For for them in- 
deede the winter is the fittest time of 
spoyling and robbing, because the nightes 
are then (as ye say) longest and darkest, 
and also the countreyes rounde about are 
then fullest of come, and good provision 
to be everye where gotten by them ; but 
it is farre otherwise with a stronge 
peopled enemy e that possesseth a whole 
countrey, for the other being but a fewe, 
are indede privily e lodged, and kept in 
out villages, and corners nigh the woodes 
and mountaynes, by some theyr privy e 
frendes,to whom they bring theyr spoyles 
and stealthes, and of whom they continu- 
allye receave secrett relief ; but the open 
enemye having all his countrey wasted, 
what by himself, and what by the soul- 
diours, findeth then succour in noe place. 
Townes there are none of which he may 
gett spoyle, they are all burnte; countrey 
bowses and f armours there are none, they 
be all fledd ; bread he hath none, he 
ploughed not in sommer; flesh he hath, 
but yf he kill it in winter, he shall weant 
milke in sommer, and shortly want life. 



Therfore if they be well followed but one 
winter, ye shall have litle woorke with 
them the next sommer. 

Eudox. I doe nowe well perceave the 
difference, aud doe verely thiuke that the 
winter time is the fittest itor service : witli- 
all I perceive the manner of your haud- 
linge the service, by drawing suddayne 
draughtes upon the enemye, when he 
looketh not for you, and to watche advaun- 
tages upon him as he doth upon you. By 
which straight keeping of them in, and 
not suff ring them long at any time to rest, I 
must needes thinke that they will soone 
be brought lowe, and driven to great ex- 
tremitj'^es. All which when you have 
perfourmed, and brought them to theverye 
lastcast, suppose thattheywilloffer, either 
to come in unto you and submitt them- 
selves, or that some of them will seeke to 
withdrawe themselves, what is your advise 
to doe ? will you have them receaved ? 

Iren. Noe; but at the beginning of 
those warres, and when the garrisons are 
well plaunted and fortifyed, I would wish 
a proclamation were made generallye and 
to come to theyr knowlege: — That what 
persons soever would witliin twenty dayes 
absolutly submitt themselves, (excepting 
onely the very principalis and ring- 
leaders) should finde grace : I doubt not, 
but upon the settling of those garrisons, 
such a terrour and neere consideration of 
theyr perillous estate wilbe stricken into 
most of them, that they will covett to 
drawe awaye from theyr leaders. Aud 
agayne I well knowe that the rebells them- 
selves (as I sawe by proof in the Desmonds 
warres) will turne away all theyr ras- 
call people, whom they thinke unservice- 
able, as old men, women, children, and 
hindes, (which they call churles), which 
would onely wast theyr victualls, and yeeld 
them noe ayde ; but theyr cattell they 
will surely keepe away : These therfore, 
though pollicye would turne them backe 
agayne that they might the rather con- 
sume and afflicte the other rebells, yet in 
a pityfuU commiseration I could wish 
them to be receaved ; the rather for that 
this base sorte people doth not for the 
most parte rebel 1 of himself, having noe 
harte therunto, but is of force drawen by 
the graunde rebells into theyr actions, and 
carryed away with the vyolence of the 
streame, els he should be sure to loose all 
that he hatlr, and perhaps his life also ; 
the which nowe he carryeth unto them, in 
hope to enjoy them tliere, but he is there 
by the strong rebells themselves soone 
turned out of all, soe that the constraynte 



8o4 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



herof may in him deserve pardon. Like- 
wise yf any of theyr able men or gen- 
tellmen shall then t)ffer to come awaye, 
and to bring theyr cattell with them, as 
some noe double may steale theia previlye 
away, I wish them alsoe to be receaved, 
for the disal)ling of the enemye, but with- 
all, that good assui-aunce may be taken 
for theyr true behaviour and absolute sub- 
mission, and that they then be not suffred 
to remaineanie longer in those partes, noe 
nor about the garrisons, but sent awaie 
into the inner partes of the realme, and 
dispersed in such sort as they shall not 
come togither, nor easelie returne if they 
would : For if they might be suffred to 
remayne about the garrison, and there 
iuhabite, as they will offer to till the 
groimde and yeeld a greate parte of the 
profitt therof, and of theyr cattell, to the 
Coronell, wherwith they have heretofore 
tempted many, they would (as I have by 
experience knowen) be ever after such a 
gall and inconvenience unto them, as 
that theyr profitt should not recompence 
theyr hurte ; for they will privilye releive 
theyr f rendes that are foorthe ; they will 
send the enemye secrett advertisement of 
all their purposes and journeyes which 
they nieane to make upon them"; they will 
also not sticke to drawe the enemye priv- 
ilie uppon them, yea, and to betraye the 
forte it selfe, by discoverye of all her de- 
fectes and disadvauntages (yf any be) to 
the cutting of all theyr throates. For 
avoyding wherof and many other incon- 
veniences, I wish that they should be car- 
ryed farre from thence into some other 
partes, soe that (as I sayd) they come in 
and submitt themselves, upon the first 
summons : but afterwardes I would have 
none receaved, but left to theyr fortune 
and miserably end. My reason is, for that 
those which will afterwardes remayne 
without are stoute and obstinat rebells, 
such as will never be made dutifull and 
obedient, nor brought to labour or civill 
conversation, having once tasted that 
licentious life, and being acquainted with 
spoyles and outrages, will ever after be 
ready e for the like occasions, soe as there 
is noe hope of theyr amendment or re- 
coverye, and therfore needefull to be cutt 
of. 

Eudox. Surely of such desperat persons 
as will willfully followe the course of 
theyr owne follye, there is noe compassion 
to be had, and for others ye have pro- 
posed a mercifull meanes, much more 
then they have deserved : but wdiat then 
shalbe the conclusion of this warre ? for 



you have prefixed a shorte time of the 
continuannce therof. 

Iren. The end (I assure me) wil be very 
shorte and much sooner then can be (in 
soe greate a trouble, as it seemeth) hoped 
for, allthough there should none of them 
fall by the swoorde, nor be slayne by the 
souldiour, yet thus being kept from manu- 
raunce, and theyr cattell from running 
abrode, by this harde restraynte they 
would quickly consume themselves, and 
devoure one another. The proof wherof 
I sawe sufficiently ensampled in those 
late warres in Mounster; for notwith- 
standing that the same was a most riche 
and plentifuU countrey, full of come and 
cattell, that you would have thought they 
would have bene able to stand long, yet ere 
one yeare and a halfe they were brought 
to such wretchedness, as that any stonye 
harte would have rued the same. Out of 
every corner of the woodes and glinnes 
they came creeping foorthe upon theyr 
handes, for theyr legges could not beare 
them; they looked like anatomyes of 
death, they spake like ghostes crying out 
of theyr graves ; they did eate of the dead 
carrions, happy were they yf they could 
finde them, yea, and one another soone 
after, insoemuch as the very carcasses 
they spared not to scrape out of theyr 
graves ; and yf they founde a plotte of 
water-cresses or sham-rokes, there they 
flocked as to a feast for the time, yet not 
able long to continue therewithall ; that in 
shorte space there were none allmost left, 
and a most populous and plentifull coun- 
trey suddaynly made voyde of man or 
beast: yet sure in all that warre, there 
perished not many by the swoorde, but all 
by the extremitye of famine which they 
themselves had wrought, 

Eudox. It is a wonder that you tell, 
and more to be wondred howe it should 
soe shortly come to pass. 

Iren. It is most true, and the reason 
also very readye; for ye must conceave 
that the strength of all that nation is the 
Kearne, Galloglasse, Stokaghe, Horsemen, 
and Horseboyes, the which having bene 
never used to have any tiling of their 
owne, and nowe living upon the spoyle of 
others, make noe spare of any thing, but 
havocke and confusion of all they meete 
with, whether it be theyr owne frendes 
goodes, or theyr foes. And yf they hap- 
pen to gett never soe great spoyles at any 
time, the same they consume and wast in 
a trice, as naturally delighting in spoyle, 
though it doe themselves noe good. On 
the other side, whatsoever they leave un- 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



805 



spent, the souldiour, when he cometh 
there, he havocketh and spoyleth likewise, 
soe that betweue them both nothing is 
very shortly left. And yet this is very 
necessarye to be done for the soone finish- 
ing of the warre ; and not onely this in 
this wise, but also all those subjectes 
which border upon those parts, are either 
to be removed and drawen away, or like- 
wise to be spoyled, that the enemye may 
find noe succour therebye: for what the 
souldiour spares the rebell will surely 
spoyle. 

Eudox. I doe nowe well understand 
you. But nowe when all thinges are 
brought to this pass, and all filled with 
this ruf uU spectacle of soe many wretched 
carcasses starving, goodlye countreys 
wasted, soe huge a desolation and confu- 
sion, as even I that doe but heare it from 
you, and doe picture it in my mynde, doe 
grcatlye pittye and commiserate it, yf it 
shall happen, that the state of this mis- 
erye and lamentable image of thinges 
shal be told, and feelingly presented to 
her Sacred Majestic, being by nature full 
of mercye and clemencye, whoe is most 
inclinable to such pityfull complaynts, 
and will not endure to heare such trage- 
dyes made of her people and poore sub- 
jectes as some about her may insinuate ; 
then she perhaps, for verye compassion of 
such calamityes, will not onely stopp the 
streame of such violence, and returne to 
her woonted mildenesse, but also conne 
them litle thankes which have bene the 
authors and counsellours of such blooddie 
platformes. Soe I remember in the late 
government of the good Lord Graye, 
when, after long travell and many peril- 
ous assayes, he had brought thinges all- 
most to this pass that ye speake of, and 
that when it was even made ready e for 
reformation, and might have bene brought 
to what her Majestic would, like com- 
playnte was made agaynst him, that he 
was a bloudye man, and regarded not the 
life of her subjectes noe more then dogges, 
but had wasted and consumed all, soe as 
nowe she had nothing almost left, but to 
raigne in theyr ashes ; her Majesties eare 
was soone lente thereunto, and all sud- 
daynly turned topsy turvy; the noble 
Lord ef t-sones was blamed ; the wretched 
people pittyed ; and new counsells plotted, 
in which it was concluded that a general 
pardon should be sent over to all that 
would accept of it, uppon which all 
former purposes were blaunked, the 
Governour at a baye, and not onely all 
that greate and long charge, which she 



had before bene at, quite lost and can- 
celled, but also that hope of good which 
was even at the doore putt backe, and 
cleane frustrated. All which, whether it 
be true, or noe, your selfe can well tell. 

Iren. To true, Eudoxus, the more the 
pittye, for I may not forgett soe memor- 
able a thing: neitlier can I be iguoraiinte 
of that perillous devise, and of the whole 
meanes by which it was compassed, and 
very cunningly contrived by sowing first 
dissention betwene him and an other 
Noble Personage, wherin they both founde 
at length howe notably they had bene 
abused, and howe therby, under-hand, 
this universal alteration of thinges was 
brought aboute, but then to late to staye 
the same; for in the meane time all that 
was formerly done with long labour and 
great toyle, was (as you say) in a moment 
undone, and that good Lord blotted with 
the name of a bloudy man, whom, who 
that well knewe, knewe him to be most 
gentell, affable, loving, and temperate ; 
but that the necessitye of that present 
state of thinges enforced him to that vio- 
lence, and allmost chaunged his very nat- 
urall disposition. But otherwise he was 
soe farr from delighting in blond, that 
oftentimes he suffred not just vengeance 
to fall where it was deserved : and even 
some of those which were afterwardes 
his accusers had tasted to much of his 
mercye, and were from the gallowes 
brought to be his accusers. But his 
course indeede was this, that he spared 
not the heades and principalis of any 
mischeivous practize or rebellion, but 
shewed sharpe judgement on them, 
cheifly for examples sake, that all the 
meaner sorte, which also then were geu- 
erallye infected with that evill, might by 
terrour therof be reclaymed, and saved, 
yf it might be possible. For in that last 
conspiracye of some of the English Pale, 
thinke you not that there were manye 
more guiltye then they that felt the pun- 
ishment, or was there any allmost clere 
from the same ? yet he touched onely a 
fewe of speciall note ; and in the tryall 
of them alsoe even to prevente the blame 
of crueltie and partiall dealing, as seeking 
theyr blond, which he, in his great wise- 
dome (as it seemeth) did fore-see would 
be objected agaynst him ; he, for the 
avoyding therof, did use a singular dis- 
cretion and regarde. For the Jurye that 
went upon theyr tryall, he made to be 
chosen out of theyr neerest kinsemen, and 
theyr Judges he made of some of theyr 
owne fathers, of others theyr uncles and 



8o6 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



dearest frendes, whoe, when they could 
not hut justly conderane them, yet ut- 
tred theyr judgement iu ahoundaunce of 
teares, and yet he evenherin was counted 
bloudye and cruell. 

Eudox. Indeede soe have I hearde it 
often here spoken, and I perceave (as I 
allwayes verely thought) that it was 
most unjustlye; for he was allwayes 
knowen to he a most just, sincere, godly, 
and right noble man, farr from such 
sterness, farr from such uurighteousnes. 
But in that sharpe execution of the Span- 
yardes at the Forte of Smerwicke, I 
heard it speciallye noted, and, yf it were 
true as some reported, surelye it was a 
great touche to him in honour, for some 
say that he promised them life; others 
that at least he did putt them in hope 
therof. 

Iren. Both the one and the other is 
most untrue ; for this I can assure you, 
my selfe being as neere them as any, that 
he was soe farr from either promising, or 
putting them in hope, that when first 
theyr Secretarye, called, as I remember, 
Jacques Geffray, an Italian, being sent to 
treate with the Lord Deputye for grace, 
was liatlye denyed ; and afterwardes 
theyr Coronell, named Don Sebastian, 
came foorthe to intreate that they might 
parte with theyr armes like souldiours, 
at least with theyr lives, according to the 
custome of warre and lawe of nations, it 
was strongely denyed him, and tolde him 
by the Lord Deputye himself e, that they 
could not justlye pleade either custome 
of warre, or lawe of nations, for that they 
were not any lawfuU enemyes; and yf 
they were, he willed them to shewe by 
what commission they came thither into 
another Princes dominions to warre, 
whether from the Pope or the King of 
Spayne, or any other : the which when 
they sayd they had not, but were onely 
adventurers that came to seeke fortune 
abrode, and serve in warres amongest the 
Irish, who desired to entertayne them, it 
was then tolde them, that the Irish them- 
selves, as the Earle and John of Desmonde 
with the rest, were noe lawful! enemyes, 
but rebells and traytours ; and therfore 
they that came to succour them noe better 
then roges and runnagates, specially 
coming with noe lycence, nor commission 
from theyr owne King : Soe as it should 
be dishonorable for him in the name of 
his Queene to condicion or make any 
termes with such rascalls, but left them 
to theyr choise, to yeelde and submitt 
themselves, or noe. Wherupon the sayd 



Coronel did absolutely yeeld himselfe and 
the forte, with all therin, and craved 
onely mercye, which it being not thought 
good to shewe them, both for daunger of 
themselves, yf, being saved, they should 
afterwardes joyne with the Irish, and 
also for terrour to the Irish, who were 
much emboldened by those forrayne suc- 
cours, and also putt in hope of more ere 
long; there was noe other way but to 
make that shorte end of them which was 
made. Therfore most untruelye and 
maliciously doe these evill tonges back- 
bite and slaunder the sacred ashes of that 
most just and honorable personage, 
whose least vertue, of many most excel- 
lent which abounded in his heroycall 
spiritt, they were never able to aspire 
unto. 

Eudox. Trulye, Irenaeus, I am right 
gladd to be thus satisfyed by you in that 
I have often hearde questioned, and yet 
was never able, till nowe, to choke the 
mouth of such detractours with the cer- 
tajme knowledge of theyr slaunderous 
untruthes : neither is the knowledge 
herof impertinent to that which we for- 
merly had in hand, I meane to the thor- 
ough prosecuting of that sharpe course 
which ye have sett downe for the bring- 
ing under of those rebells of . Ulster and 
Conuaught, and preparing a way for 
theyr perpetuall reformation, least hap- 
pely, by any such sinister suggestions of 
crueltye and to much bloudshedd, all the 
plott might be overthrowen, and all the 
cost and labour therin employed be ut- 
terly lost and cast awaye. 

Ireyi. Ye say most true ; for, after that 
Lordes calling away from thence, the 
two Lordes Justices continued but a 
while : of which the one was of mynde, 
(as it seemeth) to have continued in the 
footing of his predecessour, but that he 
was courbed and restrayned. But the 
other was more mildely disposed, as was 
meete for his profession, and willing to 
have all the pityfull woundes of that 
commonwealth healed and recured, but 
not with that heede as they should be. 
After whom Sir John Perrot, succeding 
(as it were) into another mans harvest, 
founde an open way to what course he 
list, the which he bent not to that poynte 
which the former governours intended, 
but rather quite contrarye, as it were in 
scorne of the former, and in a vayne 
vaunte of his owne counsells, with the 
which he was to willf ullye carryed ; for 
he did treade downe and disgrace all the 
English, and sett up and countenaunce 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



807 



the Irish all that he couM, whether, 
thinking therby to make them more 
tractable and buxome to his government, 
(wherin he thonght mnch amiss) or pri- 
vily plotting some other purj^oses of his 
owne, as it partly afterwardes appeared ; 
but surely his manner of government 
could not be sounde nor holsome for that 
realme, being soe contrarye to the former. 
For it was even as two physitians should 
take one sicke bodye in hand at two sun- 
drye times ; of which the former would 
minister all thiuges meete to purge and 
keepe under the bodye, the other to pam- 
per and strengthen it suddaiuty agayne, 
wherof what is to be looked for but a 
most daungerous relapse? That which 
we see no we through his rule, and the 
next after him, happened thereunto, being 
nowe more damigerously sicke then ever 
before. Therfore by all meanes it must 
be fore-seene and assured, that after 
once entring into this course of reforma- 
tion, there be afterwardes noe remorse or 
drawing backe for the sight of any such 
ruf ull objectes as must therupon foUowe, 
nor for compassion of theyr calaraityes, 
seing that by noe other meanes it is pos- 
sible to recure them, and that these are 
not of will, but of very urgent necessitye. 
Eudox. Thus farre then ye have no'we 
proceeded to plaunte your garrisons, and 
to directe theyr services ; of the which 
nevertheless I "must needes couceave that 
there cannot be any certayne direction 
sett downe, soe that they must followe 
the occasions that shal be dayly oflPred, 
and diligently awayted. But, by your 
leave (Irenjeus) , notwithstanding all this 
your carefull fore-sight and provision, 
(me thinkes) I see an evill lurke unespyed, 
that may chaunce to hazarde all the hope 
of this great service, yf it be not very well 
looked into ; and that is, the corruptions 
of theyr captaines: for though they be 
placed never soe carefully, and theyr com- 
panyes filled never soe sufficiently, yet 
may they, yf they list, discarde whom 
they please, and send away such as will 
perhaps willingly be ridd of that daunger- 
ous and harde service ; the which (I wote 
well) is theyr common custome to doe, 
when they are layd in garrison, for then 
they may better hide their defaults, then 
when they are in campe, where they are 
continually eyed and noted of all 'men. 
Besides, when theyr pay cometh, they will 
(as they say) detayne the greatest por- 
tions therof at theyr pleasure, by an hun- 
dreth shiftes thatneede not heere to be 
named, through which they oftentimes 



deceave the souldiours, abuse the Queene, 
and greatly hinder the service. Soe that 
lett the Queene pay never soe fuUye, lett 
the muster-master viewe them never soe 
diligently, lett the deputye or generall 
looke to them never soe exactly, yet thev 
can cossen them all. Therfore (me seemes) 
it were good, yf it be possible, to make 
some provision for this inconvenience. 

Iren. It will surely be very harde ; but 
the cheifest helpe for j)revention herof 
must be the care of the corouel that hath 
the government of all his garrison, to have 
an eye to theyr alteration, to knowe the 
nomber and the names of the sicke soul- 
diours, and the slayne, to marke and ob- 
serve theyr rankes in theyr daylye rising 
foorthe to the service, by which he cannot 
easelye be abused, soe that he himself be 
a man of speciall assuraunce and integ- 
ritye. And therfore greate regarde is to 
be had in the choosing and appoynting of 
them. Besides, I would not by any meanes 
that the captaynes should have the paying 
of theyr souldiours, but that there should 
be a pay-master appoynted, of speciall 
trust, which should paye everye man ac- 
cording to his captaynes tickett, and the 
accoumpte of the clarke of his bande, for 
by this meanes the captayne will never 
seeke to falsifye his alterations, nor to 
diminish his companye,nor to deceave his 
souldiours, when nothing therof shal be for 
his gayne. This is the manner of the 
Spanyardes captaynes, whoe never hath 
to meddle with his souldiours paye, and 
indeede scorneth the name as base to be 
counted his souldiours pagador ; whereas 
the contrary amongest us hath brought 
thinges to soe badd a pass, that there is 
noe captayne, but thinkes his band very 
suflicient, yf he muster threscore, and 
stickes not to say openly, that he is un- 
woorthy of a captaynship, that cannot 
make it woorth 500^. by the yeare, the 
which they right well verefye by the 
proofe. 

Eudox. Truly I thinke this a verye 
good meane to avoyde that inconveniencfe 
of captaynes abuses. But what say you 
of the coronel? what authoritye thinke 
you meete to be given him ? whether will 
ye allowe him to protecte,to safe conducte, 
and to have marshall lawe as they are 
accustomed ; 

Iren. Yea verely, but all these to be 
limitted with verye' straight instructions. 
As thus for protections, that they shall 
have authoritye after the first proclama- 
tion, for the space of twentye dayes, to 
protect all that shall come in unto them. 



8o8 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



and them to sende unto the Lord Deputye 
with theyr safe conducte or pass, to be at 
his disposition ; but soe as none of them 
returne backe agayne, being once come in, 
but be presently sent away out of the coun- 
trey, unto the next sherriff,and soconvayed 
in safetye. And likewise for marshall lawe, 
that to the souldiour it be not extended, 
but by tryall formerly made of his cryme, 
by a jurye of his fellowe souldiours as 
it ought to be, and not rashlye at the will 
or displeasure of the coronel, as I have 
sometimes scene to lightlye. And as for 
others of the rebells that shall light into 
theyr handes, that they be well aware of 
what condition they be, and what holding 
they have. For, in the last generall 
warres there, I knewe many good free- 
holders executed by marshall lawe, whose 
landes were thereby saved to theyr lieyres, 
which should otherwise have escheated 
to her Majestic. In all which, the greate 
discretion and uprightness of the coronel 
himself is to be the cheifest stay both for 
all these doubts, and for many other diffi- 
cultyes that may in the service happen, 

JEudox. Your caution is verye good ; 
but nowe touching the arche-rebell him- 
selfe, I meane the Earle of Tyrone, if he, 
in all the time of these warres, should offer 
to come in and submitt himselfe to her 
Majestie, would you not have him re- 
ceaved, giving good hostages, and suffi- 
cient assuraunce of himself? 

Iren. Noe, marye ; for there is noe 
doubt, but he will offer to come in, as he 
hath done diverse times allreadye, but it 
is without any intent of true submission, 
as the effect hath well shewed ; neither 
indede can he nowe, yf he would, come in 
at all, nor give that assuraunce of him- 
selfe that should be meete, for being, as 
he is, very, suttell-headed, seing himselfe 
nowe soe farre engaged in this badd ac- 
tion, can he thinkethat by his submission 
he can purchase to himselfe any safetye, 
but that hereafter, when thinges shal be 
quieted, these his villanyes will ever be 
remembred? And whensoever he shall 
treade awrye (as needes the most right- 
eous must sometimes) advauntage wil be 
taken therof, as a breache of his pardon, 
and he brought to a reckning for all 
former matters : besides, ho we harde it is 
now for him to frame himselfe to subjec- 
tion, that having once sett before his eyes 
the hope of a kingdome, hath thereunto 
founde not onely encouragement from the 
greatest King of Christendome, but also 
founde great fayntness in her Majesties 
withstanding him, whereby he is animated 



to thinke that his power is to defende him, 
and to offend further then he hath done, 
whensoe he please, lett e verye reasonable 
man judge. But yf he himselfe should 
come in, and leave all other his accom- 
plices without, as 0-Donell, Mac-Mahon, 
Magueeirhe, and the rest, he must needes 
thinke that then, even they will ere long 
cutt his throate, which having drawen 
them all into this occasion, nowe in the 
middest of theyr trouble giveth them the 
slip; wherby he must needes perceave 
howe impossible a thing it is for him to 
submit himselfe. But yet yf he would doe 
soe, can he give any good assuraunce of 
his obedience ? For howe weake hold is 
there by hostages hath to often bene 
prooved, and that which is spoken of tak- 
ing Shane 0-Neale-is sonnes from him, 
and setting them uj) agaynst him is a verye 
perillous counsell, and not by any meanes 
to be putt in proofe ; for were they lett 
foorth and could overthrowe him, whoe 
should after wardes overthrowe them, or 
what assuraunce can be had of them ? It 
wil be like the tale in ^Esope of the wild 
horse, whoe, having enmitye agaynst the 
stagg came to a man to desire his ayde 
agaynst his foe, whoe yeelding thereunto 
mounted upon his backe, and soe follow- 
ing the stagge ere longe slewe him, but 
then when the horse would have him light 
he refused, but kept him ever after in his 
service and subjection. Such, Idoubtnot, 
would be the proof of Shane 0-Neale-is 
sonnes. Therfore it is most daungerous 
to attempt any such plott ; for even that 
very manner of plott, was the meanes by 
which this trayterous Earle is nowe made 
soe great: for wlienas the last 0-Neale, 
called Tyrrelaghe 0-Neale, beganne to 
stand upon some tickell termes, this fel- 
lowe, then called Baron of Dungannan, 
was sett up as it were to bearde him, and 
countenaunced and strengthened by the 
Queene so farre, as that he is nowe able 
to keepe her selfe play: much like unto a 
gamester that having lost all, borroweth 
of his next fellow gamester that is the 
most winner, somewhat to mayntayne 
play, with which he, setting unto him 
agayne, shortly therby winneth all from 
the winner. 

JEudox. Was this rebell first sett up by 
the Quene (as you sale) , and now become 
so unduetiful] ? 

Ire7i. He was (I assure you) the most 
outcast of all the 0-Neales then, and lifted 
up by her Majestie out of the dust, to that 
he hath nowe wrought himself unto ; and 
nowe he playeth like the frozen snake, 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



809 



whoe being for compassion relieved by 
the husbandman, soone after he was warme 
beganu to hiss, and threaten daunger even 
to him and his. 

£iulox. He surely then deserveth the 
punnishment of that snake, and should 
woorthely be hewed in peaces. But yf ye 
like not of the raysiug up of Shane O- 
Neale-is sonnes agaynst him, what say 
you then of that advise which (I hearde) 
was given by some, to drawe in the Scottes, 
to serve agaynst him? how like you that 
advise ? 

Iren. Much woorse then the former; 
for whoe is he that is experienced in those 
partes and kiioweth not that the 0-Neales 
are neerelye allyed unto the Mac-Neales of 
Scotland, and to the Earle of Argile, from 
whom they use to have all theyr succours 
of those Scotts and Reddshankes? Be- 
sides, all these Scotts are, through long 
coutiuuaunce, entermyngled and allyed to 
all the inhabitauutes of the North ; soe as 
there is noe hope that they will ever be 
wrought to serve faj'thfully agaynst theyr 
old frendes and kinsemen : And yf they 
would, ho we when the warres are finished, 
and they have overthrowen him shall they 
themselves be putt out ? Doe we not all 
knowe, that the Scotts were the first in- 
habitauutes of all the North, and that 
those which are nowe called North Irish 
were indeede very Scotts, which challenge 
the auncient inheritaunce and dominion 
of all that countrey to be theyr owne 
aunciently. This then were but to leape 
out of the pann into the fire; for the 
cheifest caveat and provisoe in the refor- 
mation of the Northe must be to keepe 
out the Scotts. 

Eudox. Indeede, I remember that in 
your discourse of the first peopling of 
Ireland, you shewed that the Scythians or 
Scottes were the first that sate downe in 
the Northe, whereby it seemeth they may 
challenge some right therin. Howe comes 
it then that 0-Neale claymes the dominion 
therof , and this Earle of Tyrone sayeth 
the right is in him ? I pray you resolve 
me therin ; for it is verye needefull to be 
knowen, and maketh most to the right of 
the warre agaynst him, whose success 
useth commonly to be according to the 
justness of the cause, for which it is 
made : For yf Tyrone have any right in 
that segniorye (me seemes) it should be 
wrong to thrust him out : or yf (as I 
remember ye sayd in the beginning)" that 
O-Neale, when he acknowledged the 
King of England for his liege Lord and 
Soveraigne, did (as he alleageth) reserve 



in the same submission all his segnioryes 
and rightes unto himselfe, it should be 
accoumpted unjust to thrust him out of 
the same. 

Iren. For the right of O-Neale in 
the segniorye of the Northe, it is surely 
none at all : For beside that the Kinges 
of England conquered all the realme, and 
thereby assumed and invested all the right 
of that land to themselves and theyr heyl-es 
and successours for ever, soe as nothing 
was left in O-Neale but what he receaved 
backe from them, O-Neale himselfe never 
had any auncient segniorye in that coun- 
treye, but what by usurpation and en- 
crochement, after the death of the Duke 
of Clarence, he gott upon the English, 
whose landes and possessions being for- 
merly wasted by the Scotts, under the lead- 
ing of Edwarde le Bruce, (as I formerly 
declared unto you) he eft-sones entred 
into, and sithence hath wrongfullye de- 
tayned, through the other occupations 
and great aftayres which the Kinges of 
England (soone^ after) fell into heere at 
home, soe as they could not intend to the 
recovery e of that countrey of the Northe, 
nor the restrajuing of the insolencye of 
O-Neale ; whoe, finding none nowe to 
withstand him, raigned in that desolation, 
and made himselfe Lorde of those fewe 
people that remayned there, uppon whom 
ever since he hath continued his first 
usurped power, and nowe exacteth and 
extorteth upon all men what he list: soe 
that nowe to subdue or expell an usurper, 
should be noe unjust enterprize nor 
wrong-full warre, but a restitution of 
auncient right unto the crowue of Eng- 
land, from whence they were most un- 
justlye expelled and longe kept out. 

Eudox. I am verye gladd herin to be 
thus satisfyed by you, that I may the 
better satisfye them whom often I have 
hearde object these doubtes, and slaun- 
derously to barke at the courses which 
are held agaynst that trayterous Earle 
and his adherentes. But nowe that you 
have thus settled your service for Ulster 
and Connaughte, I would be gladd to heare 
your opinion for the prosecuting of Feugh 
Mac Hughe, whoe being but a base 
villeyn, and of himselfe of noe power, yet 
soe continually troubleth that state, not- 
withstanding that he lyeth under theyr 
nose, that I disdayne his bold arrogauncye, 
and thinke it to be the greatest indignitye 
to the Queene that may be, to suffer such 
a cay tiff to play such Rex, and by his 
example not only to give harte and en- 
couradgement to all such bold rebells, 



8io 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



but also to yeeld them succoure and refuge 
agayiist her Majesty e, whensoever they 
flye into his Cummerreeighe : wherfore 
I would first wish, before you enter into 
your plott of service agaynst him, that 
you should laye open by what meanes he, 
being soe base, first lifted himselfe up to 
this daungerous greatnes, and how he 
mayntayneth his parte agaynst the 
Queene and her power, notwithstanding 
all that hath bene done and attempted 
agaynst him. And whether also he hath 
any pretence of right in the landes which 
he holdeth, or in the warres that he 
maketh for the same ? 

Iren. I will soe, at your pleasure, and 
since ye desire to know his first beginning, 
I will not ouly discover the first begin- 
ning of his privat howse, but also the 
originall of all his sept, of the Birnes 
and Tooles, so farre as I have learned the 
same from some of themselves, and 
gathered the rest by readinge : This peo- 
ple of the Birnes and Tooles (as before I 
shewed unto you my conjecture) dis- 
cended from the auncient Brittons, which 
first inhabited all those Easterne partes 
of Ireland, as theyr names doe betoken ; 
for Brin in the Brittons language si^nify- 
eth hillye, and Tol hole, valley or darke, 
which names, it seemeth, they tooke of 
the countreye which they inhabited, which 
is all very mountayne and woodye. In 
the which it seemeth that ever sithence 
the coming in of the English with Deur- 
muid-ne-Galh, they have continued: 
Whether that theyr countrey being soe 
rude and mountaynous was of them dis- 
pised, and thought not woorthye the in- 
habiting, or that they were receaved to 
grace by them, and suffred to enjoye 
theyr lands as unfitt for any other, yet 
it seemeth that in some "places of the same 
they did putt foote, and fortify ed with 
sundrye castells, of which the ruynes 
onely doe there now remayne, since which 
time they are growen to that strength, 
that they are able to lift up hand agaynst 
all that state ; and no we lately, through 
the boldness and late good success of this 
Feugh Mac Hugh, they are soe farr em- 
boldened, that they threaten perill even 
to Dublin, over whose necke they contin- 
ually hange. But touching your de- 
maunde of this Feughe-is right unto that 
countrey or the segniorye which he claymes 
therin, it is most vayne and arrogaunte. 
For this ye cannot be ignoraunte of, that 
it was parte of that which was given in 
inheritaunceby DeurmuidMac Murroghe, 
King of Leinster, to Strangbowe with his 



daughter, and which Strangbowe gave 
over to the King and to his heyres, soe as 
the right is absolutely nowe in her Maj- 
estic ; and yf it were not, yet could it not 
be in this Feugh, but in 0-Brin, which is 
the ancient lord of all that countrey; for 
he and his auncestours were but fol- 
lowers unto 0-Brin, and his grandfather, 
Shane Mac Tirrelaghe, was a man of 
meanest regarde amongest them, neither 
having wealth nor power. But his sonne 
Hughe Mac Shane, the father of this 
Feughe, first beganne to lift up his head, 
and through the strength and greate fast- 
ness of Glan-Maleeirh, which adjoyneth 
unto his howse of Ballinecorrih, drewe 
unto him many theves and out-lawes, 
which fledd unto the succour of that 
glinne, as to a saunctuarye and brought 
unto him parte of the spoyle of all 
the countrey, through which he grewe 
stronge, and in shorte space got to him- 
selfe a greate name thereby amongest the 
Irish, in whose footing this his sonne con- 
tinuing hath, through many unhappy 
occasions, encreased his said name, and 
the opinion of his greatness, soe that 
nowe he is become a daungerous enemy 
to deale withall. 

Eudox. Surely I can commend him 
that, being of himselfe of soe base con- 
dition, hath through his owne hardiness 
lifted himselfe up to that height that 
he dare now to fronte princes, and 
make termes with greate potentates ; the 
which as it is honorable to him, soe it 
is to them most disgracef ull, to be bearded 
of such a base varlett, that being but of 
late growen out of thedounghillbeginneth 
nowe to overcrowe soe high mountaynes, 
and make himselfe greate protectour of 
all outlawes and rebells that will repay re 
unto him. But doe you thinke he is nowe 
soe daungerous an enemye as he is 
counted, or that it is soe harde to take 
him downe as some suppose ? 

Iren. Noe verely, there is noe great 
reckning to be made of him ; for had he 
ever bene taken in hand, when the rest of 
the realme (or at least the partes adjoyn- 
ing) had bene quiett, as the honourable 
gentellman that nowe governeth there 
(I meane Sir William Russell) gave a 
notable attempte therunto, and had 
woorthely perfourmed it, yf his course 
had not bene crossed unhappely, he could 
not have stoode three monthes, nor ever 
have- looked up agaynst a verye meane 
power: but nowe all the partes about 
him being up in a madding moode, as the 
Moores in Lease, the Kevenaghs in the 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



countye of Wexforde, and some of 
the Butlers in the countye of Kilkennye, 
they all tloeke unto him^and drawe unto 
his countrey, as to a strong hold where 
they thinke' to be safe from all that pro- 
secute therii : And from thence they doe 
at theyr pleasures breake out into all the 
borders adjoyuiug, which are well peo- 
pled countreyes," as the couutyes of 
Dublin, of Kildare, of Catarlaghe, of Kil- 
kenny, of Wexforde, with the spoiles 
wherbf they vittell and strengthen them- 
selves, which otherwise should in shorte 
time be starved, and soone pined away: 
soe that what he is of himselfe you may 
hereby soone perceave. 

Eudox. Then, by soe much as I gather 
out of your speaches, the next way to end 
the warres with him, and to roote him 
quite out, should be to keepe him from 
invading those countreyes adjoyuiug, 
which (as I suppose) is to"^ be done, either 
by drawing all the inhabitauntes of those 
next borders away, and leaving them 
utterly wast, or by planting garrisons 
upon all those frontiers about" him, that, 
when he shall breake foorthe, may sett 
upon him and shorten his return e. 

Iren. Ye conceave rightlye, Eudoxus, 
but for the dispeopling and driving away 
of all the inhabitauntes from the coub- 
treys about him, which ye speake of, 
should be a great confusion and trouble, 
as well for the unwillingness of them to 
leave theyr possessions, as also for plac- 
ing and providing for them in other coun- 
treyes, (me seemes) the better course 
should be by plaunting of garrisons 
about him. the which, "whensoever he 
shall looke foorth, or be drawen out with 
desire of the spoyle of those borders, or 
for necessitye of vittell, shal be allwayes 
readye to intercept his going or coming. 

Eudox. Where then doe ye wish these 
garrisons to be plauuted that they may 
serve best agaynst him ; and howe manye 
in everye garrison ? 

Ire 71. i my selfe, by reason that (as I 
told you) I am noe martiall man, will not 
take uppon me to directe so daungerous 
affayres, but onely as I understood by the 
purposes and plotts, which the Lord 
Graye who was well experienced in that 
service, agaynst him did laye downe : to 
the iJerfourmaimce whereof he onely re- 
quired a 1000 men to be layed in fowre 
garrisons; that is. at Ballinecorrih 200 
footemen and 50 horse, which should shutt 
him out of his great glinne. whereto he 
soe much trusteth : at Knockelough 200 
footemen and 50 horse, to answere the 



countj-e of Catarlaghe : at Arkloe or Wick- 
loe 200 footemen to defend all that side 
towarde the sea ; in Shelelagh 100 foote- 
men which should cutt him from the Ke- 
vanaghs. and the countye of Wexforde; 
and about the three cast'ells 50 horsemen. 
which should defende all the countye of 
Dublin ; and 100 footemen at Talbots 
Towne, which should keepe him from 
breaking out into the countye of Kildare, 
and be allwayes on hisnecke on that side : 
The which garrisons, soe layed. will soe 
busye him, that he shall never rest at 
home, nor stirre foorthe abrode but he 
shall be had ; as for his creete they cannot 
be above groimde, but they must needes 
fall into theyr handes or starve, for he 
hath noe fastness nor refuge for them. 
And as for his partakers of the ]VIoores, 
Butlers, and Kevanaghes, they will soone 
leave him, when they see his fastness and 
strong places thus taken from him. 

Eudox. Surely this seemeth a plott of 
great reason, and small difficulr\-e which 
promiseth hope of a shorte end. But what 
special] directions will ye sett downe for 
the services and risings' out of these gar- 
risons ? 

Ire?!. None other then the present oc- 
casions shall minister nnto them, and as 
by good spialls. wherof there they cannot 
waute store, they shall be drawen contin- 
ually upon him . soe as one of them shal 
be still upon him, and sometimes all at 
one instant bayte him. And this (I 
assure my selfe)'will demaunde no longe 
time, but wil be all finished in the space 
of one yeare : which howe small a thing 
it is, unto the eternall quietness which 
shall thereby be purchased to that realme, 
and the great good which shall o:rowe to 
her Majestic, should (me thinkes) readely 
drawe on her Highnes to the undertaking 
of the enterjirise. 

Eudox. You have very weU (me 
seemes), Irenaeus, plotted a course for 
the atchieving of those warres nowe in 
Ireland, which seerae to aske noe long 
time, nor greate charge, soe as the effect- 
ing therof "be commit'ted to men of sure 
trust, and some experience, as well in the 
same countrey as in the manner of those 
services ; foryf it be left in the handes of 
such rawe captaynes as are usuallye sent 
out of England, being therto preferred 
onely by frendship. and not chosen by 
sufficieucye. it will soone fall to ground. 

//•???. Therfore it were meete (me 
thinkes) that such captaynes onely were 
thereunto employed, as have formerly 
served in that countrey e, and bene at least 



8l2 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



lieuteuauntes unto other captaynes there. 
For otherwise, being brought and trans- 
ferred from other services abrode, as in 
Fraunce, in Spayne, and in the Lowe-coun- 
treyes, though they be of good experience 
in those, and have never soe well deserved, 
yet in these they wil be newe to seeke, and, 
before they have gathered experience, they 
shall buye it with great loss to her Maj- 
estic, either by hazarding of theyr com- 
panyes, through iguoraunce of the places, 
and manner of the Irish services, or by 
loosing a great parte of the time that is 
required hereunto, being but shorte, in 
which it might be finished, before they 
have all most taken out a newe lesson, or 
can tell what is to be done. 

Eudox. You are noe good frend to 
newe captaynes it seemes, Iren., that you 
barre them from the creditt of this service : 
but (to say trueth) me thinkes it were 
meete, that any one, before he come to be 
a captayne, should have bene a soul- 
diour ; for, * Parere qui nescit, nescit im- 
perare. ' And besides, there is great wrong 
done to the old souldiour, from whom all 
meanes of advauncement which is due 
unto him is cutt of by shuffling in these 
newe cutting captaynes into the places for 
which he hath long served, and perhaps 
better deserved. But nowe that you have 
thus (as I suppose) finished all the warre, 
and brought all thinges to that lowe ebbe 
which ye speake of, what course will ye 
take for the bringing in of that reforma- 
tion which ye intend, and recovering all 
thinges from this desolate estate, in which 
(me thinkes) I behold them nowe left, 
unto that perfect establishment and newe 
commonwealth which ye have conceaved, 
of which soe great good may redounde to 
her Majestic, and an assured peace be 
confirmed? For that is it whereunto 
we are nowe to looke, and doe greatlye 
long for, being long si thence made wearye 
with the huge charge which ye have 
layed uppon us, and with the strong en- 
duraunce of soe many complayntes, soe 
manye delayes, soe many doubts and 
daungers, as will hereof (I know well) 
arise: unto the which before you come, 
it were meete (me thinkes) that you 
should take some order for the souldiour, 
which is nowe first to be discharged and 
disposed of, some way ; the which yf you 
doe not well fore-see, may growe to be as 
great an inconvenience as all this that we 
suppose you have quitt us from, by the 
loose leaving of soe many thousand soul- 
diours, which from hence foorth wil be 
unfitt for any labour or other trade, but 



must either seeke service and imploy- 
ment abrode, which may be daungerous, 
or els will perhaps imploye themselves 
heere at home, as may be discomodious. 

Iren. You say verye true ; and it is a 
thing indeede much misliked in this our 
common- wealth that noe better course is 
taken for such as have bene employed 
once in service, but that returning, either 
maymed and soe unable to labour, or 
otherwise, though whole and sounde, yet 
af terwardes unwilling to woorke, or rather 
willing to sett the hangman a woorke. 
But that needeth another consideration ; 
but to this that we have nowe in hande, 
it is farre from my meaning to leave the 
souldiour soe at random, or to leave that 
wast realme soe weake and destitute 
of strength, which may both defend it 
agaynst others that might seeke them to 
sett upon it, and also kepe it from that 
relapse which I before did fore-cast. For 
it is one speciall good of this plott which 
I would devise, that 6000 souldiours of 
these whom I have nowe imployed in 
this service, and made throughly ac- 
quaynted both with the state of the coun- 
trey, and manners of the people, should 
hencefoorth be still continued, and for 
ever mayntayned of the countrey, with- 
out any charge to her Majestic ; and the 
rest that either are old, and unable to serve 
any longer, or willing to fall to thrifte, 
as I have seene manye souldiours after 
the service to proove verye good hus- 
bandes, should be placed in parte of the 
landes by them wonne, at such rate, or 
rather better then others, to whom the 
same shal be sett out. 

Eudox. Is it possible, Irenseus? Can 
there be any such meanes devised, that 
soe manye men should be kept still in her 
Majesties service without any charge to 
her at all ? Surelye this were an exceed- 
ing greate good, both to her Highnes to 
have soe manye old souldiours allway 
readye at call, to what purpose soever she 
list employe them, and alsoe to have that 
land therbye soe strengthned, that it 
shall neither feare any forrein invasion, 
nor practize, which the Irish shall ever 
attempte, but shall keepe them under in 
continuall awe and firme obedience. 

Iren. It is soe indeede. And yet this 
trulye I doe not take to be any matter of 
great difficultye, as I thinke it will also 
soone appeare unto you. And first we 
will speake of the North parte, for that 
the same is of most waight and impor- 
taunce. Soe soone as it shall appeare that 
the enemye is brought downe, and the 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



813 



stout rebell either cutt of, or driven to 
that wretchedness that he is noe longer 
able to hold up his head, but will come to 
any conditions, which I assure my selfe 
will be before the end of the second 
Winter, I wish that there be a generall 
proclamation made, that whatsoever out- 
lawes will freelye come in, and submitt 
themselves to her Majesties mercye, shall 
havelibertye soe to doe, where they shall 
either find that grace they desire, or have 
leave to returne agayne in saf etye : uppon 
which it is likely e that soe manye as sur- 
vive will come in to sue for grace, of which 
whoe-soe are thought meete for subjec- 
tion, and fitt to be brought to good, may 
be receaved, or els all of them, (for I 
thinke that all wilbe but a verye fewe ;) 
uppon condicion and assuraunce that they 
will submit themselves absolutelie to 
her Majesties ordinaunce for them, by 
which they shal be assured of life and 
libertye, and be onelye tyed to such con- 
dicions as shal be thought by her meete 
for contaynhig them ever after in due 
obedience. To the which condicion s I 
nothiug doubt but they will all most 
readelye, aud upon theyr knees submitt 
themselves, by the proof of that which 
I sawe in Mounster. For upon the like 
proclamation there, they all came in, both 
tagge and ragge ; and when as after- 
wardes many of them were denyed to be 
receaved, they bade them doe with them 
what they would, for they would not by 
any meanes returne agayne, nor goe 
foorthe. For in this case who will not ac- 
cept allraost of any condicions, rather 
then dye of hunger and miserye? 

Eudox. It is very likely soe. But what 
then is the ordinaunce, and what be the 
condicions which you will propose unto 
them, which shall reserve unto them an 
assuraunce of life and libertye ? 

Iren. Soe soone then as they have 
given the best assuraunce of themselves 
which may be required, which must be (I 
suppose) some of theyr principall men to 
remajrne in hostage one for another, and 
some other for the rest, for other suretye 
I recken of none that may binde them, 
neither of wife, nor of children, since then 
perhaps they would gladly be ridd of both 
from the famine ; I would have them first 
unarmed utterly e and stript quite of all 
theyr warrlick weapons, and then these 
condicions sett downe and made knowen 
unto them, where they shal be placed, and 
have land given unto them to occupye and 
to live upon, in such sorte as shall become 
good subjectes, to labour thencefoorth for 



theyr living, and to applye themselves to 
honest trades of civilitye as they shall 
everye one be founde meete and able for. 

Eudox. Where then, a Gods name, will 
you place them? In Leynster? or will 
you find out any new lande there for 
them that is yet unknowen ? 

Iren. Noe, I will place them all in the 
countreye of the Brinnes and Tooles, 
which Pheugli Mac Hughe hath, and in 
all the landes of the Kevanaghs, which 
are nowe in rebellion, and all the landes 
which will fall to her Majestic there- 
abouts, which I knowe to be verye spa- 
cious and large enough to contayne them, 
being verye neere twentye or thirtye 
miles wyde. 

Eudox. But what then will ye doe with 
all the Brinnes there, the Tooles, and the 
Kevanaughs, and all those that nowe are 
■)oyned with them? 

Iren. At the same very time, and in 
the same manner that I make that procla- 
mation to them of Ulster, will I have it 
also made to these ; and uppon theyr sub- 
mission thereunto, I will take like assur- 
aunce of them as of others. After which 
I will translate all that remayne of them 
into the places of thother in Ulster, with 
all theyr creete, and what else they have 
left them, the which I will cause to be 
devided amongest them in some meete 
sorte, as eche may thereby have some- 
what to sustayne himself a while with- 
all, untill, by his further travell and 
labour of the earth e, he shalbe able to 
provide himselfe better. 

Eudox. But will you then give the 
lande freelye unto them, and make them 
heyres of the former rebells? soe may 
you perhaps make them heyres also of all 
theyr former villanyes and disorders ; or 
howe els will you dispose of them? 

Iren. Not soe ; but all the landes I will 
give unto Englishmen whom I will have 
drawen thither, who shall have the same 
with such estates as shal be thought 
meete, and for such rentes as shall eft- 
son es be rated : under everye of these 
Englishmen will I place some of the Irish 
to be tenauntes for a certayne rente, ac- 
cording to the quantitye of such land, as 
everye man shall have allotted unto him, 
and shalbe founde able to weelde, wherin 
this speciall regarde shal be had, that in 
noe place under any land-lorde there 
shall remayne manye of them planted 
togither, but dispei'sed wide from theyre 
acquayntaunce, and scattred farre abrode 
through all the countreye : For that is 
the evill which I nowe finde in all Ireland, 



14 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



that the Irish dwell togither by theyr 
septs, aud severall nations, soe as they 
may practize or conspire what they will; 
whereas yf there were English shedd 
ainongest them and placed over them, 
they should not be able once to styrre or 
murmnre, but that it shoulde be knowen, 
and they shortened according to theyr 
demerites. 

Eadox. Ye have good reason ; but 
what rathig of rents meane you? To 
what end doe you purpose the same? 

Iren. My purpose is to rate the rents 
of all those landes of her Majestie in such 
sorte, unto those Englishmen which shall 
take them, as they may be well able to 
live tlierupon, to yeeld her Majestie rea- 
sonable cheverye, and also give a compe- 
tent mayntenaunce unto the garrisons, 
which shall be there left amongest them ; 
for these souldiours (as I told you) remayn- 
ing of the former garrisons I cast to be 
maintayned upon the rente of those 
landes which shal be escheated, and to 
have them divided through all Ireland in 
such places as shalbe thought most con- 
venient, and occasion may require. And 
this was the course which the Romaius 
used in the conquest of England, for they 
planted some of theyr legions in all places 
convenient, the which they caused the 
countrey to maintayne, cutting upon 
everye portion of lande a reasonable rent, 
which they called Romescott, the which 
might not surcharge the tenaunte or free- 
holder, and defrayed the pay of the garri- 
son : and this hath bene allwayes observed 
of all princes in all countreyes to them 
newly subdued, to sett garrisons amongest 
them to contayne them in dutye, whose 
burthen they made them to beare; and 
the wante of this ordinaunce, in the first 
conquest of Ireland by Henry the Second, 
was the cause of the shorte decaye of 
that government, and the quicke recov- 
erye agayne of the Irish. Therfore by all 
meanes it is to be provided for. And this 
is it that I would blame, yf it should not 
misbecome me, in the late planting of 
Mounster, that noe care was had of this 
ordinaunce, nor any strength of a garri- 
son provided for, by a certayne allow- 
aunce out of all the sayd landes, but 
ouely the present profitt looked unto, and 
the safe continuaunce therof for ever 
hereafter neglected. 

Eudox. But there is a bande of soul- 
diours layed in Mounster, to the mainte- 
naunce of which, what oddes is there 
whether the Queene, receaving the rent of 
the countrey, doe give paye at her pleas- 



ure, or that there be a setled allowaance ap- 
poynted unto them out of her landes there? 

Iren. There is a great oddes, for nowe 
that sayd rente of the countrey is not 
usuallye applyed to the paye of the soul- 
diours, but it is (everye other occasion 
coming betweene) converted to other 
uses, and the souldiours in time of peace 
discharged and neglected as unneces- 
sarye; whereas yf the sayde rente were 
appoynted-and ordayned by an establish- 
ment to this ende onelye, it should not be 
turned to any other ; nor in troublesome 
times, uppon everye occasion, her Majes- 
tie be soe troubled with sending over newe 
souldiours as she nowe is, nor the countrey 
ever should dare to mutinie, having still 
the souldiours on theyr necke, nor any 
forreyne enemye dare to invade, knowing 
there soe stronge and great a garrison 
allwayes ready e to receave them. 

Eudox. Sith then ye thinke that this 
Romescott of the paye of the souldiours 
uppon the lande to be both the readyest 
way to the souldiours, and least trouble- 
some to her Majestie, tell us (I pray you) 
how ye would have the sayd landes rated, 
that both a rente may rise thereout unto 
the Queene, and also the souldiours paye, 
which (me seemes) wilbe harde ? 

Iren. First we are to consider how 
much lande there is in all Ulster, that 
according to the quantitye therof we may 
cesse the sayd rente and allowaunce issu- 
ing therout. Ulster (as the auncient 
recordes of that realme doe testifye) doth 
contayne nine thousand plowe-landes, 
everye of which plow-landes con- 
tayneth six score acres, after the rate 
of 21 foote to every pearche of the sayd 
acre, which amounteth in the whole to 
124000 acres, every of which plow-landes 
I will rate at 46s. M. by the yeare ; which 
is not much more then \hd. an acre, the 
which yearely rent amounteth in the 
whole to 18000^. besides 6s. 8d. chiefrie 
out of every plow-land. But because the 
countye of Louthe, being a parte of Ulster, 
and contayning in it 712 plow-landes, is 
not wholye to escheate unto her Majestie 
as the rest, they having in all those warres 
continued for the most parte dutifull, 
though otherwise nowe a greate parte 
thereof is under the rebells, there is an 
abatement to be made thereout of 400 or 
500 plow-landes, as I estimate the same, 
the which are not to pay the whole yearely 
rent of 46s. M. out of everye plow-land, 
like as the escheated landes doe, bat yet 
shall paye for theyr composition of cesse 
towardes the mayntenaunce of souldiours 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



815 



20s. out of everye plow-land : see as there 
is to be deducted out of the former sumnie 
200 or 300^. yearely, the which neverthe- 
less may be supplyed by the rent of the 
fishing, which is exceeding greate in 
Ulster, and also by an eucrease of rente 
in the best landes, and those that lye in 
the best places neere the sea-cost. The 
which 18000^. will defraye the intertayn- 
ment of 1500 souldiours, with some over- 
plus toward the paye of the vittaylers 
which are to be imployed in the vittayl- 
ing of the garrisons ? 

Eudox. Soe then, belike you meane to 
leave 1500 souldiours in garrison for Ulster, 
to be payed priucipallye out of the rent 
of those landes which shal be there es- 
cheated to her Majestic ; the which, where 
(I praye youj will you have garrizoned ? 

Iren. I will have them devided into 
three partes ; that is, 500 in every garri- 
son, the which I will have to remayne in 
three of the same places where they were 
before appoynted ; to weete, 500 at Stra- 
bane and about Loghefoyle, soe as they 
may holde all the passages of that parte 
of the countrey, and some of them be putt 
in wardes, upon all the straytes there- 
aboutes, which I knowe to be such, as may 
stopp all passages into the couutreye on 
that side ; and some of them also upon 
the Ban, up towardes Logh-Sidney, as I 
formerlye directed. Also other 500 at the 
forte upon Logh-Earne, and wardes taken 
out of them vi^hich shal be layed at Fer- 
managh, at Belicke, at Ballishannon, and 
on all the straites towardes Conaughte, 
the which I knowe doe so stronglie com- 
mauud all the passages that waie as that 
none can passe from Ulster into Con- 
naught, without their leave. The last 
500 shall also remayne in theyr forte at 
Monaghane, and some of them be drawen 
into wardes, to keepe the keies of all that 
countrey, both downewardes, and also 
towardes 0-Relyes countrey, and the 
pale; and some at Eniskillin, some at 
Belturbut, some at the Blacke Forte, and 
soe alonge that river, as I formerlye 
shewed in the first plaunting of them. 
And moreover at everye of those fortes I 
would have the state of a towne layed 
foorthe and encompassed, in the which I 
would wish that there should be placed 
inhabitauntes of all sortes, as mar- 
chauntes, artificers, and husbandmen, to 
whom there should be charters and f raun- 
chises graunted to incorporate them. 
The which, as it wil be no matter of 
difficulty e to drawe out of England per- 
sons which should very gladlye be soe 



placed, soe would it in shorte space turne 
those partes to greate comoditye, and 
bring ere longe to her Majestic much pro- 
fitt ; for those places are soe fitt for trade 
and trafiicke, having most convenient 
out-gates by diverse rivers to the sea, and 
in-gates to the richest partes of the lande, 
that they would soone be enriched, and 
mightelye enlarged, for the verye seating 
of the garrisons by them: besides, the 
safetye and assuraunce that they shall 
woorke unto them will alsoe drawe 
thither store of people and trade, as I have 
scene examples at Mariboroughe and 
Phillipstowne in Leynster, where by reason 
of these two fortes, though there were but 
small wardes left in them, there are two 
good townes nowe growen, which are the 
greatest staye of both those two countyes. 

Eudox. Indeede (me seemes) three such 
townes, as you say, would doe verye well 
in those places with the garrisons, and 
in shorte space would be soe augmented, 
as they would be able with litle helpe to 
wall themselves stronglye : but, for the 
plaunting of all the rest of the countrey, 
what order would ye take ? 

Iren. What other then (as I sayd) to 
bring people out of England, which should 
inhabite the same; whereunto though, I 
doubte not, but greate troupes would be 
readye to runne, yet for that in such 
cases, the woorst and most decayed men 
are most readye to remove, I would wish 
them rather to be chosen out of all partes 
of the realme, either by discretion of wise 
men thereunto appoynted, or by lott, or 
by the drumme, as w^as the old use in 
sending foorthe of colonyes, or such other 
good meanes as shall in theyr wisedome 
be thought meetest. Amongest the chief- 
est of which I would have the lande sett 
into segnioryes, in such sorte as it is nowe 
in Mounster, and devided into hundreds 
and parrishes, or wardes, as it is in Eng- 
land, and layed out into shires as it was 
aunciently; viz. the countye of Downe, 
the countye of Antrim, the countye of 
Louthe, the countye of Armaghe, the 
countye of Cavan, the countye of Colrane, 
the countye of Monahon, the countye of 
Tyrone,, the countye of Fermanagh, the 
countye of Donnegall, being in all tenne. 
Over all which Irish 1 wish a Lord Presi- 
dent and a Counsell to be placed, which 
may keepe them afterwardes in awe and 
obedience, and minister unto them justice 
and equity e. 

Eudox. Thus I see the whole purpose 
of your plot for Ulster, and nowe I desire 
to heare your like opinion for Conaughte. 



8i6 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



Iren. By that which I have allreadj'e 
sayd of Ulster you inay gather my opin- 
ion for Conaughte, being verye answer- 
able unto the former. But for that the 
landes, which therin shall escheate unto 
her Majesty, are notsoe intierlj^e togither 
as that they can be accoumpted in one 
somme, it needeth that they be considered 
severally e. The province of Conaughte 
contayneth in the whole as (appeareth by 
the Recordes of Dublin) 7200 plow-landes 
of the former measure, and is of late 
devided into six shires or countyes : the 
countye of Clare, the countye of Leutrum, 
the countye of Roscomman, the countye 
of Gallowaye, the countye of Maiho, and 
the countye of Sleugho. Of the which, 
all the countye of Sleugho, all the countye 
of Maiho, the most parte of the countj^e of 
Roscomman, the most parte of the coimtye 
of Leutrum, a greate parte of the countye 
of Galloway, and some of the countye of 
Clare, is like to escheate unto her Majes- 
tic for the rebellion of theyr present pos- 
sessours. The which two countyes of 
Sleugho and Maiho are supposed to con- 
tayne allmost 3000 plow-landes, the rente 
wherof , ratabile to the former, I vallewe 
allmost at 6000^. per annum. The countye 
of Roscomman, saving what pertayneth 
to the bowse of Roscomman and some 
fewe other English there latelye seated, 
is all one, and therfore it is wholye like- 
wise to escheate to her Majestye, saving 
those portions of English inhabitauntes ; 
and even those English doe (as I under- 
stand by them) paye as much rente to her 
Majestie as is sett upon those in Ulster, 
counting theyr composition monye there- 
withall, soe as it may runne all into one 
reckning with the former two countyes : 
Soe that this countye of Roscomman, con- 
tayning 1200 plow-landes, as it is ac- 
coumpted, amounteth to 2400^. by the 
yeare, which with that former two coun- 
tyes rente maketh about 8300?. for the 
former wanted somewhate. But what the 
escheated landes of the comityes of Gallo- 
way and Leutrum will arise unto is yet 
uncertayne to define, till survay therof 
be made, for that those landes are inter- 
mingled with the Earle of Clanrickarde, 
and others ; but it is thought they be tlie 
one halfe of both these countyes, soe as 
they may be counted to the valewe of one 
whole countye, which conta5^letll above 
one thousand plow-landes ; for soe manye 
the least countye of them all compre- 
hendeth, which maketh two thousand 
poundes more, that is, in all, 10 or llOOOZ. 
Thother two countyes must remayue till 



theyr escheates appears, the which letting 
pass, yet as unknowen, yet thus much is 
knowen to be accounted for certayne, 
that the composition of these two coun- 
tyes, being rated at 20s. every plow-land, 
will amounte to above 2000^. more: all 
which being layed togither to the former, 
may be reasonably estimated to rise unto 
13000?. the which somme, togither with 
the rente of the escheated landes in the 
two last countyes, which cannot yet be 
valewed, being, (as I doubt not,) no less 
then a lOOOL more, will yeeld a pay largely 
unto a thousand men and theyr victual- 
lers, and a thousand poundes over to- 
wardes the Governour. 

Eudox. Ye have (me thinkes) made 
but an estimate of these landes of Co- 
naughte even at a verye venture, soe as 
it should be harde to builde any certayn- 
tye of charge to be raysed upon the same. 

Iren. Not altogither upon uncertayn- 
tyes ; for thus much may easelye appeare 
unto you for certayne, as the composition 
mony of every plowland amounteth unto ; 
for this I would have you principally to 
understand, that my purpose is to rate all 
the landes in Ireland at 20s. every plow- 
land, for theyr composition toward the 
garrison. The which I knowe, in regarde 
of being freed from all other charges 
whatsoever, wil be readely and most 
gladly yeelded unto. So that there being 
in all Ireland (as appeareth by theyr old 
recordes) 43920 plowlandes, the same 
shall amounte to the sum likewise of 
43920?., and the rest to be reared of the 
escheated landes which fall to her Majes- 
tie in the sayd provinces of Ulster, Co- 
naughte, and that parte of Leinster under 
the rebells; for Mounster we deale not 
yet withall. 

Eudox. But tell me this, by the way, 
doe you then lay composition upon the 
escheated landes as you doe upon the 
rest? for soe (me thinkes) you recken 
alltogither. And that sure were to much 
to pay seaven nobles out of every plow- 
land, and composition mony besides, that 
is 20s. out of every plow-land. 

Iren. No, you mistake me; I doe put 
only seaven nobles rent and composition 
both upon every plow-land escheated, 
that is 40s. for composition, and 6s. M. 
for cheiferie to her Majestie. 

Eudox. I doe now conceave you; pro- 
ceede then (I pray you) to the appoynting 
of your garrisons in Conaughte, and 
shewe us both how many and where you 
would have them placed. 

Iren, I would have one thousand layd 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



817 



in Conaughte in two garrisons ; namely, 
500 in the county of Maiho, about Clan 
Mac Costalors, which shall keepe the 
Moores and the Burkes of Mac William 
Enter: thother 500 in the countye of 
Clanrickarde, about Garandoughe, that 
they may contayne the Conhors and the 
Burkes there, the Kellyes and Macknyrrs, 
with all them there-about ; for that garri- 
son which I formerly placed at Lough- 
hearne will serve for all occasions in the 
county of Slegho, being neere adjojmyng 
thereto, soe as in one nights marche they 
may be allmost in any place therof when 
neede shall require them. And like as in 
the former places of garrisons in Ulster, 
I wished thre corporate townes to be 
planted, which under the safegarde of 
that strengthe shall dwell and trade safely 
with all the countrey about them, soe 
would I also wish to be in this of Con- 
naughte; and that besides, there were 
another established at Athlone, with a 
convenient wards inlhe castell there for 
theyr defence. 

Eudox. "^Tiat should that neede. sith 
the Governour of Connaughte useth to 
lye there allwayes, whose presence wil be 
a defence to all that towneship ? 

Iren. I knowe he doth soe, but that is 
much to be disliked that the Governour 
should lye soe farr of, in the remotest 
place of all the province, wheras it were 
meeter that he should be continually 
abiding in the middest of his charge, that 
he might both looke out alike into all 
places of his government, and also be 
soone at hand in any place, where occa- 
sion shall demaunde him ; for the presence 
of the Governour is (as you say) a great 
stay and bridle unto them that are ill 
disposed: like as I see it is well observed 
in INIounster, where the daylye good 
therof is continually apparaunt : and, for 
this cause also doe I greatly dislike the 
Lord Deputy es seating at Dublin, being 
the outest corner in the realme, and least 
needing the awe of his presence ; whereas 
(me seemes) it were fitter, since his proper 
care is of Leinster, though he hath care 
of all besides generally, that he should 
seate himselfe about Athie, or there- 
abouts, upon the skirte of that unquiett 
countrey, so that he might sitt, as it 
were, at the very mayne" mast of his 
shipp, whence he might easely over looke 
and sometimes over-reache the Moores, the 
Butlers, the Dempsies, the Keatins, the 
Connors, 0-Carrell, 0-Molloy, and all that 
heape of Irish nations which there lye 
hudled togither without any to over-rule 



them, or contayne them in dutye. For 
the Irishman (I assure you) feares the 
Government no longer then he is within 
sight or reache. 

Eudox. Surely (me thinkes) herein 
you observe a matter of much impor- 
taunce, more then I have hearde ever 
noted ; but sure that seemes soe expedient, 
as that I wonder it hath bene heeretot'ore 
ever omitted : but I suppose the instaunce 
of the cittizens of Dublin is the greatest 
lett therof. 

Iren. Truly, then it ought not to be 
soe ; for noe cause have they to feare that 
it wil be any hindraunce for them; for 
Dublin wil be still, as it is, the key of all 
passages and transportations out of Eng- 
land thither, to noe less profitt of those 
cittizens then it nowe is, and beside other 
places will thereby receave some beuefitt. 
But lett us nowe (I pray you) come to 
Leinster, in the which I would wish the 
same course to be observed as in Ulster. 

Eudox. You meane for the leaving of 
the garrisons in theyr fortes, and for plant- 
ing of English in all those countreyes be- 
twene the countye of Dublin and the 
countye of Wexforde ; but those wast wilde 
places. I thinke, when they are wonne unto 
her Majestie, that there is none that wil 
be hastye to seeke to iuhabite them. 

Iren. Yes enough, (I warrauiite you;) 
for though the whole tracke of the coun- 
trey be uiountayne and woodye, yet there 
are many goodly valleyes amongest them, 
fitt for fayre habitations, to which those 
mountayns adjoyning wil be a greate in- 
crease of pasturage :"for that countrey is 
a very greate soyle of cattell, and verye 
fitt for breede : as for corne it is nothing 
naturall, save onely for barley and otes, 
and some places for rye, and therfore the 
larger penniwoorthes may be allowed unto 
them, though otherwise" the wildness of 
the raountayne pasturage doe recompence 
the badness of the soyle. so as I doubt not 
but it will fynde inhabitantes and under- 
takers enoughe. 

Eudox. Howe much then doe yon 
thinke that all those landes which Feugh 
INIac Hughe holdeth under him may 
amounte unto, and what rent may be 
reared therout to the mayntenamice of 
the garrisons that shal be layed there? 

Iren. Truly, it is impossible by ayme to 
tell it, and as for experience and know- 
ledge thereof I doe not thinke that there 
was every any of the particulars therof, 
but yet I will (yf it please you) gesse 
therat, uppon grounde onely of theyr 
judgement which have formerly devided 



8i8 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



all that countrey into two shires or coun- 
tyes, namely the countye of Wicklow, and 
the countye of Fearues : the which two I 
see noe cause but that they should wholye 
escheate unto her Majestic, all but the 
barronye of Arckloe which is the Earle of 
Ormond-isauncientinheritauuce, and hath 
ever bene in his possession ; for all the 
whole lande is the Queenes, unless there 
be some graunte of any parte therof to be 
shewed from her Majestic : as I thinke 
there is onely of New-castell to Sir Henry 
Harrington, and of the castell of Fearnes 
to Sir Thomas Masterson, the rest, being 
all most thirty e miles over, I doe suppose 
can contayne noe less then two thousand 
plowlandes, which I will estimate at 4000/. 
by the yeare. The rest of Leinster, being 
seaven countyes, to witt, the countye of 
Dublin, Kildare, Katarlaghe, Wexford, 
Kilkennye, the King and Qaeenes coun- 
tyes, doe contayne in them 7400 plow- 
landes, which amounteth to soe many 
poundes for composition to the garrison, 
that makes in the whole 11,400 poundes, 
the which somme will yeelde paye unto a 
thousand souldiours, litle wanting, which 
may be supply ed out of other landes of 
the Kavanaghes, which are to be escheated 
unto her Majestic for the rebellion of theyr 
possessours, though otherwise indeede 
they be of her Majesties owne auncient 
demeane. 

Eudox. It is greate reason. But tell 
us nowe where would you wishe those 
garrisons to be layed, whether altogither, 
or to be dispersed in sundrye places of the 
countrey? 

Iren. Marye, in sundrye places, to witt, 
in this sorte, or much like as may be bet- 
ter devised, for 200 in a place I doe thinke 
to be enough for the safegarde of the 
countrey, and keeping under all suddayne 
upstartes, that shall seeke to trouble the 
peace therof : therfore I wish to be layed 
at Ballinecorrih, for the keeping of all 
badd parsons from Glanmalour, and all 
the fastness there-aboutes, and also to 
contayne all that shal be planted in those 
landes thencefoorthe, 200. Another 200 
at Knocklough in theyre former place of 
garrison, to keepe the Briskelagh and all 
those mountaynes of the Kavanaghs ; 200 
more to lie at Fearnes, and upwardes, in- 
ward upon the Slane ; 200 to be placed at 
the forte of Lease, to restrayne the 
Moores, Ossorye, and 0-Carrell ; other 
200 at the forte of Ofalye, to courbe the 
O-Connors, 0-Moloys, Mac-Coghlane, Mac- 
cagehan, and all those Irish nations bor- 
dering there-abouts. 



Eudox. Thus I see all your thousand 
men bestowed in Leinster : what say you 
then of Meathe ? Which is.the first parte ? 

Iren. Meathe, which contayneth both 
East Meath and West Meatb, and of late 
the Analie nowe called the countye of 
Loongforde, is accoumpted therunto : But 
Meath it selfe, according to the old rec- 
ordes, containeth 4320 plowlandes, and the 
countye of Longfoorde 947, which in the 
whole make 5207 plowlandes, of which 
the composition monye will amounte like- 
wise to five thousand, two hundred, thre- 
score and seaven poundes to the maynte- 
naunce of the garrison. But because all 
Meathe, lying in the bosome of that king- 
dome, is allwayes quiett enough, it is 
needeless to put any garrison there, soe 
as all that charge may be spared. But in 
the countye of Longfoorde I wish 200 foote- 
men and fiftye horsemen to be placed in 
some convenient seate betwene the Analie 
and the Brenie, as about Lough Sillon, or 
some like place of that river, soe as they 
mighte keepe both the 0-Relyes, and also 
the 0-Farrels, and all that out-skirte of 
Meathe in awe ; the which use upon every 
light occasion to be stirring, and, having 
contynuall enmitye amougest themselves, 
doe thereby oftentimes trouble all those 
partes, the charge wherof l)eing 3400 and 
odd poundes is to be cutt out of that com- 
position monye for Meath and Longfoorde, 
the over-plus, being allmost 2000/. by the 
yeare, will come in clearlye to her Maj- 
estic. 

Eudox. It is woorth the barkening unto. 
But nowe that you have done with Meath, 
proceede (I pray you) with Mounster, that 
we may see howe it will rise there for the 
mayntenaunce of the garrison. 

iren. Moiinster contayneth by recorde 
at Dublin 16000 plow-landes, the composi- 
tion wherof, at the least, will make 16000/. 
by the yeare, out of the which I would 
have a thousand souldiours to be mayn- 
tayned for tbe defence of that province, 
the charge of which with the vittaylers 
wages, will amounte to 12000/. by the 
yeare; the other 4000/. will defraye the 
charges of the President and the Counsel! 
of that province. 

Eudox. The reckning is easye ; but in 
this accoumpte, by your leave, (me 
thinkes) you are deceaved, for in this 
somme of the composition monye ye counte 
the landes of the undertakers of that prov- 
ince, whoe are, by theyr graunte from the 
Queene, to be free from all such imposi- 
tions whatsoever, excepting theyr onelye 
rent, which is surelye enough. 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



819 



Iren. Ye say true, I did soe; but the 
same 20.<:. for every plowlaud I ment to 
have deducted out of that reut due upou 
them to her Ma jestie, which isnoe hinder- 
aunce, nor charge at all more to her Maj- 
estie then it nowe is, for all that reut which 
she receaves of theui. she putteth foorthe 
agayue to the mayntenauuce of the Presi- 
deucye there, the charge wherof it doth 
scarcely def raye ; wheras in this ac- 
coumpte both that charge of the Presi- 
dencye, and also of 1000 souldiours more, 
shal be mayntajnied. 

Eudox. It should be well, if it could 
be brought to that. But nowe where will 
you have your thousand men garrisoned ? 

Iren. I would have 100 of them placed 
at the Baintree where is a most fitt place, 
not ouely to defend all that side of the 
west parte from forrayue invasion, but 
also to answere all occasions of troubles, 
to which that countrey, being soe remote, 
is very subject. And surely heere also 
would be planted a good toVne, having 
both a verye good haven and pleutifuU 
fishing, and the laude being allreadye 
escheated to her Majestic, but forcebly 
kepte from her by a ragtayle kerne that 
proclaymeth himselfe the bastarde sonne 
of the Earle of Clancare, being called 
Donel Mac Cartye, whom it is meete to 
fore-see to cutt ot : for whensoever the 
Earle shall dye. all tbose landes after him 
are to come unto her Majestic : he is like 
to make a fowle stirre there, though of 
himselfe of noe power, yet through sup- 
portaunce of some others whoe lye in the 
winde, and looke after the fall of that in- 
heritaunce. Another 100 would I have 
placed at Castell-Mayue. which should 
keepe all Desmonde and Kerye, for it an- 
swereth them both most conveniently: 
Also about Kilmore in the countye of 
Corcke would I have placed 200, the which 
should breake that nest of theeves there, 
and awnsweare equallie both to the coun- 
tie of Lymericke, and also the countie of 
Corke : Another hundred would I have lye 
at Corcke, as well to comaunde the towne, 
as also to be readye for any forreyne occa- 
sion : Likewise at Wate'rford, would I 
place 200, for the same reasons, and also 
for other priA-ye causes, that are noe less 
important. Moreover on this side of Arlo, 
neere to Moscrie A^Tiirke, which is the 
countrey of the Bourkes, about Kill-Pat- 
ricke, I would have 200 more to be garri- 
soned, which should scoure both the White 
Knightes countrey and Arlo, and Moscrie 
Whirke, by which places all the passages 
of theeves doe lye, which convaye they re 



stealthes from all Mounster downewardes 
towardes Tippararye, and the English 
Pale, and from the English Pale also up 
unto Mounster, wLerot they use to make 
a common trade. Besides that, ere long 
I doubt that the countye of Tippararye it 
selfe will neede such a strength in it, 
which were good to be there readye before 
the evill fall, that is daylye of some ex- 
pected : And thus you see all your garri- 
sons placed. 

Eudox. I see it right well, but left me 
(I pray you) by the way aske you the 
reasonVhye in those cittyes of Moimster, 
namely AYaterford and Corcke, ye rather 
placed' garisons then in all thothers in 
Ireland? For they may thinke them- 
selves to have great wronge to be soe 
charged above all the rest. 

Iren. I will tell you : those two cittyes, 
above all the rest, doe offer an in-gate to 
the Spanyards most fitly e, and also the 
inhabitauntes of them are most ill affected 
to the English government and most 
frendes to the Spayniardes; but yet, be- 
cause they shall not take exceptions to 
this that they are charged above all the 
rest. I will also laye a charge upon the 
others likewise : for indeede it is noe rea- 
son that the corporat townes, enjoying 
greate fraunchises and privileges from 
her Majestic, and living therby not onlye 
safe, but drawing to them the wealth of 
all the lande, should live soe free as not 
to be partakers of the burthen of this 
garrison for theyr owne safetye, specially 
m this time of trouble, and seing all the 
rest burthened : and therfore I will thus 
charge them all ratablye, according to 
theyr abilityes, towardes theyr main- 
tenaunce, the which her Majestic may (yf 
she please) spare out of the charge of the 
rest, and reserve towardes her other 
costes. or els adde to the charge of the 
Presideucye in the Northe. 



Waterforde . . 

Corcke . . . 

Limericke . . 

Gallwaye . . . 
Bingellechooishe 

Kinsale . . . 

Youghill . . . 

Kilmallocke . . 

Clonmell . . . 

Cashell . . . 

Fetherte . . . 

Kilkennre . . 



100 
50 
50 
50 
10 
10 
10 
10 
10 
10 
10 
25 



Wexford . , 


. . 25 


Drosrheda . 


. . 25 


Eosse . . , 


. . 25 


Dundalke . 


. . 10 


Mollingiare . 


. . 10 


Xewrve . . 


. . 10 


Trimme . . 


. . 10 


Ardve. . . 


. . 10 


KeUs . . . 


. . 10 


Dublin . . 


. . 100 



5S0 



Eudox. It is easye, Irenaeus, to laye a 
charge upon any towne, but to fore-see 
howe the same may be answered and 
defrayed is the cheifest parte of good 
advisement. 



820 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



Iren. Surely this charge which I putt 
upon them I knowe to be soe reasonable 
as that it will not much be felte; for the 
porte townes that have benefitt of ship- 
ping may cutt it easelye of theyr trading, 
and all inland townes of theyr corne and 
cattell : nether doe I see, but since to them 
speciallye the benefitt of peace doth re- 
dounde, that they speciallye should beare 
the burthen of theyr safegarde and de- 
fence, as we see all the townes of the 
Lowe-Countreyes doe cutt upon them- 
selves an excise of all thinges towarde 
the mayntenaunce of the warre that is 
made in theyr behalfe, to which thou'gh 
these are not to be compared in riches, 
yet are they to be charged according to 
theyr povertye. 

Eudox. But no we that you have thus 
sett up these forces of souldiours, and 
provided well (as ye suppose) for theyr 
paie, yet there remayneth to fore-cast how 
they may be vittayled, and where pur- 
veyaunce therof may be made ; for in Ire- 
land it self e I cannot see allmost howe any 
thing is to be had for them, being all- 
readye so pitifully wasted as it is with 
this shorte time of warre. 

Iren. For the first two yeares indeede 
it is needefuU that they be vittayled out 
of England throughlye, from halfe yeare 
to halfe yeare, aforehand, which time the 
English Pale shall not be burthened at 
all, but shall have time to recovere it- 
self e; and Mounster also, being nowe 
reasouablye well stored, will by that 
time, (yf God send reasonable weather) 
be throughlye well furnished to supplye a 
greate parte of that charge, for I knowe 
there is greate plenty e of corne sente 
over sea from thence, the which yf they 
might have sale for at home, they would 
be gladd to have monye soe neere-hand, 
specially yf they were straightly re- 
strayned from transporting of it. There- 
unto also there wil be a greate helpe and 
f urtheraunce given in the putting forward 
of husbandrye in all meete places, as 
heereafter shall in due place appeare. 
But hereafter, when thinges shall growe 
unto a better strengthe, and the countrey 
be replenished with corne, as in shorte 
space it would, yf it be well followed, for 
the countrey people themselves are great 
plowers, and small spenders of corne, 
then would I wish that there should be 
good store of howses and magasins 
erected in all those greate places of 
garrison, and in all great townes, as well 
for the vittayling of souldiours and 
shippes, as for all occasions of sudd ay ne 



services, as also for preventing of all 
times of dearthe and scarcitye : and this 
wante is much to be complayned of in 
England above all other countreyes, whoe, 
trusting to much to the usuall blessing of 
the earthe, doe never fore-cast any such 
harde seasons, nor any such suddayne 
occasions as these troublous times may 
everye day bring foorth, when it will be 
to late to gather provision from abrode, 
and to bring it perhaps from farre for 
the furnishing of shippes or souldiours, 
which peradventure may neede to be 
presently employed, and whose wante 
may (which God forbidd) happy le haz- 
zarde a kingdome. 

E'udox. Indeede the wante of these 
magasins of vittayls, I have hearde often- 
times complayned of in England, and 
wondred at in other countreyes, but that 
is nothing nowe to our purpose; but as 
for these garrisons which ye have nowe 
soe strongly plaunted throughout all Ire- 
land, and every place swarming with 
souldiours, shall there be noe end of 
them ? For nowe thus being (me seemes) 
I doe see rather a countrey of warre then 
of peace and quiet, which ye earst pre- 
tended to worke in Ireland ; for if you 
bringe all thinges to that quietness which 
you sayd, what neede then to mayntayne 
soe great forces as you have charged 
upon it ? 

Iren. I will unto you, Eudoxus, in 
privitye discover the drifte of my pur- 
pose; I meane (as I tolde you) and doe 
well hope heereby both to settell an eter- 
nall peace in that countrey, and also to 
make it verye profitable to her Majestie, 
the which I see must be brought in by a 
stronge hand, and soe continued, till it 
runne in a stedfast course of government, 
the which in this sorte will neither be 
difficile nor daungerous ; for the souldiour 
being once brought in for the service into 
Ulster, and having subdued it and Con- 
naughte, I will not have him to laye 
downe his armes any more, till he have 
effected that which I purpose; that is, 
first to have this generall composition for 
the mayntenaunce of these throughout 
all the realme, in regarde of the troub- 
lous times, and daylye daunger which is 
threatned to this realme by the King of 
Spayne : And therupon to bestowe all my 
souldiours in such sorte as I have done, 
that noe parte of all that realme shal be 
able or dare soe much as to quinche. 
Then will I eftsones bring in my reforma- 
tion, and therupon establish such an order 
of government as I may thinke meetest 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



821 



for the good of that real me, which being 
once established, and all thinges putt 
into a right way, I doubt not but they 
will runne on fayrely. And though they 
would ever seeke to swarve aside, yet 
shall they not be able without forreyne 
violence once to remove, as you your selfe 
shall soone (I hope) in your own reason 
veadely conceave ; which yf ever it shall 
appeare, then may her Majestic at pleas- 
ure with-drawe some of her garrisons, 
and turne theyr paye into her purse, or 
yf she will never please soe to doe (which 
I would rather wish) , then shall she have 
a number of brave old souldiours allwayes 
readye for any occasion that she will im- 
ploye them unto, supplying theyr garri- 
sons with fresh ones in theyr steede ; the 
mayntenaunce of whom shal be noe more 
charge to her Majestic then nowe that 
realme is ; for all the revennue therof , and 
much more, she spendeth, even in the 
most peaceable times that are there, as 
thinges nowe stand. And in time of 
warre, which is nowe surelye every 
seaventh yeare, she spendeth infinite 
treasure besides to small purpose. 

Eiidox. I perceave your purpose ; but 
nowe that you have thus strongly made 
waye unto your reformation, as that I 
see the people soe humbled and prepared 
that they will and must yeelde to any 
ordenaunce that shal be given them, I 
doe much desire to understand the same ; 
for in the beginning you promised to 
shewe a meane howe to redresse all those 
inconveniences and abuses, which you 
shewed to be in that state of government, 
which nowe standes there, as in the lawes, 
customes, and religion: wherin I would 
gladly knowe first, whether, insteede of 
those lawes, ye would have newe lawes 
made? for nowe, for ought that I see, 
you may doe what you please. 

Iren. I see, Eudoxus, that you well re- 
member our first purpose, and doe rightly 
continue the course therof. First ther- 
fore to speake of Lawes, since we first 
begonne with them, I doe not thinke it 
convenient, though nowe it be in the 
power of the Prince to change all the 
lawes and make newe; for that should 
breede a greate trouble and confusion, as 
well in the English now dwelling there 
and to be plaunted, as also in the Irish. 
For the English, having bene trayned up 
allwayes in the English government, will 
hardly be enured unto any other, and the 
Irish will better be drawen to the English, 
then the English to the Irish government. 
Therfore since we cannot nowe applye 



lawes fitt for the people, as in the first 
institution of common-wealthes it ought 
to be, we will applye the people, and fitt 
them to the lawes, as it most conveniently 
may be. The lawes therfore we resolve 
shall abide in the same sorte that they 
doe, both Common Lawe and Statutes, 
onelye such defectes in the Common 
Lawe, and inconveniences in the Stat- 
utes, as in the beginning we noted and 
as men of deepe insight shall advise, 
may be chaunged by some other newe 
Actes and ordinaunces to be by a Parlia- 
ment there confirmed : As those of tryalls 
of Pleas of the Crowne, and private 
rightes betwene partyes, colourable con- 
veyaunces, accessaryes, &c. 

Eudox. But howe will those be re- 
dressed by Parliament, when as the 
Irish which sway most in Parliament (as 
you sayd), shall oppose themselves 
agaynst them ? 

Iren. That may nowe be well avoyded : 
For nowe that soe many Free-holders of 
English shal be established, they to- 
gither with Burgesses of townes, and such 
other loyall Irish-men as may be pre- 
ferred to be Knightes of the Shire, and 
such like, wil be able to bearde and coun- 
ter-poise the rest ; whoe also, being nowe 
broughte more in awe, will the more 
easely submitt to any such ordinaunces 
as shal be for the good of themselves, 
and that realme generallye. 

Eudox, You say well for the increase 
of Freeholders, for theyre numbers will 
hereby be greatlye augmented ; but howe 
shall it pass through the higher bowse, 
which will still consist all of Irish ? 

Iren. Marye, that also may well be 
redressed by the example of that which I 
have hearde was done in the like case by 
King Edward the Thirde (as I remember) , 
whoe, being greatly bearded and crossed 
by the Lordes of the Cleargye, they being 
then by reason of the Lordes Abbots and 
others, to manye and to stronge for him, 
soe as he could not for theyr frowardness 
order and reforme thinges as he desired, 
was advised to directe out his writtes to 
certayne Gentellmen of the best abilitye 
and trust, entitling them therin Barrons, 
to serve and sitt as Barrons in the next 
Parliament. By which meanes he had 
soe many Barrons in his Parliament, as 
were able to waigh downe the Cleargye 
and theyr frendes; the which Barrons 
they say, were not afterwardes Lordes, 
but only Barronetts, as sundrye of them 
doe yet retayne the name. And by the 
like devise her Majestic may nowe like- 



822 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



wise courbe and cutt shorte these Irish 
and unrulye Lordes that hinder all good 
proceediuges. 

Eudox. It seemeth noe less then for 
reforming of all those inconvenient 
statutes that ye noted in the beginning, 
and redressing of all those evill customes, 
and lastly, for settling sound religion 
amongest them : me thinkes ye shall not 
neede any more to goe over those partic- 
ulars agayne, which you mentioned, nor 
any other which might besides be re- 
membred, but to leave all to the reforma- 
tion of such Parliamentes, in which, by 
the good care of the Lord Deputye and 
Counsell they may all be amended. 
Therfore nowe you may come to that gen- 
erall reformation which you spake of, and 
bringing in of that establishment, by 
which you sayd all men should be con- 
tayned in dutye ever after, without the 
terrour of warlicke forces, or vio- 
lent wrestinge of thinges by sharpe 
punishments. 

Iren. I will soe at your pleasure, the 
which (me seemes) can by noe meanes be 
better plotted then by example of such 
other realmes as have bene annoyed with 
like evills, that Ireland nowe is, and 
useth still to be. And first in this our 
realme of England, it is manifest, by 
reporte of the Chronicles and auncient 
writers, that it was greatly e infested 
with robbers and out-la wes, which lurked 
in woodes and fast places, whence they 
used oftentimes to breake f oorthe into the 
highe wayes, and sometimes into the 
small villages to robbe and spoyle. For 
redress wherof it is written that King 
Allured, or Alfred, who then raigned, 
did devide the realme into shires, and the 
shires intohundrethes, and the hundrethes 
into rapes or wapentakes, and the wapen- 
takes into tithinges: Soe that tenn 
tithinges made an hundrethe, and five 
made a lathe or wapentake, of which 
tenn, ech one was bounde for another, 
and the eldest or best of them, whom they 
called the Tithingman or Burseholder 
that is, the eldest pledge, became suretye 
for all the rest. Soe that yf any one of 
them did starte into any undutif ull action , 
the Burseholder was bounde to bringe 
him foorthe, whoe joyning eft-sones with 
all his tithing, would followe that loose 
person through all places, till they 
broughte him In. Andyf all that tith- 
ing fayled, then all that lath was 
charged for that tythinge, and if that 
lath failed, then all the hundred was de- 
maunded for them; and yf the hundred. 



then the shire, whoe, joyning eft-sones 
togither, would not rest till they had 
founde out and delivered in that unduti- 
full fellowe which was not amenable to 
lawe. And herin it seemeth, that that 
good Saxon King followed the Counsell 
of Jethro to Moyses, whoe advised him to 
devide the people into hundredes, and to 
sett Captaynes and wise men of trust 
over them, which should take the charge 
of them, and ease him of that burthen. 
And soe did Romulus (as you may 
reade) devide the Romayries into tribes, 
and the tribes into Centuries or hundreds. 
By this ordinaunce the King brought this 
realme of England, (which before was 
most troublesome) into that quiett state, 
that noe one badd person could starte but 
he was straight taken holde of by those 
of his owne tithing, and theyr Burse- 
holder, whoe being his neghbour or next 
kinsman were privy e to all his wayes, 
and looked narrowly e into his life. The 
which institution (yf it were observed in 
Ireland) would woorke that effecte which 
it did then in England, and keepe all 
men within the compass of dutye and 
obedience. 

FAidox. This is contrarye to that you 
sayde before; for, (as I remember,) you 
sayd there was a greate disproportion 
betwene England and Ireland, soe as the 
lawes which were fitting for one would 
not fitt the other. Howe comes it then, 
nowe, that you would transferre a princi- 
pall institution from England to Ireland ? 

Iren. This lawe was made not by a 
Norman Conquerour, but by a Saxon 
King, at what time England was very 
like to Ireland, as nowe it standes: for 
it was (as I tolde you) greatlye annoyed 
with robbers and outlawes, which 
troubled the whole state of the realme, 
everye corner having a Robin Hoode in it, 
that kepte the woodes, and spoyled all 
passagers and inhabitauntes, as Ireland 
nowe hath ; soe as, me seemes, this ordi- 
naunce would fitt verye well, and bring 
them all into awe. 

Eudox. Then, when you have thus 
tithed the comunaltye, as ye say, and set 
Burseholders over them all, what would 
ye doe when ye come to the gentellmen ? 
would ye holde the same course ? 

Iren. Yea, marye, most speciallye ; for 
this you must knowe, that all the Irish 
allmost boast themselves to be gentellmen, 
noe less then the Welsh ; for yf he can 
derive himselfe from the head of a septe, 
as most of them can, (and they are ex- 
perte by theyr Bardes,) then he holdeth 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



823 



himself e a gentellman, and therupon 
scorneth eftsones to woorke, or use any 
handye labour, which he sayeth is the 
life of a peasaunte or churle ; hut thence- 
foorth becometh either an horseboy, or a 
stokaghe to some kearne, enuring him- 
self e to his weapon, and to his gentell 
trade of stealing, (as they couute it.) Soe 
that yf a gentellman, or any woorthy 
yeoman of them, have any children, the 
eldest perhaps shal be kept in some 
order, but all the rest shall shifte for 
themselves, and fall to this occupation. 
And moreover it is a common use 
amongest some of theyr best gentell- 
mens sonnes, that soe soone as they are 
able to use tlieyre weapons, they straight 
gather to themselves three or fowre 
stragglers, or kerne, with whom wan- 
dring a while idely up and downe the 
countrey, taking onelye meate, he at last 
falleth into some badd occasion that shal 
be offred, which being once made kno wen, 
he is thencefoorth counted a man of 
woorthe, in whome there is couradge; 
wherupon there drawe unto him many 
other like loose yong men, which, stir- 
ring him up with eucouradgement, pro- 
voke him shortly to flatt rebellion ; and 
this happenes not onlye sometimes in 
the sonnes of theyr gen tellmen, but often- 
times also of theyr nobellmen, speciallye 
of theyr base sonnes, as there are fewe 
without some of them. For they are not 
ashamed onely to acknowledge them, but 
also boast of them, and use them in such 
secrett services as they themselves will 
not be scene in, as to plague theyr en- 
emyes, to spoyle theyr neghbours, to 
oppress and crush some of their owne to 
stubburne free-holders, which are not 
tractable to theyr bad willes. Two such 
bastardes of the Lord Roches there are 
nowe out in Mounster whom he doth not 
onely countenaunce but also privilye 
mayntayne and releive mightely against 
his tenauntes ; such other is there of the 
Earle of Clancartye in Desmonde, and 
many others in many more places. 
, Eudox. Then it seemes that this ordi- 
naunce of tithing them by the polle is not 
onelye fitt for the gentellmen, but also 
for the nobellmen, whom I would have 
thought to have bene of soe honorable 
myndes, as that they should not neede 
such a base kinde of being bounde to 
theyr alleageaunce, who should rather 
have helde in and stayed all others from 
undutifulness, then neede to be forced 
thereunto themselves. 
Iren. Yet soe it is, Eudoxus ; but yet 



because the nobellmen cannot be tithed, 
there being not many titliinges in them, 
and also because a Burseholder over 
them should not onlye be a greate indig- 
nitye, but also a daunger to add more 
power to them then they have, or to 
make one the commaunder of tenn, I hold 
it meete that there were onely suretyes 
taken of them, and one bounde for another, 
whereby, yf any shall swarve, his suretyes 
shall for safegarde of theyr bandes either 
bring him in, or seeke to serve upon him : 
and besides this, I would wish them all 
to be sworne to her Majestic, which they 
never yet were, but at theyr first crea- 
tion ; and that oath would sure contayne 
them greatlye, or the breache of it bring 
them "to shorter vengeaunce, for God 
useth to punnish perjurye sharpelye. Soe 
I reade, that in the raigne of Edwarde 
the Second, and also of Henry the 
Seaventh, (when the times were verye 
broken) that there was a corporat oth 
taken of all the lordes and best gentell- 
men, of fealtye to the King, which nowe 
is noe less needfull, because many of 
them are suspected to have taken another 
othe privilye to some badd purposes, and 
therupon to have receaved the Sacra- 
ment, and bene sworne to a preist, which 
they thinke bindeth them more then 
theyr alleageance to theyr Prince, or love 
of theyr countrey. 

Eudox. This tithing of that common- 
people, and taking suretyes of lordes and 
gentellmen, I like verye well, but that it 
wilbe very troublesome : should it not be 
as well to have them all booked, and the 
lordes and gentell-raen to take all the 
meaner sorte upon themselves ? for they 
are best able to bring them in, whensoever 
any of them starteth out. 

Iren. This indeede (Eudoxus) hath 
bene hitherto, and yet is a common order 
amongest them, to have all the people 
booked by the lordes and gentellmen, but 
yet it is the woorst order tbat ever was 
devised ; for by this booking of men all the 
inferiour sorte are brought under the co- 
maunde of theyr lordes, and forced to 
followe them into any action whatsoever, 
Nowe this you are to understand, that all 
the rebellions that you see from time to 
time happen in Ireland are not begonne 
by the common people, but by the lordes 
and captaynes of couutreyes, upon pride 
or willfuli obstinacye agaynst the govern- 
ment, which v\^hensoever they will enter 
into, they drawe with them all theyr 
people and followers, which thinke them- 
selves bounde to goe with them, because 



824 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



they have hooked them aud undertaken 
for them. And this is the reason that ye 
have fewe such badd occasions here in 
England, by reason that the noblemen, 
however they should happen to be ill dis- 
posed, should have iioe coramaunde at all 
over the comuiialtye, though dwelling 
under them, because that everye man 
standeth uppon himselfe, and buildeth his 
fortunes upon his owne fayth and firme 
assuraunce : the which this manner of 
tithing the polls will woorke also in Ire- 
land. For by this the people are broken 
into many small partes, like litle streames, 
that they cannot easely come togither into 
one head, which is the principall regarde 
that is to be had in Ireland to keepe them 
from growing to such a head, and adher- 
ing unto great men. 

Eudox. But yet I can not see howe 
this can be well brought, -without doing 
great wrong to the noblemen there ; for 
at the conquest of that realme, those 
great segnioryes and lordships were given 
them by the King, that they should be 
the stronger agaynst the Irish, by the 
multitude of followers and tenauntes 
under them : all which hold theyr tene- 
mentes of them by fealtye, and such ser- 
vices, whereby they are (by the first 
graunt of the King) made bounde unto 
them, and tyed to rise out with them into 
all occasions of service. And this I have 
often hearde, that when the Lord Deputye 
hath raysed any generall hostinges, the 
noblemen have claymed the leading of 
them, by grauute from the Kinges of Eng- 
land under the Greate Seale exhibited ; soe 
as the Deputyes would not refuse them 
to have the leading of them, or, yf they 
did, they would soe woorke, as none of 
theyr followers should rise foorthe to the 
hosting. 

Iren. You say verye true ; but will you 
see the fruite of these grauntes ? I have 
knowen when these lordes have had the 
leading of theyr owne followers under 
them to the generall hosting, that they 
have for the same cutt upon every plow- 
land within theyr countrey 40s. or more, 
wherebye some of them have gathered 
above 7 or 800/., and others much more, 
into theyr purse, in lieu wherof they 
have gathered unto themselves a nomber 
of loose kearne out of all partes, which 
they have carryed foorth with them, to 
whom they never gave pennye of enter- 
taynement, allowed by the countrey or 
forced by them, but let them feede upon 
the countreyes, and extort upon all men 
where they come; for that people will 



never aske better entertayneraent then to 
have a colour of service or employment 
given them, by which they will poll and 
spoyle soe outragiously, as the verj^e Ene- 
mye can not doe much woorse : and they 
also sometimes turne to the Enemyes. 

Eudox. It seenies the first intent of 
tbese grauntes was agaynst the Irish, 
which nowe some of them use agaynst the 
Queeue her selfe. But nowe what remedye 
is there for this? Or howe can these 
grauntes of the Kinges be avoyded, with- 
out wronging of those lordes which had 
those landes and lordships given them? 

Iren. Surely they may be well enough ; 
for most of those lordes, since theyr first 
grauntes from the Kinges by which these 
landes were given them, have sithence 
bestowed the most parte of them amougest 
theyr kinsfolkes, els every lorde perhaps 
in his time hath given one or other of his 
principall castells to his yonger sonne, 
and other to others, as largely and as 
amplye as they were given to him ; and 
others they have sold, and others they 
have bought, which were not in theyr 
first graunte, which nowe nevertheless 
they brhig within the compass therof , and 
take and exacte upon them, as upon their 
first demeanes, all those kinde of services, 
yea and the verye wilde Irish exactions, 
as Coignye and Li verye, for him, and 
such like, by which they poll and utterly 
undoe thepoore tenauntes and freeholders 
unto them, which either through igno- 
raunce knowe not theyr tenures, or 
through greatness of theyr newe lordes 
dare not challenge them ; yea, and some 
lordes of countreyes also, as greate ones 
as themselves, are nowe by strong hand 
brought under them, and made tbeyr vas- 
salls. As for example Arondell of Stronde 
in the Countye of Corcke, whoe was aun- 
ciently a greate lorde, and was able to 
spend 3500/. by the yeare, as appeareth 
by good Recordes, is nowe become the 
Lord Barryes man, and doth to him all 
the services which are due unto her 
Majestic. For reformation of all which, 
it were good that a commission should be 
graunted foorth under the Great Seale, as 
I have scene once recorded in the old 
counsell booke of Mounster ; It was sent 
foorthe in the time of Sir William Drurye 
unto persons of speciall trust and judge- 
ment to enquire throughout all Ireland, 
beginning with one countye first, and soe 
resting a while till the same were settled, 
by the verdicte of a sounde and substan- 
tial! jurye, how everye man holdeth his 
landes, of whom, and by what tenure, soe 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



8^5 



that everye one should be admitted to 
shewe and exhibite what right he hath, 
and by what services he holdeth his land, 
whether in cheif or in socadge, or in 
knightes service, or howe else soever. 
Therupon would appeare, first howe all 
those greate English lordes doe clayme 
those great services, what segnioryes 
they usurpe, what wardeships they take 
from the Queene, what laudes of hers 
they conceale : and then howe those Irish 
captaynes of countreyes have eucroched 
upon the Queenes free-holders and ten- 
auntes, howe they have translated the 
tenures of them from English holding 
unto Irish Tanistrie, and defeated her 
Majestie of all the rightes and dutyes 
which are to accrewe to her therout, as 
wardeships, liveryes, mariadseg, fines of 
alienations, and manye other comodi- 
tyes ; which nowe are kepte and concealed 
from her Majestie to the value of 60,000/. 
yearely, I dare undertake, in all Ireland, 
by that which I kuowe in one countye. 

Eudox. This, Irenseus, would seeme a 
daungerous commission, and ready e to 
stirre up all the Irish into rebellion, whoe 
knowing that they have nothing to shewe 
for all those landes which thoy holde, but 
theyr swoordes, would rather drawe them 
then suffer theyr landes to be thus drawen 
away from them. 

Iren. Nether should theyr landes be 
taken away from them, nor the uttermost 
advauntages enforced agaynst them : But 
this by discretion of the commissioners 
should be made knowen unto them, that 
it is not her Majesties meaning to use 
any such extremitye, but onely to reduce 
thinges into order of English lawe, and 
make them to hold theyr landes of her 
Majestie, and restore to her her due ser- 
vices, which they detayne out of those 
landes which were aunciently held of her. 
And that they should not onelye not be 
thrust out, but also have estates and 
grauntes of theyr landes nowe made to 
them from her Majestie, soe as they 
should thencef oorth " holde them right- 
fullye, which they nowe usurpe most 
wrongfullye; and yet withall I would 
wish, that in all those Irish countreyes 
there were some land reserved to her 
Majesties free disposition for the better 
contayning of the rest, and entermedling 

Othem with English inhabitauntes and 
customes, that knowledge might still be 
had by them, and of all theyr doinges, 
soe as noe manner of practize or conspir- 
acye should be had in hand amongest 
them, but notice should be given therof 



by one meanes or other, and theyr prac- 
tises prevented. 

Eudox. Trulye neither can the Eng- 
lish, nor yet the Irish lords, thinke 
themselves wronged, nor hardlye dealt 
withall herin, to have that iudeede which 
is none of theyr owne at all, but her 
Majesties absolutly, given to them with 
such equall condicions, as that both they 
may be assured therof, better then they 
are, and also her Majestie not defrauded 
of her right utterlye; for it is a great 
grace in a prince, to take that with condi- 
cions which is absolutely her owne. Thus 
shall the Irish be well satisfyed, and as 
for the great men which had such 
grauntes made them at first by the 
Kiuges of England, it was in regarde 
that they should keepe out the Irish , and 
defend the Kinges right, and his sub- 
jectes: but nowe seeing that, insteede of 
defending them, they robbe and spoyle 
them, and, insteede of keeping out the 
Irish, they doe not onelye make the Irish 
theyr tenauntes in those landes, and thrust 
out the English, but also they themselves 
become meere Irish, with marrying with 
them, fostring with them, and combining 
with them agaynst the Queene; what rea- 
son is there but that those grauntes and 
priviledges should be either revoked, or at 
least reduced to the first intention for 
which they were graunted ? i^or sure in 
myne opinion they are more sharply to be 
chastised and reformed then the rude 
Irish, which, being verye wilde at the 
first, are nowe become somewhat more 
civill, when as these from civilitye are 
growen to be wilde and meere Irish. 

Iren. Indeede as you say, Eudoxus, 
these doe neede a sharper reformation 
then the verye Irish, for they are much 
more stubborne, and disobedient to lawe 
and government, then the Irish be, and 
more malicious to the English that daylye 
are sent over. 

Eudox. Is it possible I pray you? 
Howe comes it to pass, and what may be 
the reason therof ? 

Iren. Marye! they say that the lande 
is theyrs onely by right, being first con- 
quered by theyr auncestours, and that 
they are wronged by the newe English 
mens intruding therunto, whom they 
call AUoonagh with as greate reproche as 
they would rate a dogge. And for that 
some of theyr auncestours were in times 
past (when they were civill and incor- 
rupted) Justices and Deputyes of the 
lande, they thinke that the like authoritye 
should be given to them, and the charge 



826 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



of the realme left in theyr handes ; which, 
for that they see it nowe otherwise dis- 
posed, and that trust not given them 
(which theyr auucestours had) they thiuke 
themselves greatly indiguifyed and dis- 
graced, and thereby growe both discon- 
tented and undutifull. 

E'udox. In truth, Irenaeus, this is more 
then ever I hearde, that English-Irish 
there should be woorse then the wilde 
Irish: Lord! howe quickly doth that 
countrey alter mens natures! It is not 
for nothing (I perceave) that I have heard, 
that the Counsell of England thinke it 
noe good pollicie to have that realme re- 
formed, or planted with English, least 
they should growe as undutifull as the 
Irish, and become much more daunger- 
ous : as appeareth by the example of the 
Lacies in the time of Edward the Second, 
which you spoke of, that shooke of theyr 
alleageaunce to theyr naturall Prince, 
and turned to the Scott (Edward le 
Bruce), devising to make him King of 
Ireland. 

Iren. Noe times have bene without 
badd men: but as for that purpose of 
the Counsell of England, which ye spake 
of, that they should keepe that realme 
from reformation, I thinke they are most 
lewdly abused, for theyr great carefulness 
and earnest endevours doe witness the con- 
trarye. Neither is it the nature of the 
countrey to alter mens manners, but the 
badd myndes of them, whoe having bene 
brought up at home under a straight rule 
of dutye and obedience, being allwayes 
restrayned by sharpe penaltyes from 
lewde behaviour, soe soone as they come 
thither, where they see lawes more slack- 
lye tended, and the harde restraynt which 
they were used unto nowe slacked, they 
growe more loose and careless of theyr 
dutj^e : and as it is the nature of all men 
to love libertye, soe they become fiatt 
libertines, and fall to all licentiousness, 
more boldly daring to disobey the la we, 
through the presumption of favour and 
frendship, then any Irish dare. 

Eudox. Then yf that be soe, (me 
thinkes) your late advisement was every 
evill, wherby you wished the Irish to be 
sowed and sprinckled with the English, 
and in all the Irish countreyes to have 
English plaunted amongest them, for to 
bring them to English fashions, since the 
English be sooner drawen to the Irish 
then the Irish to the English : for as you 
sayd before, if they must runne with the 
strearae, the greater number will car rye 
away the less : Therfore (me seemes) by 



this reason it should be better to parte the 
Irish and English, then to mingle them 
togither. 

Iren. Not soe, Eudoxus; for where 
there is noe good stay of government, and 
strong ordinaunces to holde them, there 
indeede the fewer will followe the more, 
but where there is due order of discipline 
and good rule, there the better shall goe 
formost, and the woorse shall followe. 
And therfore nowe, since Ireland is full 
of her owne nation, that may not be 
rooted out, and somewhat stored with 
English allreadye, and more to be, I 
thinke it best by an union of manners, 
and conformitye of myndes, to bring 
them to be one people, and to putt away 
the dislikefull conceit both of the one, 
and the other, which wil be by noe 
meanes better then by this entermingling 
of them: That neither all the Irish may 
dwell togither, nor all the English, but 
by translating of them and scattring of 
them by small numbers amongest the 
English, not onely to bring them l3y daily e 
conversation unto better liking of ech 
other, but also to make both of them less 
able to hurte. And therfore when I come 
to the tithing of them, I will tithe them 
one with another, and for the most parte 
will make an Irish man the tithing man, 
wherby he shall take the less exception 
to parcialitye, and yet be the more tyed 
thereby. But when I come to the Head- 
borough, which is the head of the Lathe, 
him will I make an English man, or an 
Irish man of noe small assuraunce: as 
also when I come to appoynte the Alder- 
man, that is the head of that hundred, 
him will I surely choose to be an English 
man of speciall regarde, that may "be a 
staye and piller of all the bouroughes 
under him. 

Eudox. What doe you meane by your 
hundred, and what by your bourough? 
By that, which I have reade in auncient 
recordes of England, an hundred did con- 
tayne an hundreth villages, or as some 
say an hundreth plowlandes, being the 
same which the Saxons called a Cantred ; 
the which cantred, as I finde recorded in 
the blacke booke of Ireland, did contayne 
80 Villatas terrse, which some call, quar- 
ters of land, and every Villata can main- 
tayne 400 cowes in pasture, and the 400 
cowes to be devided into fowre heardes, /e^ 
so as none of them shall come neere *^ 
another : every Villata containeth 17 plow- 
lands, as is there sett downe. And by 
that which I have reade of a bourough it 
signifieth a free towne, which had a prin- 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



827 



cipall officer, called a headbourough, to 
become raler, aud undertaker for all the 
dwellers under him, having for the same 
f raunchises and priviledges graunted them 
by the King, wherof it was called a free 
bourough, and of the lawyers Franciple- 
gium. 

Iren. Both that which you say, Eudoxus, 
is true, and yet that which I say not un- 
true ; for that which ye spake of deviding 
the countrey into hundreds was a division 
of the landes of the realme, but this which 
I tell, was of the people, whoe were thus 
devided by the poll : soe that an hundreth 
in this sense signifieth an hundreth 
pledges, wdiich were under t^e comaunde 
and assuraunce of tlieyr alderman, the 
which (as I suppose) was also called a 
wapentake, soe named of touching the 
wapen or sparke of theyr alderman, and 
swearing to followe him faythfullye and 
serve theyr Prince trulye. But others 
thinke that a wapentake was 10 hundreds 
or bouroughs: Likewise a bouroughe, as 
I here use it, and as the old lawe still use 
it, is not a bourough towne, as they nowe 
call it, that is a fraunchise towne, but a 
mayne pledge of a hundreth free persons, 
therfore called a free bourough or (as ye 
say) franciplegium : For Borh in old 
Saxon signifyeth a pledge or suretye, and 
yet it is soe used with us in some speaches, 
as Chaucer sayeth; St. John to horroioe, 
that is for assuraunce and warrantye. 

Eudox. I conceave the difference. But 
nowe that ye have thus devided the 
people into those tithinges and hundreds, 
liowe will you have them soe preserved 
and continued? For people doe often 
chaunge theyr dwellinges, and some must 
dye, whilst othersome doe growe up unto 
strength of yeares, and become men. 

Iren. These hundreds I would wish 
them to assemble themselves once every 
yeare with theyr pledges, and to present 
themselves before the justices of the 
peace, which shal be thereunto appoynted, 
to be surveyed and numbred, to see what 
chaunge hath happened since the yeare 
before; and the defectes to supplye of 
those yong plauntes late growen up, the 
which are diligently to be overlooked 
and viewed of what condicion and de- 
meanour they be, soe as pledges may be 
taken for them, and they putt into order 
of some tithing: of all which alterations 
note is to be taken, and bookes made 
therof accordingly. 

Eudox. Nowe (me thinkes) Irenseus, ye 
are to be warned to take heede, least una- 
wares ye fall into that inconvenience 



which you formerly found faulte with in 
others ; namely, that by this booking of 
them, you doe not gather them unto a 
newe head, and having broken theyr for- 
mer strengthe, doe not agayne unite them 
more stronglye: For everye alderman, 
having all these free pledges of his hun- 
dred under his comauud, (me thinkes) yf 
he be ill disposed, may drawe all his com- 
panie unto any evill action. And like- 
wise, by this assembling of them once a 
yeare unto theyr alderman by theyr 
wapentakes, take heede least ye also give 
them occasion and meanes to practise any 
harme in any conspiracye. 

Iren. Neither of both is to be doubted ; 
for the aldermen and headbouroughes 
will not be such men of power and coun- 
tenaunce of themselves, being to be 
chosen thereunto, as neede to be feared: 
Neither, yf he were, is his hundred at his 
comaunde further then his Princes ser- 
vice; and also everye tithing-man may 
controll him in such a case. And as for 
the assembling of the hundred, much less 
is any daunger therof to be doubted, se- 
ing it is to be before a justice of peace, 
or some high constable to be thereunto 
appoynted: Soe as of these tithinges there 
can noe perill ensue, but a certayne as- 
suraunce of peace and great good; for 
they are thereby withdrawen from theyr 
lordes, and subjected to theyr Prince. 
Moreover for the better breaking of those 
heades and septs, which (I tolde you) was 
one of the greatest strengthes of the Irish, 
me thinkes, it should doe very well to 
renewe that old statute in Ireland that 
was made in the realme of England (in 
the raigne of Edward the Fourth), by 
which it was comaunded, that wheras all 
men then used to be called by the name 
of theyr septs, according to theyr severall 
nations, and had noe surnames at all, 
that from thencef oorth ecli one should take 
unto himselfe a severall surname, either 
of his trade or facultye, or of some qual- 
ity e of his body or mynd, or of the place 
where he dwelt, soe as everye one should 
be distinguished from the other, or from 
the most parte, wherby they shall not 
onely not depend upon the head of theyr 
sept, as nowe they doe, but also shall in 
shorte time learn e quite to forgett this 
Irish nation. And heerewathall would I 
also wish all the Oes and Macks, which 
the heads of the septs have taken to theyr 
names, to be utterlye forbidden and extin- 
guished; for that the same being an old 
manner (as some say) first made by 
0-Brien for the strengthning of the Irish, 



828 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



the abrogating therof will as much en- 
feeble them. 

Eudox. I like this ordinaunce verye 
well ; but no we that ye have thus devided 
and distinguished them, what other order 
will ye take for theyr manner of life? 
For all this, though perhaps it maykeepe 
them from disobedience and disloyaltye, 
yet will it not bring them from theyr bar- 
barisme and savadge life. 

Iren. The next thing that I will doe 
shalbe to appointe to everye one, that is 
not able to live of his free-holde, a cer- 
tayne trade of life, to which he shall 
finde himselfe fittest, and shalbe thought 
ablest, the which trade he shalbe bounde 
to foUowe, and live onely therupon. All 
trades therfore, it is to be understood, 
are to be of three kindes, manuall, intel- 
lectuall, and raixt. The first contayning 
all such as needeth exercise of bodylye 
labour to the perfourmaunce of theyr pro- 
fession; the other consisting onelye of 
the exercise of witt and reason ; the third 
sort, partly of bodelye labour, and partly 
of witt, but depending most of industrye 
and carefullness. Of the first sorte be all 
handycraftes and husbandrye labour. 
Of the second be all sciences, and those 
which are called the liberall artes. Of 
the thirde is marchandize and chafferie, 
that is, baying and selling ; and without 
all these three there is noe commonwealth 
can allmost consist, or at the least be 
perfect. But that wretched realme of 
Ireland wanteth the most principall of 
them, that is, the intellectuall ; therfore in 
seeking to reforme her state it is specially 
to be looked unto. But because of hus- 
bandrye, which supplyeth unto us all 
necessarye thinges for foode, wherby we 
cheifly live, therfore it is first to be pro- 
vided for. The first thing therfore 
that we are to drawe these newe tithed 
men unto, ought to be husbandrye. First, 
because it is the most easye to be learned, 
needing onely the labour of the bodye; 
next, because it is most generall and 
most needefull; then, because it is most 
naturall ; and lastlye, because it is most 
enemy to warre, and most hateth un- 
quiettness : As the Poet sayeth, 

* bella execrata colonis : ' 

for husbandrye being the nurse of thrift, 
and the daughter of industrye and labour, 
detesteth all that may woorke herhinder- 
aunce, and distroye the travell of her 
liandes, whose hope is all her lives com- 
f orte unto the plowgh : therfore all those 



Kearne, Stokaghs, and Horseboy es are to 
be driven and made to employe that able- 
nesse of bodye, which they were wonte to 
use to thef te and villanye, hencefoorth to 
labour and industrye. In the which, by 
that time they have spente but a litle 
payne, they will finde such sweetness and 
happy contentment, that they will after- 
wardes hardly be hayled away from it, or 
drawen to theyr woonted lewde life in 
theeverye and rogerye. And being thus 
once entred thereunto, they are not onely 
to be countenaunced and encouradged by 
all good meanes, but also provided that 
theyr children after them may be brought 
up likewise iu the same, and succeede in 
the roomes of theyr fathers. To which 
end there is a Statute in Ireland allreadye 
well provided, which comaundeth that all 
the sonnes of husbandmen shal be trayned 
up in theyr fathers trade, but it is (God 
wote) very slenderlye executed. 

Eudox. But doe you not counte, in 
this trade of husbandrye, pasturing of 
cattell, and keeping of theyr cowes, for 
that is reckned as a parte of husbandrye ? 

Iren. I knowe it is, and needfullye to 
be used, but I doe not meane to allowe 
anye of those able bodyes, which are able 
to use bodely labour, to followe a fewe 
cowes grasing, but such impotent persons, 
as being unable for strong travell, are yet 
able to drive cattell to and fro the pas- 
ture; for this keeping of cowes is of it 
selfe a verye idle life, and a fitt nurserye 
of a theefe. For which cause ye remem- 
ber that I disliked the Irish manner of 
keeping Bolyes in Sommer upon the 
mountaynes, and living after that sav- 
adge sorte. But yf they will algates 
feede many cattell, or keepe them on 
the mountaynes, lett them make some 
townes neere the mountaynes side, 
where they may dwell togither with 
neghbours, and be conversaunt in the 
viewe of the world. And, to say truth, 
though Ireland be by nature counted a 
great soyle of pasture, yet had I rather 
have fewer cowes kept, and men better 
mannered, then to have such huge encrease 
of cattell, and noe encrease of good condi- 
cions. I would therfore wish that there 
were made some ordinaunces amongest 
them, that whosoever keepeth twentye 
kine should keepe a plough going, for 
otherwise all men would fall to pasturing, 
and none to husbandrye, which is a great 
cause of this dearth nowe in England, and 
a cause of the usuall stealthes nowe in 
Ireland : For looke into all countreyes 
that live in such sorte by keeping of 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



S29 



cattell, and you shall fiiuie that they are 
both verye barbarous and uncivill, and 
also greatly given to warre. The Tarta- 
riaus, the Muscovites, the Norwayes, the 
Gothes, the Armenians, and many others 
doe witness the same. And therefore 
since nowe we purpose to drawe the Irish 
from desire of warres and tumults, to the 
love of peace and civilitye, it is expedient 
to abridge theyr great custome of heai'd- 
ing, and augment theyr more trade of 
tillage and husbandrye. As for other 
occupations and trades, they neede not to 
be enforced to, but every man bounde 
onelye to followe one that he thinkes liim- 
selfe aptest for. For other trades of 
artificers wil be occupied for verye neces- 
sitye, and constrayned use of them ; and 
see likewise will raarchandise for the 
gayne therof ; but learning, and bringiug 
up in liberall sciences, will not come of it 
selfe, but must be drawen on with straight 
lawes and ordinaunces: And therfore it 
were meete that such an acte were or- 
dayned, that all thesonnes of lordes, gen- 
tellmen, and such others as are able to 
bring them up in learning, should be 
trayned up therin from theyr child-hoode. 
And for that end everye paVrish should be 
forced to keepe one pettye school-master, 
adjoyuing to the parish church, to be 
the more in viewe, which should bring up 
theyr children in the first rudimentes of 
letters : and that, in everye countrey or 
barronye, they should keepe an other able 
school-master, which should instructe 
them in grammer, and in the principles of 
sciences, to whom they should be com- 
pelled to send theyr youth to be disciplined, 
wherby they will in sliorte time growe up 
to that civill conversation, that both the 
children will loth theyr former rudeness 
in which they were bredd, and also the 
parentes will, even by the example of 
theyr yong children, perceave the fowle- 
ness of theyr oMiie brutish beha^dour com- 
pared to theyrs: for learning hath that 
wonderfull power in it selfe. "that it can 
soften and temper the most sterne and 
savage nature. 

Eudox. Surelye I am of your mynd, 
that nothing will bring them" from theyr 
uncivill life sooner then learning and disci- 
pline, next after the knowledge and feare 
of God. And therfore I doe still expect, 
that ye should come therunto, and sett 
some order for reformation of religion, 
which is first to be respected ; according 
to the saying of Christ, ' First seeks the 
kingdome of heaven, and the righteous- 
nes therof.' 



Iren. I have in mynde soe to doe ; but 
left me (I pray you) first finish that which 
I had in hand, wherby all the ordinaunces 
which shall afterwarcles be sett for religion 
may abide the more firmelye, and be ob- 
served more diligently e. Nowe that this 
people is thus tithed and ordered, and 
everye one bound unto some honest trade 
of life, which shal be particularly entred 
and sett downe in the tithing booke, yet 
perhaps there wil be some stragglers and 
rmmagates which will not of themselves 
come in and yeeld themselves to this 
order, and yet after the well finishing of 
this present warre, and establishing of 
the garrisons in all strong places of the 
countrey, where theyre woonted refuge 
was most, I doe stippose there will fewe 
stand out, or yf they doe, they will shortly 
be brought in by the eares : But j'et after- 
wardes, least any one of these should 
swarve, or any that is tyed to a trade 
should afterwardes not followe the same, 
according to this institution, but should 
straggle up and dovrne the countrey, or 
miche in corners amongest theyr frendes 
idlye, as Carooghs, Bardes, Jesters, and 
such like, I would wish that there were 
a Provost Marshall appoynted in everye 
shire, which shottld continuallye walke 
through the countrey, with halfe a douzen, 
or half a score of horsemen, to take up such 
loose persons as they should finde thus 
wandring, whom he should punnish by his 
owne attthoritye, with such paynes as the 
persons should seeme to deserve : for yf he 
be but once taken soe idlye roging, he 
may punnish him more lightlye, as with 
stockes, or sttch like ; but yf he be founds 
agayne soe loytring, he may scourge him 
with whippes, or roddes, after which yf 
he be agayne taken, left him have the 
bitterness of the marshall lawe. Like- 
wise yf any relickes of the old rebellion be 
founds by him, that have not either come 
in and submitted themselves to the lawe, 
or that having once come in, doe breaks 
foorthe agayne, or walke disorderlye, 
lett them taste of the same cupp in Gods 
name ; for it was due unto them for theyr 
first guilte, and nowe being revived by 
theyrlater looseness, lett them have theyr 
first desarte, as nowe being founds imfitt 
to live in a commonwealth. 

Eudox. This were a good manner ; but 
me thinkes it is an unuecessarye charge, 
and also unfitt to continue the name or 
forme of any marshall lawe, when as 
there is a proper oflicer allreadye ap- 
poynted for these turnss, to witt ths 
sheriff of ths shirs, whoss psculiar offics 



830 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



it is to walke continuallye up and dowue 
his baly-wick, as ye would have a mar- 
shall, to snatche up all those runuagates 
aud uuprofitable members, and to bring 
them to his goale to be punnished for the 
same. Therfore this may well be spared. 

Ii'en. Not soe, me seemes ; for though 
the sherriff have this authoritye of him- 
selfe to take up all such stragglers, and 
imprison them, yet shall he not doe soe 
much good, nor woorke that terrour iu 
the hartes of them, that a marshall shall, 
whom they shall knowe to have power of 
life and death in such cases, aud speciallye 
to be appoynted for them : Neither doth 
it hinder but that, though it pertayne to 
the sherriff, the sherriff may doe therin 
what he can, and yet the marshall may 
walke his course besides ; for both of 
them may doe the more good, and more 
terrifye the idle rogues, knowing that 
though he have a watche upon the one, 
yet he may light upon the other. But 
this proviso is needef ull to be had in this 
case, that the sheriff may not have the 
like power of life as the marshall hath, 
and as heertofore they have bene accus- 
tomed ; for it is daungerous to give power 
of life into the handes of him which may 
have benefitt by the partyes death, as, yf 
the sayd loose liver have any goods of his 
owne, the Sherriff is to seaze therupon, 
wherby it hath often come to pass, that 
some that have not deserved perhaps 
judgement of death, though otherwise 
perhaps offending, have bene for theyr 
goodes sake caught up, and carryed 
straight to the boughe; a thing indeede 
very pittiful and verye horrible. Ther- 
fore by noe meanes I would wish the 
Sherriff to have such authoritye, nor yet 
to emprison that loosell till the sessions, 
for soe all gayles might soone be filled, 
but to send him to the Marshall, whoe, 
eftsones finding him faultye, shall give 
him meete correction, and ridd him away 
foorthwith. 

Eudox. I doe nowe perceave your rea- 
son well. But come we nowe to that 
wherof we earst spake, I mean, to religion 
and religious men ; What order will you 
sett amongest them? 

Iren. For religion litle have I to saye, 
my selfe being (as I sayd) not professed 
therin, and it selfe being but one, soe as 
there is but one waye therin ; for that 
which is true onelye is, and the rest are 
not at all, yet in planting of religion thus 
much is needfull to be observed, that it 
be not sought forcebly to be impressed 
into them with terrour and sharpe penal- 



ties, as nowe is the manner, but rather 
delivered and intimated with mildeness 
and gentleness, soe as it may not be hated 
afore it be understood, and theyr Pro- 
fessors dispised and rejected. For this I 
knowe that the most of the Irish are soe 
farre from understanding of the popish 
religion as they are of the protestauntes 
profession ; and yet doe they hate it 
though unknowen, even for the very 
hatred which they have of the English 
and theyr government. Therfore it is 
expedient that some discreete Ministers 
of theyr owne countrey-men be first sent 
amongest them, which by theyr milde 
persuasions and instructions, as also by 
theyr sober life and conversation, may 
drawe them first to understand, and af ter- 
wardes to embrace, the doctrine of theyr 
salvation ; for yf that the auncient godly 
Fathers, which first converted them, be- 
inge infidells, to the faith, were able to 
drawe them from Infidelitye and pagan- 
isme to the true beleefe in Christ, as St. 
Pattricke, aud St. Columbi howe much 
more easelie shall the godlye teachers 
bring them to the true understanding of 
that which they allready profess ? wherin 
it is greate wonder to see the oddes which 
is betwene the zeale of Popish preistes, 
and the Ministers of the Gospell ; for they 
spare not to come out of Spayne, from 
Rome, and from Rhemes, by long toyle 
and daungerous travell hither, where 
they knowe perrill of death awayteth 
them, and noe rewarde nor richessis to 
be founde, onely to drawe the people to 
the Church of Rome ; wheras some of our 
idell Ministers, having a waye for credit 
and estimation thereby opened unto them, 
and having the livinges of the countrey 
offered them, withovit paynes, and with- 
out perrill, will neither for the same, nor 
for any love of God, nor zeale of religion, 
nor for all the good they might doe by 
winning of soe many sowles to God, be 
drawen foorth from theyr warme nests 
and theyr sweete loves side to looke out 
into Godes harvest, which is even readye 
for the sickle, and all the fieldes yellowe 
long agoe : doubtless those good old godly 
Fathers will (I feare me) rise up in the 
Daye of Judgement to condemne them. 

Eudox. Surelye, it is great pittye, 
Ireneus, that there are none chosen out 
of the Ministers of England, good, sober, 
and discreet men, which might be sent 
over thither to teache and instructe them, 
and that there is not as much care had of 
theyr sowles as of theyr bodyes ; for the 
care of both lyeth upon the Prince. 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



831 



Iren. Were there never soe mauy sent 
over they should doe sinal good till one 
enormltye be taken from them, that is, 
that both they be restrayned from send- 
ing theyr yonge men abrode to other 
Universities beyond the seas, as Rhemes, 
Doway, Lovayne, and the like, and that 
others from abrode be restrayned from 
coming to them ; for they lurking secretly 
in theyr bowses and in corners of the 
couutrey doe more hurte and hinderaunce 
to religion with theyr private persuasions, 
then all the others can doe good wdth 
theyr publicke instructions; and though 
for these later there be a good statute 
there ordayned, yet the same is not exe- 
cuted, and as for the former there is noe 
lawe nor order for theyr restrainte at all. 

Eudox. I marvayle it is noe better 
looked unto, and not only this, but that 
also which, I remember, you mencioned 
in your abuses concerning the profitts 
and revenues of the landes of fugitives in 
Ireland, which by pretence of certayne 
colourable convey aunces are sent con- 
tinuallye over unto them, to the comfort- 
ing of them and others agaynst her Maj- 
estic, for which heere in England there is 
good order taken ; and whye not then as 
well in Ireland? For though there be noe 
statute there enacted therfore, yet might 
her Majestie, by her onelye prerogative, 
seaze all the fruits and profitts of those 
fugitives landes into her handes, till 
they come over to testifye theyr true 
alleageaunee. 

Iren. Indeede she might soe doe; but 
the combrous times doe perhaps hinder 
the regarde therof, and of many other 
good intentions. 

Eudox. But why then did they not 
mynd it in peaceable times ? 

Iren. Leave we that to theyr grave 
considerations, but proceede we forwards. 
Next care in religion is to builde up and 
repayre all the ruinous churches, wherof 
the most parte lye even with the grounde, 
and some that have bene lately repayred 
are soe unhandsomelye patched, and 
thatched, that men doe even shunne the 
places for the uncomeliness therof ; ther- 
fore I would wish that there were order 
taken to have them builte in some better 
forme, according to the churches of Eng- 
land ; for the outward shewe (assure 
your selfe) doth greatly e drawe the rude 
people to the reverencing and frequenting 
therof, what ever some of our late to nice 
fooles saye, — ' there is nothing in the 
seemelye forme and comely orders of the 
churche.' And, for soe keeping and 



continuing them, there should likewise 
Churchwardens of the gravest men in the 
parrish be appoynted, as there be heere 
in England, which should take the yearely 
charge both herof , and also of the schoole- 
howses, which I wished to be builded 
neere to the sayd churches ; for maj^n- 
tenaunce of both which, it were meete 
that some severall portion of lande were 
allotted, sith no more mortmains are 
to be looked for. 

Eudox. Indeede (me seemes) it would 
be soe convenient ; but when all is done, 
howe will ye have your churches served, 
or your Ministers mayntained ? since the 
livinges (as you sayd) are not sufficient 
scarce to make them a newegowne, much 
less to yeelde meete maintenaunce accord- 
ing to the dignitie of theyr degree. 

Ireii. There is noe way to helpe that, 
but to laye two or thre of them togither, 
untill such time as the countrey growe 
more riche and better inhabited, at which 
time the tithes and other oblations will 
also be more augmented and better 
valewed : But nowe that we have gone 
thus through all that theyr sortes of 
trades, and sett a course for theyre good 
establishment, lett us (yf you please) goe 
next to some other needefull pointes of 
other publicke matters, noe less concern- 
ing the good of the commonweale, though 
but accidentallye depending on the for- 
mer. And first I wish that order were 
taken for the cutting downe and opening 
of all paces through woodes, soe that a 
wide waye of the space of a hundreth 
yardes might be layed open in everye of 
them for the safetie of travellers, which 
use often in such perilous places to be 
robbed, and sometimes murthered. Next, 
that bridges were builte upon all rivers, 
and all the foordes marred and spilte, soe 
as none might pass any other waye but 
by those bridges, and everye bridge to 
have a gate and a small gate-howse sett 
theron ; wherof this good will come that 
noe night stealthes (which are commonlye 
driven in by-wayes and by blinde foordes 
unused of auye but such like) shal be con- 
vayed out of one countrey into another, 
as they use, but they must pass by those 
bridges, where they may be either haply 
encountred, or easely tracked, or not 
suffred to pass at all, by meanes of those 
gate-howses : Also that in all straytes and 
narrowe passages, as betwene twobogges, 
or through any deepe foorde, or under 
any mountayne side, there should be 
some litle fortilage, or wooden castell 
sett, which should keepe and comaunde 



832 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



that strayte, wlierby any rebell that 
should come in the countrey might be 
stopped the waye, or pass with great 
perill. Moreover, that all highe wayes 
should be fenced and shutt up on both 
sides, leaving ouely t'ortye foote breadthe 
for passage, soe as none should be able to 
passe but through the highe waye, wherby 
theeves and night robbers might be the 
more easely pursued and encountred, 
when there shal be noe other waye to 
drive theyr stollen cattell but therin, as 
I formerly e declared. Further, that there 
should be in sundrye convenient places, 
by the high wayes, townes appoynted to 
be builte, the which should be free Bour- 
oughes, and incorporate under Bayliffes, 
to be by theyr inhabitaunts well and 
strongly intrenched, or otherwise fenced 
with gates at each side therof , to be shutt 
nightlye, like as there is in manye places 
of the English Pale, and all the wayes 
about it to be stronglye shutt up, soe 
that none should passe but through those 
townes : To some of which it were good 
that the priviledge of a markett were 
given, the rather to strengthen and enable 
them to theyr defence, for nothing dothe 
sooner cause civilitye in anye couutreye 
then manye markett townes, by reason 
that people repairing often thither for 
theyr needes, will daylye see and learne 
civill manners of the better sort. Besides, 
there is nothing doth more staye and 
strengthen the countreye then such cor- 
porate townes, as by proofe in many 
rebellions hathe bene scene ; in all which 
when the countrej^es have swarved, the 
townes have stood stiff e and fast, and 
yeelded good relief to the souldiours in 
all occasions of service. And lastly there 
doth nothing more enriche any coimtreye 
or realme then manye townes; for to 
them will all the people drawe and bring 
the fruites of theyr trades, as well to 
make money of them, as to supplye theyr 
needefull uses ; and the countreymen will 
also be more industrious in tillage, and 
rearing all husbandrye comodityes, know- 
ing that they shall have readye sale for 
them at those townes : and in all those 
townes should there be convenient Innes 
erected for the lodging and harbourghing 
of all travellers, which are now often 
times spoyled by lodgiiig abrode in weake 
thatched bowses, for wante of such safe 
places to shrowde themselves in. 

Eudox. But what profitt shall your 
markett townes reape of theyr markett, 
whereas each one may sell theyr corne 
and cattell abrode in the countrey, and 



make theyr secrett bargaynes amongest 
themselves, as nowe I understand they 
use? 

Iren. Indeede, Eudoxus, they doe soe, 
and thereby noe small inconvenience doth 
arise to the commonwealth; for nowe, 
when any one hath stollen a cowe or a 
garron, he may secretlye sell it in the 
countreye without privitye of anye, 
wheras yf he brought it in the markett 
towue it would perhaps be knowen, and 
the theif discovered. Therfore it were 
good that a straighte ordinaunce were 
made, that none should buye or sell any 
cattell but in some open markett (there 
being nowe markett townes everye where 
at hand) upon a great penaltye ; neither 
should they likewise buye any corne to 
sell the same agayne, unless it were to 
make malte therof ; for by such engross- 
ing and regrating we see the dearthe that 
nowe comonly raigneth heere in England 
to have bene caused. Heereunto also is 
to be added that good ordinaunce, which 
I remember was once proclaymed through- 
out all Ireland. That all men should 
marke theyr cattell with an open severall 
marke upon theyr flanckes or buttocks, 
soe as yf they happened to be stollen, 
they might appeare whose they were, 
and they which should buye them might 
therby suspecte the owner, and be warned 
to abstayne from buying of them of a 
suspected person with such an unknowen 
marke. 

Eudox. Surely these ordinaunces seeme 
verye expedient, but speciallye that of 
free townes, of which I wonder there is 
such small store in Ireland and that in 
the first peopling and planting therof 
they were neglected and omitted. 

Iren. They were not omitted ; for there 
were, through all places of the countrye 
convenient, manye good townes seated, 
which through that inundation of the 
Irish, which I first told you of, were 
utterly e wasted and defaced, of which the 
mines are yet in manye places to be 
scene, and of some noe signe at all re- 
mayning, save onelye theyr bare names, 
but theyr seates are not to be founde. 

Eudox. But howe then cometh it to pass, 
that they have never since recovered, nor 
their halDitations reedifyed, as of the rest 
which have bene noe less spoyled and 
wasted ? 

Iren. The cause therof was for that, 
after theyr desolation, they were begged 
by genteilmen of the Kinges, under col- 
our to repayre them and gather the poore 
reliques of the people agayne togither, of 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



833 



whom having obtayned them, they were 
soe farre from reedifyingof them, as that 
by all meanes they have eudevouied to 
keepe them wast, least that, being re- 
payred,theyre charters might be renewed, 
and their Burgesses restored to thej'r 
landes, which they had uowe in their pos- 
session ; much like as in tliese old monu- 
mentes of abbeyes, and religious bowses, 
we see them likewise use to doe: For 
which cause it is judged that King Henry 
the Eight bestowed them upon them, 
knowing that therby they should never 
be able to rise agayne. And even soe doe 
these Lordes, in those poore old corporate 
townes, of which I could name you di- 
verse but for kindling of displeasure. 
Therfore as I wished manye corporate 
townes to be erected, soe would I 
agayne wish them to be free, not depend- 
ing upon the service, nor under the com- 
maundement of anye but the Governour. 
And being soe, they will both strengthen 
all the countreye rounde about them, which 
by theyr meanes wil be the better replen- 
ished and enriched, and also be as contin- 
uall holdes for her Majestic, yf the people 
should revolte and breake out agayne ; 
for without such it is easye to forraie and 
over-runne the whole lande. Lett be for 
example, all those free-bouroughes in the 
Lowe-countreyes, which are nowe all the 
strength therof . These and other like or- 
dinaunces might be delivered for the good 
establishment of that realnie, after it is 
once subdued and reformed, in which it 
might be afterwardes verye easelj^e kept 
and mayntayned, with small care of the 
GovernoursandCounsell there appoynted, 
soe as that it should in shorte space yeeld 
a plentifull revenue to the crowne of Eng- 
land ; which nowe doth but sucke and 
consume the treasurye therof, through 
those unsounde plottes and changefull 
orders which are dajiye devised for her 
good, yet never effectually prosecuted or 
perfourmed. 

Eudox. But in all this your discourse I 
have not marked any tiling by you spoken 
touching the appoyntment of the priuci- 
pall Officer, to whom you wish the charge 
and perfourmaunce of all this to be com- 
mitted : Onelye I observed some fowle 
abuses by you noted in some of tlie late 
Governours, the reformation wherof you 
left for this present time. 

Iren. I delighte not to laye open the 
blames of soe great Magistrats to the re- 
buke of the woorlde, and therfore theyr 
reformation I will not meddle with, but 
leave unto the wisedome of greater heades 



to be considered : onelye this much I will 
speake generally therof, to satisfye your 
desire, that the Government and cheif 
Magistracye I wish to continue as it doth ; 
to weete, that it be ruled by a Lorde Dep- 
utye or Justice, for that it is a very safe 
kinde of rule : but there-withall I wish 
that over him there were placed also a 
Lord Lieutenaunt, of some of the greatest 
personages in England (such an one I 
could name, uiDon'whom the eye of all 
England is fixed, and our last hopes now 
rest) ; whoe being entitled with that dig- 
nitye, and being allwayes heere resident, 
may backe and defende the good cause of 
the government agaynst all malignours, 
which else will, through theyr cunning 
woorking under hand, deprave and pull 
backe what ever thinge shal be well be- 
guune or intended there, as we commonlye 
see by experience at this day, to the utter 
ruiue and desolation of that poor realme: 
and this Lieutenauncye should be noe dis- 
countenauncing of the Lord Deputye, but 
rather a streugthning and maintayning 
of all his doinges; for nowe the cheif 
evill in that government is, that noe Gov- 
ernour is suffred to goe on with any one 
course, but ujDon the least information 
heere, of this or that, he is either stopx^ed 
or crossed, and other courses appoynted 
him from hence which he shall runne, 
which howe inconvenient it is, is at this 
howre to well felte. And therfore this 
should be one principle in the appoynt- 
ment of the Lord Deputyes authoritye, 
that it shoulde be more ample and abso- 
lute then it is, and that he should have 
uncontrolled power to doe any thing that 
he, with the advisement of the Counsell, 
should thinke meete to be done : for it is 
not possible for the Counsell heere, to 
direct a Governour there, whoe shal be 
forced oftentimes to followe the necessitye 
of present occasions, and to take the sud- 
dayne advauntage of time, which being 
once loste will not be recovered ; whilest, 
through expecting directions from hence, 
the delayes wherof are oftentimes through 
other greater affayres most irkesome, the 
opportunitye there in the meane time 
passes away, and greate daunger often 
groweth, which by such timely preven- 
tion might easely be stopped. And this 
(I remember) is woorthelye observed by 
Machiavell in his discourses upon IAyjq, 
where he comendeth the manner of the 
Romayne government, in giving absolute 
power to all theyr Counsuls and Gover- 
nours, which yf they abused, they should 
af terwardes dearely answeare it : And the 



834 



A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 



contrarye tlierof he repreheudeth in the 
States of Venice, of Florence, and many 
other principalities of Italye, whoe use to 
limitte theyr cheif olficers soe straightly, 
as that therby oftentimes they have 
lost such happye occasions as they could 
never come unto agayne. The like wher- 
of, whoe soe hath bene conversauute in 
that government of Ireland, hath to often 
scene to thcyr great hindraunce and hurte. 
Therfore this I covild wish to be redressed, 
and yet not soe but that in particular 
thinges he should be restrayned, though 
not in the generall government; as name- 
lye in this, that noe otidces should be 
solde by the Lord Deputye for monye, nor 
noe pardons, nor protections bought for 
rewardes, nor noe beeves taken for Cap- 
taynries of countreys, nor noe shares of 
Bishopricks for nominating theyr Bishops, 
nor noe forfeytures, nor dispensations 
with penall Statutes given to theyr ser- 
vauntes or frendes, nor noe selling of 
licences for transportation of prohibited 
wares, and speciallye of corne and flesh, 
wdth manye the like ; which neede some 
manner of restraint, or els very great 
trust in the honourable disposition of the 
Lord Deputye. 

Thus I have, Eudoxus, as breifly as I 
could, and as my remembraunce would 
serve me, runne throughe the state of 
that w^hole countrey, both to lett you see 
what it nowe is, and also what it may be 
by good care and amendment: Not that I 
take upon me to chaunge the pollicye of 



soe greate a kingdome, or prescribe rules 
to such wise men as have the handling 
therof , but onelye to shewe you the evills, 
which in my small experience I have ob- 
served to be the cheif hinderaunces of 
the reformation therof; and by way of 
conference to declare my simple opinion 
for the redresse therof, and establishing 
a good course for that government; 
which I doe not deliver for a perfect plott 
of myne owne invention, to be onelye 
follow^ed, but as I have learned and un- 
derstood the same by the consultacions 
and actions of verye wise Governours and 
Counsellours whom I have sometimes 
hearde treate thereof. Soe have I thought 
good to sett downe a remembraunce of 
them for myne owne'good, and your satis- 
faction, that whoe so list to overlooke 
them, allthough perhaps much wiser then 
they which have thus advised of that 
state, yet at least, by comparison herof, 
may perhaps better his owne judgement, 
and by the light of others fore-going him 
may followe after with more ease, and 
happely finde a fayrer waye thereunto 
then they which have gone before. 

Eudox. I thanke you, Irenseus, for this 
your gentell paynes ; withall not forget- 
ting, nowe in the shutting up, to putt you 
in mynde of that which you have 
formerlye halfe promised, that heereafter 
when we shall meete agayne uppon the 
like good occasion, ye will declare unto 
us those your observations which ye have 
gathered of the Antiquities of Ireland. 



LETTERS FROM SPENSER (IMMERITO) TO 
GABRIEL HARVEY. 



To the wo7'shipfull his very singular 
good friend, Maister G. H., Fellow of 
Trinitie Hall in Cambridge.^ 

Good Master G. I perceive by your most 
courteous and freudly Letters your good 
will to be no lesse in deed than I alwayes 
esteemed. In recompence wherof, think 
I beseech you, that I wil spare neither 
speech nor wryting, nor aught else, when- 
soever, and wheresoever occasion shal be 
offred me : yea, I will not stay, till it be 
off red, but will seeke it in al that possibly 
I may. And that you may perceive how 
much your Counsel in al things prevaileth 
with me, and how altogither I am ruled 
and overruled thereby: I am now deter- 
mined to alter raiue owne former purpose, 
and to subscribe to your advizement: 
being notwithstanding resolved stil, to 
abide your farther resolution. My prin- 
cipal doubts are these. First, I was 
minded for a while to have intermitted 
the uttering of my writings: leaste by 
over-much cloying their noble eares, I 
should gather a contempt of myself, or 
else seeme rather for gaiue and commod- 
itie to doe it, for some sweetnesse that I 
have already tasted. Then also, meseem- 
eth, the work too base for his excellent 
Lordship, being made in honour of a pri- 
vate Personage unknowne, which of some 
yl-willers might be upbraided not to be 
so worthie, as you knowe she is : or the 
matter not so weightie, that it should be 



1 Reprinted from ' Two other very com- 
mendable Letters, of the same mens writ- 
ing : both touching the foresaid Artificiall 
Versifying, and certain other Particulars. 
— More lately delivered unto the Printer. 
— Imprinted at London by H. Bynnemann, 
dwelling in Thames streate, neere unto 
Baynardes Castell. Anno Domini, 1580. 
Cum gratia et privilegio Regiae Majes- 



tatis. 



offred to so weightie a Personage : or the 
like. The selfe former Title still liketh 
me well ynough, and your fine Addition 
no lesse. If these, and the like doubtes, 
maye be of importaunce in your seeming, 
to frustrate any parte of your advice, I 
beseeche you without the least selfe love 
of your own purpose, councell me for the 
beste: and the rather doe it faithfullye 
and carefully, for that, in all things I 
attribute so muche to your judgement, 
that I am evermore content to annihilate 
mine owne determinations, in respecte 
thereof. And indeede for your selfe to, it 
sitteth with you now, to call your wits 
and senses togither (which are alwaies at 
call) when occasion is so fairely offered of 
Estimation and Preferment. For whiles 
the iron is bote, it is good striking, and 
minds of Nobles varie as their Estates. 
Veriim ne quid durins. 

I pray you bethinke you well hereof, 
good Maister G. and forthwith write me 
those two or three special points and 
caveats for the nonce, I)e quibus in supe- 
rioribus illis mellitissimis longissbnisque 
Litterls tvis. Your desire to heare of my 
late being with hir Majestic muste dye in 
it selfe. As for the twoo worthy Gentle- 
men, Master Sidney and Master Dyer, 
they have me, I thanke them, in some 
use of familiarity: of whom and to 
whome, what speache passeth for youre 
credite and estimation, I leave to your 
selfe to conceive, having alwayes so well 
conceived of my unfained affection and 
zeale towardes you. And nowe they have 
proclaimed in their apeLUiwdyto a generall 
surceasing and silence of balde Rymers, 
and also of the verie beste to : in steade 
whereof they haue, by authoritie of their 
whole Senate, prescribed certaine Lawes 
and rules of Quantities of Englishe sil- 
lables for English Verse : having had 
thereof already great practise, and 
drawen mee to their faction. News 
Books I heare of none, but only of one, 



835 



836 LETTERS FROM SPENSER (IMMERITO) TO GABRIEL HARVEY. 



that writing a certaine Booke, called The 
Schoole of Abuse, and dedicating it to 
Maister Sidney, was for his labor scorned : 
if at leaste it he in the goodnesse of that 
nature to scorne. Saclie follie is it not to 
regarde aforehande the inclination and 
qualitie of hini to whome wee dedicate 
oure Bookes. Suche mighte I happily iu- 
curre entituling My Slomber and the 
other Pamphlets unto his honor. I meant 
them rather to Maister Dyer. But I am 
of late more in love wyth my Englishe 
Versifying than with Ryming : whyche I 
should haue done long since, if I would 
then haue followed your councell. Sed 
te solum jam turn susplcabar cum As- 
chamo saepere : nunc Aularn video egre- 
gios alei-e Poetas Anglicos. 

Maister E. K. hartily desireth to be 
commended unto your Worshippe: of 
whome what accompte he maketh, your 
selfe shall hereafter perceive, by hys 
paynefull and dutifull Verses of your 
selfe. 

Thus much was written at "Westminster 
yesternight; but comming this morning, 
beeing the sixteenth of October, to Mys- 
tresse KerTces, to have it delivered to the 
Carrier, I receyved your letter, sente me 
the laste weeke : whereby I perceive you 
otherwhiles continue your old exercise of 
Versifying in Englishe; whych glorie I 
had now thought shoulde have bene onely 
ours heere at London and the Court. 

Truste me, your Verses I like passingly 
well, and envye your hidden paines in this 
kinde, or rather maligne, and grudge at 
your selfe, that woulde not once imparte 
so muche to me. But once or twice you 
make a breache in Maister Drants Rules : 
quod tamen condonabimus tanto Poetx, 
tuseque ipsius maxinise in his rebus auto- 
ritati. You shall see when we meete in 
London (whiche, when it shall be, certifye 
us) howe fast I have followed after you 
in that Course, beware leaste in time I 
overtake you. Veruntamen te solum 
sequar, {ut sgepeniimero sum professus,) 
nunquam sane assequar dum vivam. 

And nowe requite I you with the like, 
not with the verye beste, but with the 
verye shortest, namely, with a few lam- 
bickes : I dare warrant they be precisely 
perfect for the feete (as you can easily 
judge), and varie not one inch from the 
Rule. I will imparte yours to Maister Sid- 
ney and Maister Dyer at my nexte going 
to the Courte. I praye you, keepe'mine 
close to yourselfe, or your verie entire 
friendes, Maister Preston, Maister Still, 
and the reste. 



lambicuni Trimetrum. 

Unhappie Verse, the witnesse of my un- 

happie state, 
Make thy selfe fluttring wings of thy 

fast flying 
Thought, and fly forth unto my Love 

wheresoever she be : 

Whether lying reastlesse in heavy bedde, 

or else 
Sitting so cheerlesse at the cheerfull 

boorde, or else 
Playing alone carelesse on hir heavenlie 

Virginals. 

If in Bed, tell hir, that my eyes can take 

no reste : 
If at Boorde, tell hir, that my mouth 

can eate no meate : 
If at hir Virginals, teU hir, I can heare 

no mirth. 

Asked why ? say : Waking Love suffereth 

no sleepe : 
Say, that raging Love dothe appall the 

weake stomacke : 
Say, that lamenting Love marreth the 

Musicall. 

Tell hir, that hir pleasures were wonte to 

lull me asleepe : 
Tell hir, that hir beautie was wonte to 

f eede mine eyes : 
Tell hir, that hir sweete Tongue was 

wonte to make me mirth. 

Nowe doe I nightly waste, wanting my 

kindely reste : 
Nowe doe I dayly starve, wanting my 

lively f oode : 
Nowe doe I alwayes dye, wanting thy 

timely mirth. 

And if I waste, who wiU bewaile my 
heavy chaunce ? 
And if I starve, who will record my 

cursed end ? 
And if I dye, who will saye: this was 
Immerito ? 

I thought once agayne here to haue 
made an ende, with a heartie Vale of the 
best fashion : but loe an ylfavoured mys- 
chaunce! My last farewell, whereof I 
made great accompt, and muche mar- 
velled you shoulde make no mention 
thereof, I am nowe tolde (in the Divels 
name) was thorough one mans negligence 
quite forgotten, but shoulde nowe un- 
doubtedly have beene sent, whether I 



LETTERS FROM SPENSER (IMMERITO) TO GABRIEL HARVEY. 837 



hadde come, or no. Seeing it can be now 
be no otherwise, I pray you take all to- 
gither, wy th all their iaultes : and nowe 
I hope, you will vouchsafe niec an an- 
sweare of the largest size, or else I tell 
you true, you shall bee verye deepe in 
uiy debte: uotwythstandyng thys other 
sweete, but shorte letter, and line, but 
fcAve Verses. But I wonlde rather I 
might see yourc owne good selfe, and re- 
ceive a Reciprocall farewell from your 
owne sweete mouth. 



Ad ornatissimum vinnn, muUisjam dlu 

NOMINIBUS CLARISSIMUM G. H. ImMERITO 

sui, mox in Gallias navlgatura, evrvx^ip. 

Sic mains egregrium, sic nou inimicus 

Amicum ; ^ 
Sicque novus veterem jubet ipse Poeta 

Poetam, 
Salvere, ac coelo, post secula multa se- 

cundo 
Jam reducem, cado mage, qaum nunc 

ipse, secundo 
Utier. Ecce Deus, (modo sit Deus ille, 

renixum 
Qui vocet in scelus, et juratos perdat 

amores) 
Ecce Deus mihi clara dedit modo signa 

Marinus, 
Et sua veligero lenis parat ^quora Ligno : 
Mox sulcanda, suas etiam pater iEolus 

Iras 

Ponit, et ingentes animos Aqnilonis 

Cuncta viis sic apta meis: ego solus in- 
ept us. 
Nam mihi nescio quo mens saucia vul- 

nere, dudum 
Fluctuat ancipiti Pelago, dum Navita pro- 
ram 
Invalidam validus rapit hue Amor, et 

rapit illnc. 
Consiliis Ratio melioribus nsa, decusque 
Immortale levi diffessa Cupidinis Arcu. 
Angimur hoc dubio, et portu vexamur in 

ipso. 
Magne pharetrati nunc tu contemptor 

Amoris, 
(Id tibi Dii nomen precor hand impune 

remittant) 
Hos nodos exsolve, et eris mihi magnus 

Apollo. 
Spiritus ad summos, scio, te generosus 

Honores 
Exstimulat, majusqne docet spirare Poe- 
tam. 
Quam levis est Amor, et tamen hand levis 

est Amor omnis. 



Ergo nihil laudi repntas sequale perenni, 
Pritsque sacrosancta splendoris imagine 

tanti, 
Ca^tera, qua^ vecors, uti Numina, vulgus 

atlorat, 
Priedia, Amicitias, urbana peculia, Nuni- 

nu)S, 
Quajque jdacent oculis, formas, specs 

taenia, Amores, 
Concnlcare soles, ut humum, et ludibria 

sensus. 
Digna meo certe Harveio sententia, digna 
Oratore amplo, et generoso pectore, quam 

non 
Stoica forraidet veterum Sapientia viu- 

clis 
Sancire a^ternis : sapor hand tamen omni- 
bus idem. 
Dicitur effajti proles facnnda Laert.ne, 
Quamlibet ignoti jactata per a?quora 

Coeli 
Inque procelloso longum exsul gurgite 

ponto, 
Prai tamen amplexu lachrymosfe Con- 

jugis, Ortus 
Coelestes Divumque thoros sprevisse 

beatos. 
Tantum Amor, et Mulier. vel Amore po- 

tentior. Ilium 
Tu tamen Hindis : tua Magnilicentia tanta 

est: 
Praeque subumbrata Splendoris Imagine 

tanti 
Praeque illo iMeritis famosis nomine parte 
Caetera, quae Vecors, uti Numina, vulgus 

ad or at, 
Prfiedia, Amicitias, armenta, peculia, num- 

mos, 
Qujeque placent oculis, formas, spectacula, 

Amores, 
Quneque placent ori, quajque auribus, om- 
nia temnis. 
Nae tu grande sapis, Sapor et sapientia 

non est: 
Omnis et in parvis bene qui scit desipuisse, 
Sffipe snperciliis palmam sapientibus au- 

fert. 
Lndit Aristippum modo tetrica Turba 

Sophorum, 
Mitia purpureo moderantem verba Ty- 

ranno 
Ludit Aristippus dictamina vana Sopho- 
rum, 
Quod levis emensi male torqnet Culicis 

umbra : 
Et quisquis placuisse Studet Heroibus al- 

tis, 
Desipuisse studet sic gratia erescit ineptis, 
Denique laurigeris quisquis sua tempora 

vittis, 
Insignire volet, Populoque placere faventi, 



838 LETTERS FROM SPENSER (IMMERITO) TO GABRIEL HARVEY. 



Desipere insanus discit, turpemque pu- 

deudaB 
StultitisB laudeni quaji-it. Pater Euiiius 

unus 
Dictus in iuuuraeris sapiens: laudatur at 

ipsa 
Carmina vesano fiulisse liquentia vino : 
Nee tu pace tua, uostri Cato Maxinie saecli, 
Nomen houorati satiiim inereare Poetge, 
Quantumvis illustre cauas, et nobile Car- 
men, 
Ni stuUire veils, sic S[t]ultorura omnia 

plena, 
Tuta sed in medio superest via gurgite, 

nam Qui 
Nee reliquis nimium vult desipuisse videri, 
Nee sapuisse nimis, Sapientem dixeris 

unum. 
Hinc te merserit unda, illinc combusserit 

Ignis ; 
Nee tu delicias nimis aspernare fluentes, 
Nee sero Dominam, venientem in vota, 

uec Aurum, 
Si sapis, ablatura, (Curiis ea, Fabriciis- 

que 
Linque viris miseris miseranda Sophis- 

mata: quondam 
Grande sui decus ii, nostri sed dedecus 

sevi:) 
Nee seetare nimis. Res utraque crimine 

plena. 
Hoc bene qui callet, (si quis tamen hoc 

bene callet) 
Scribe, vel invito sapientem hunc Socrate 

solum. 
Vis facit una pios : Justos facit altera : et 

altra 
Egregie eordata, ac fortia pectora : verum 
Omne tulit punctum, qui miscuit utile 

dulci. 
Dii mihi, dulce diu dederant : verum utile 

nunquam : 
Utile nunc etiam, 6 utinam quoque -dulce 

dedissent. 
Dii mihi (quippe Diis sequivalia maxima 

parvis) 
Ni nimis invideant mortalibus esse beatis, 
Dulce simul tribuisse queant, simul utile : 

tauta 
Sed Fortuna tua est : pariter quaeque utile, 

quseque 
Dulce dat ad placitum : ssevo nos sydere 

nati 
Quajsitum imus earn per inhospita Cau- 

casa longe, 
Perque Pyrenaeos montes, Babilonaque 

turpem. 
Quod si quffisitum nee ibi invenerimus, 

ingens 
^quor inexhaustis permensi erroribus, 

ultra 



Fluetibus in mediis socii quoeremus Ulys- 

sis. 
Passibus inde Deam fessis comitabimur 

a'.gram , 
Nobile qui furtuni quaerenti defuit orbis. 
Namque sinu pudet in patvio, tenebrisque 

piideudis 
Non nimis ingenio Juvenem iufoelice vi- 

rentes 
Ofiiciis frustra deperdere vilibus Annos, 
Frugibus et vacus speratus cernere spicas. 
Ibimus ergo statim : (quis eunti fausta 

precetur ?) 
Et pede Clibosas fesso calcabimus Alpes. 
Quis dabit interea conditas rore Britanno, 
Quis tibi Litterulas? quis carmen amore 

petulcum ! 
Musa sub Oebalii desueta cacumine mon- 

tis, 
Flebit inexhausto tam longa silentia 

planctu, 
Lugebitque sacrum lacrymis Heliconata 

centem. 
Harveiusque bonus (eharus licet omnibus 

idem, 
Idque suo merito, prope suavior omnibus 

unus,) 
Angelus et Gabriel, (quamvis comitatus 

amicis 
Innumeris, geniumque choro stipatus 

amaeno) 
Immerito tamen unum absentem saepe re- 

quiret, 
Optabitque Utinam mens hie Edmundus 

adesset. 
Qui nova scripsisset, nee Amores conticu- 

isset 
Ipse sues, et saepe animo verbisque be- 

nignis 
Fausta precaretur, Deus ilium aliquando 

reducat, &e. 
Plura vellem per Charites, sed non licet 

per Musas. 
Vale, vale plurimum. Mi amahilissime 

Harveie, meo cordi, meorum 

longe charissime. 

I was minded also to have sent you some 
English verses : or Rymes, for a farewell : 
biit by my troth, I have no spare time in 
the world, to thinke on such Toyes, that 
you know will demaund a freer head, than 
mine is presently. I beseeche you by all 
your Curtesies and Graces let me be an- 
swered ere I goe : which will be (I hope, I 
feare, I thinke), the next weeke, if I can 
be dispatched of my Lorde. I goe thither, 
as sent by him, and maintained most what 
of him : and there am to employ my time, 
my body, my minde, to his Honours ser- 
vice. Thus with many superhartie Com- 



LETTERS FROM SPENSER (IMMERITO) TO GABRIEL HARVEY. 839 



mendations and Recommendations to your 
selfe, and all my friendes with you, I eude 
my last Farewell, not thinking any more 
to" write imto you, before I goe : and with- 
all committing to your faithful Credence 
the eternall Memorie of our everlasting 
friendship, the inviolable Memorie of our 
unspotted friendshippe, the sacred Memo- 
rie of our vowed friendship : which I be- 
seech you Continue with usuall writings, 
as you may, and of all things let me heare 
some Newes from you. As gentle M. 
Sidney, I thanke his good Worship, hath 
required of me, and so promised to doe 
againe. Qui monet, ut facias^ quod jam 



facts; you knows the rest. You may 
always send them most safely to me by 
Mistress Kerke, and by none other. So 
once againe, and yet once more. Farewell 
most hartily, mine owne good Master H. 
and love me, as I love you, and thinke 
upon poore Immerito, as he thinketh 
uppon you. 

Leycester House, this 5 [ ? 16] of October, 
1579. 

Per mare, per terras, 
Vivus, mortuusque 
Tuus Immerito. 



TRANSLATION OF SPENSER'S LATIN 
LETTER TO HARVEY. 



VERSE- 



BY RICHARD WILTON, M.A., LONDESBOROUGH RECTORY. 



To that Most Accomplished Man, now for 
a long time for many reasons Most 
Illustrious, G. H., the Letter of his 
"Immerito," about to sail for France 
and Italy, 

Greeting. 
Thus I, though mean, to my illustrious 

friend, 
Not void of friendliness, my greetings 

send : • « 

And thus a veteran poet I address, 
A poet I myself, though new, no less ; 
May you, return'd after long absence, find 
A Heaven that smiles around you to your 

mind ; 
A Heaven more fair than that which 

bends o'er me. 
Behold, of late, the God that rules the 

sea. 
Gave me clear signals (may he be the God 
Who makes the rebel bend beneath His 

rod 
And dooms the perjured lover) : He 

prepares 
And gently smooths with His propitious 

airs 
The waves my winged bark must shortly 

plough : 
His angry winds e'en Father ^olus now 
Lulls, and his blustering storms . . . 
Thus all things ready for my journey 

seem. 
Unready only I myself do deem. 
For wounded how 1 know not, my sick 

mind 



Has long been tossed with doubtful wave 

and wind. 
While Love, the steersman strong, my 

strengthless bark, 
Still hurries hither, thither, through the 

dark ; 
Reason that followed better counsels 

slain. 
By Cupid's bow its glory cleft in twain : 
Of hesitation I am still the sport. 
And vext with tempest in the very port. 
Thou great despiser of the quivered 

Love 
(That impious name I pray the gods 

above 
May pardon) these hard knots untie for 

me; 
Henceforth my great Apollo thou shalt 

be. 
Thy spirit stirs thee highest fame to gain, 
And bids the poet breathe a loftier strain 
Than can be found in Love the light and 

slight, 
And yet, alas, Love is not always light ! 
All thuigs you heed not save eternal 

praise, 
And for the splendid image which you 

raise, 
The things the foolish crowd, as gods, 

adore, 
Farms and great friends, a town house, 

golden store : 
The things which please the eye, fair 

forms, fine shows. 
Sweet faces where the colour comes and 



840 



TRANSLATION OF SPENSER'S LATIN VERSE-LETTER. 



All these you trample under foot with 
scorn, 

As mocking fancies of the senses born. 

Meet for my Harvey this way stand con- 
fess'd, 

The copious orator and noble breast — 

A thought old Stoic wisdom would en- 
dorse 

And stamp with sanctions of eternal 
force ; 

But all men do not think alike> of course ! 

The eloquent Ulysses, driven afar 
By adverse winds beneath an unknown 

star, 
A distant exile on the stormy deep, 
Where whirlpools in a fatal eddy sweep, 
Despised Calypso's couch and heavenly 

charms, 
For bis wife's tearful eyes and faithful 

arms. 
Such power had Love and Woman o'er 

his soul. 
Woman more strong than Love in her 

control. 
But him, however wise, you leave behind, 
So wonderful the grandeur of your mind. 
Matched with the ideal image of such 

fame 
And varied glories as surround your 

name. 
The things the foolish crowd, as gods, 

adore 
Farms, and great friends, flocks, herds, 

and golden store. 
The things which please the eye, fair 

forms, fine shows, 
Sweet faces where the colour comes and 

goes, 
The things which please the taste and 

take the ear — 
All these you pass unmarked, nor hold 

them dear. 
Truly you have high notions, but I ween 
High notions do not always knowledge 

mean. 
Who knows in small things how to be 

unwise 
Oft from the proudly knowing bears the 

prize. 
The Sophists once, a miserable crew. 
At Aristippus their reproaches threw. 
Because he mildly measured out his 

speech 
The tyrant in his purple pride to reach : 
But he in turn of their vain saws made 

light. 
Whom a gnat's flying shadow could af- 
fright. 
And all who study to delight grandees 
Study to be unwise ; and so they please. 



In fine, whoe'er his brows with wreaths 

would bind, 
And with the favouring crow<i approval 

find. 
Learns foolishly to trifle, and lays claim 
To folly's idle praise which merits shame. 
The name of Wise, old Father Ennius 

bore 
Alone amid a countless crowd of yore, 
Yet he is praised because his liquid song 
Amid the foolish winecups flowed along. 
Nor with your leave, great Cato of our 

day. 
May you obtain the Poet's honoured bay, 
Howe'er you sing and build the lofty 

rhyme. 
Unless you play the fool to please the 

time; 
For all things, wheresoe'er you look 

around, 
With nought but fools and foolishness 

abound. 
But lo, amidst the whirling stream is seen 
A central way of safety yet, I ween. 
He who desires to figure in men's eyes 
As neither too unwise, nor yet too wise, 
To him alone the Wise man's name you 

give: 
He in the via media strives to live. 
For on one side the threatening waters 

call. 
And on the other fatal lightnings fall. 
To slight too much Life's flowing joys 

beware — 
A tender Wife late-answering to your 

prayer : 
Nor, if you're wise, from offered riches 

shrink, 
Whate'er the Curii and Fabricii think — 
Their wretched fancies leave the wretched 

race. 
Pride of their age, of our age the dis- 
grace. 
Nor yet too eagerly these joys pur- 
sue; 
Danger on either side confronts the 

view. 
He who the happy medium truly knows, 
If Heaven on any one the gift bestows. 
Him the alone Wise man on earth write 

down. 
Though Socrates himself may wear a 

frown. 
By natural force some men live piously, 
Others maintain a stem integrity ; 
Others in manly fortitude excel ; 
But in all men's opinions he does well. 
Who still " the useful with the sweet has 

blent." 
The gods to me long since the sweet had 

sent; 



LETTERS FROM SPENSER (IMMERITO) TO GABRIEL HARVEY. 84 1 



But ne'er the usefuL* how I wish that 

they 
The useful now would seud to me some 

day, 
And e'en the sweet : O that the gods to me 
(Since great and small to gods must 

equal be) 
Unless they envy mortals too much bliss 
Could find it in their power to grant me 

this, 
And let the sweet and useful both be 

mine! 
Such fortune, Harvey, is already thine; 
She with an equal hand to thee is kind, 
And gives thee sweet and useful to thy 

mind : 
But I being born beneath a cruel star, 
Set out in search of her through lands 

afar. 
Where wild Caucasian mountains soar on 

high. 
And Pyrenaean summits pierce the sky, 
And where base Babylon corrupts the 

air: 
But if, though sought for, she is found 

not there, 
In endless wanderings on the mighty deep 
With old Ulysses o'er the waves I'll 

sweep 
In search of her ; and thence will sadly go 
With sorrowing Ceres to the realms 

below, 
To whom one world sufficed not her fond 

quest. 
Seeking her stolen daughter without rest. 
For in this native nook, this dim re- 
treat, 
I blush to waste my days ; it is not meet 
A youth with genius not unblest, should 

spend 
In duties mean, repeated to no end, 



The precious morning of his fairest years, 
Nor see the hoped-for fruit crown the 

green ears. 
So I will go at once, but who will pray 
For blessings from above upon my way ? 
And up the weary Alps I will ascend. 
But who in the meanwhile will greet my 

friend 
With letters redolent of British dew 
And songs that waft the sighs of lover 

true? 
The Muse beneath some alien height will 

mourn 
The silence long with ceaseless wail for- 
lorn : 
And grieve with flowing tears and clouded 

brow 
That sacred Helicon is silent now ; 
And Harvey khid (though dear to all he 

be, 
And justly, for more sweet than all is 

he) ; 
My Angel Gabriel (though with friends 

girt round. 
And troops of kindred souls about him 

found) 
For his " Immerito " will ofttimes call, 
The only absent dear one of them all ; 
And with a longing soul will breathe the 

vow — 
"O would my Edmund were beside me 

now! 
Wlio wrote me all the news, nor failed to 

tell 
The tender love which made his bosom 

swell ; 
And oft with heart and words would 

kindly pray 
For blessings from above upon my way, — 
God bring "him safely back again some 

day!" 



To my long approovecf and singular Good 
Frende, Master G. H. 1 

Good Master H. I doubt not but you have 
some great important matter in hande, 
which al this while restraineth your 
Peune, and wonted readinesse in provok- 
ing me unto that, wherein your selfe nowe 
faulte. If there bee any such thing in 
hatching, I pray you hartily, lette us 



knowe, before al the worlde see it. But 
if happly you dwell altogither in Justin- 
ians Courte, and give your selfe to be 
devoured of secreate Studies, as of all 
likelyhood you doe : yet at least imparte 
some your olde, or n ewe Latine or Englishe, 
Eloquent and Gallant Poesies to us, from 
whose eyes, you saye, you keepe in a 
manner nothing hidden. Little newes is 
here stirred : but that olde greate matter 



1 Reprinted from ' Three proper and wit- 
tie familiar Letters : lately passed betwene 
two Uuiversitie men : touching the Earth- 
quake in Aprill last, and our English re- 
fourmed Versifying. — With the Preface 



of a wellwiller to them both. — Imprinted 
at London by H. Bynneman, dwelling 
in Thames streate, neere unto Baynardes 
Castell. Anno Domini, 1580. — Cum gra- 
tia et privilegio Regiae Majestatis.' 



842 LETTERS FROM SPENSER (IMMERITO) TO GABRIEL HARVEY. 



still dependiiicr. His Honoure never better. 
I thinke the Earthquake was also there 
wyth you (which I would gladly learue) 
as it was here with us: overthrow- 
ing divers old buildings and peeces of 
Churches. Sure verye straunge to be 
hearde of in these Countries, and yet I 
heare some saye (I knowe not howe truely) 
that they have knowne the like before in 
their dayes. Sed quid vobis videtur mag- 
nis Philosophis ? I like your late Englishe 
Hexameters so exceedingly well, that I 
also enure my Penne sometime in that 
kinde : whyche I fynd indeede, as I have 
heard you often detende in worde, neither 
so harde, nor so harshe, that it will easily 
and f airely yeelde it self e to our Moother 
tongue. For the onely, or chiefest hard- 
nesse, whych seemeth, is in the Accente : 
whyche sometime gapeth, and, as it were, 
yawneth ilfavouredly, comming shorte of 
that it should, and sometime exceeding 
the measure of the Number, as in Car- 
penter, the middle sillable being used 
shorte in speache, when it shall be read 
long in Verse, seemeth like a lame Gosling 
that draiveth one legge after hir : and 
Heaven being used shorte as one sillable, 
when it is in verse stretched out with a 
Diastole, is like a lame dogge that holdes 
up one legge. But it is to be wonne with 
Custome, and rough words must be sub- 
dued with Use. For, why a Gods name, 
may not we, as else the Greekes, have the 
kingdome of oure owne Language, and 
measure our Accentes by the sounde, 
reserving the Quan title to the Verse? 
Loe, here I let you see my olde use of toy- 
ing in Rymes turned into your artificial 
straightnesse of Verse by this Tetrasticon. 
I beseech you tell me your fansie with- 
out parcialitie. 

See yee the blindfoulded pretie God, that 
feathered Archer, 
Of Lovers Miseries which maketh his 
bloodie game ? 
Wote ye why, his Moother with a Veale 
hath coovered his Face ? 
Trust me, least he my Loove happely 
chaunce to beholde. 

Seeme they comparable to those two, 
which I translated you ex tempore in bed, 
the last time we lay togither in Westmin- 
ster? 

That which I eate did I joy, and that 
which I greedily gorged, 
As for those many goodly matters 
leaft I for others. 



I would hartily wish, you would either 

send me the Rules and Precepts of Arte, 
which you observe in Quantities, or else 
followe mine, that M. Philip Sidney gave 
me, being the very same which M. Drant 
devised, but enlarged with M. Sidneys 
own judgement, and augmented with my 
Observations, that we might both accorde 
and agree in one: leaste we overthrowe 
one an other, and be overthrown of the 
rest. Trust me, you will hardly beleeve 
what greate good liking and estimation 
Maister Dyer had of jouvSatyricall Verses, 
and I, since the viewe thereof, having be- 
fore of my selfe had speciall liking of 
Englishe Versifying , am even nowe aboute 
to give you some token, what, and howe 
well therein I am able to doe : for, to tell 
you trueth, I minde shortely at convenient 
leysure, to sette forth a Booke in this 
kinde, whiche I entitle Epithulamion 
Thame sis ; whyche Booke, I dare under- 
take wil be very profitable for the knowl- 
edge, and rare for the Invention and 
manner of handling. For in setting forth 
the marriage of the Thames : I shewe his 
first beginning, and offspring, and all the 
Conn trey, that he passeth thorough, and 
also describe all the Rivers throughout 
Englande, whych came to this Wedding, 
and their righte names, and right passage, 
&c. A worke, beleeve me, of much labour, 
wherein notwithstanding Master Holin- 
shed hath much furthered and advantaged 
me, who therein hath bestowed singular 
paines, in searching oute their firste heades 
and sources : and also in tracing and dog- 
ging oute all their Course, til they fall 
into the Sea. 

O Tite, siquid, ego, 
Ecquid erit pretij ? 

But of that more hereafter. Nowe, my 
Dreames and Bying Pellicane, being fully 
finished (as I partelye signified in my 
laste Letters) and presentlye to bee im- 
printed, I wil in hande forthwith with my 
Faery Queene, whyche I praye you hartily 
send me with al expedition : and your 
frendly Letters, and long expected Judge- 
ment wythal, whyche let not be shorte, 
but in all pointes suche, as yoii ordinarilye 
use, and I extraordinarily desire. Multum 
vale. Westminster. Quarto Nonas Aprilis 
1580. Sed, amaho te, meum Corculum tibi 
se ex animo commendat plurimuni : jam- 
diu mirata, te nihil ad literas suas responsi 
dedisse. Vide qvseso, ne id tibi Capitale 
sit : Mihi certe quidemerit, neque tibi 



LETTERS FROM SPENSER (IMMERITO) TO GABRIEL HARVEY. 843 



herds impune, ut opinor, lieram vale, & 
qudm voles ssepe. 

Yours always to commaunde, 

Immerito. 

Postscripte. 
I take best my Dreames shoulde come 
forth alone, being growen by meanes of 
the Glosse (running continually in maner 
of a Paraphrase) full as great as my 
Calendar. Therin be some things excel- 
lently, and many things wittily dis- 
coursed of E. K. and the pictures so 
singularly set forth and purtrayed, as if 
Michael Angelo were there, he could (I 
think) nor amende the beste, nor repre- 
hende the worst. I know you woulde lyke 
the-m passing wel. Of my Stemmata 
Dudleiana, and especially of the sundry 
Apostrophes therein , addressed you knowe 
to whome, must more advisement be had, 
than so lightly to sende them abroade: 
howbeit, trust me (though I doe never 
very well) yet, in my owne fancie, I never 
dyd better. Veruntamen te sequor solum : 
nunquam verb assequar. 

EXTRACT FROM HARVEY'S REPLY.* 

But Master Collin Cloute is not every 
body, and albeit his olde Companions, 
Master Cuddy and Master Hohhinoll be as 
little beholding to their Mistresse Poetrie, 
as ever you writ : yet he peradventure by 
the meanes of hir special favour, and 
some personall priviledge, may happely 
live by Dying Pellicanes, and purchase 
great landes, and lordshippes, with the 
money, which his Calendar and Dreames 
have, and will affourde him. Extra 
jocum, I like your Dreames passingly 
well : and the rather, bicause they savour 
of that singular extraordinarie veine and 
invention, which I ever fancied moste, 
and in a maner admired onelye in Lucian, 
Petrarche, Aretine, Pasquill, and all the 
most delicate, and fine conceited Grecians 
and Italians: (for the Romanes to speak 
of, are but verye ciphars in this kinde :) 
whose chief est endevour, and drifte was, 
to have nothing vulgare, but in some 
respecte or other, and especially in lively 
hyperbolicall amplifications, rare, queint, 
and odde in every pointe, and as a man 
would saye, a degree or two at the leaste, 
above the reache, and compasse of a com- 
mon schollers capacitie. In whiche re- 



* Reprinted from ' Three Proper and 
wittie familiar Letters, &c.' 



specte notwithstanding, as well for the 
singularitie of the manner, as the Divinitie 
of the matter, I hearde once a Divine, 
preferre Saint Johns Revelation before 
al the veriest Metaphy sicall Visions, and 
jollyest conceited Dreames or Extasies, 
that ever were devised by one or other, 
howe admirable, or super excellent soever 
they seemed otherwise to the worlde. 
And truely I am so confirmed in this opin- 
ion, that when I bethinke me of the verie 
notablest, and moste wonderful Propheti- 
call, or Poeticall Vision, that ever I read, 
or hearde, me seemeth the proportion is 
so unequall, that there hardly appear eth 
anye semblaunce of Comparison : no more 
in a maner (especially for Poets) then 
doth betweene the incomprehensible Wis- 
dome of God, and the sensible Wit of 
man. 

But what needeth this digression be- 
tween you and me ? I dare saye you wyll 
holde yourself e reasonably wel satisfied, 
if youre Dreames be but as well esteemed 
of in Englande as Petrarches Visions are 
in Italy : which I assure you, is the very 
worst I wish you. But, see, how I have 
the Arte Memorative at commaundement. 
In good faith I had once againe nigh for- 
gotten your Faerie Queene: howbeit by 
goodchaunce,Ihave nowe sent hir home at 
the last, neither in better nor worse case, 
than I founde hir. And must you of neces- 
sitie have my judgement of hir indeede ? 
To be plaine, I am voydeof al judgement, 
if your Nine Comedies, whereunto in imi- 
tation of Herodotus, you give the names 
of the Nine Muses (and in one mans fansie 
not unworthily) come not neerer Ariostoes 
Comedies, eyther for the finesse of plausi- 
ble Elocution, or the rareness of Poetical 
Invention, then that Elvish Queene doth 
to his Orlando Furioso, which notwith- 
standing, you wil needes seeme to emu- 
late, and hope to overgo, as you flatly 
professed yourself in one of your last 
Letters. 

Besides that you know, it hath bene the 
usual practise of the most exquisite and 
odde wittes in all nations, and specially 
in Italie, rather toshewe, and advannce 
themselves that way, then any other : as 
namely, those three notorious dyscoursing 
heads, Bihiena, Machiavel, and Aretine 
did, (to let Bernho and Ariosto passe) with 
the great admiration, and wonderment of 
the whole country : being in deede re- 
puted matchable in all points, both for 
conceyt of Witte and eloquent decypher- 
ing of matters, either with Aristophanes 
and Menander in Greek, or with Plautus 



844 



A BRIEFE NOTE OF IRELAND. 



and Terence in Latin, or with any other, 
in any other tong. But I will not stand 
greatly with you in your owne matters. If 
so be the Faery e Queene be fairer in your 
eie than the JVine Muses, and Hobgoblin 



runne away with the garland from Apollo: 
Mark what I saye, and yet I will not say 
that I thought, but there an End for this 
once, and fare you well, till God or some 
good Aungell putte you in a better minde. 



SPENSER'S REPORT TO THE QUEEN, ON THE INSURRECTION IN 
IRELAND, OCTOBER, 1598. 

From State Papers in H. M. Public Record Offick (Bundle 188, No. 18). 

A BRIEFE NOTE OF IRELAND. 



The kinges of England haue lands of 
inheritance as Lords of Ireland in good 
substance beside the title of the Crowne, 
as the Erledome of vlster wholly 
Lords of Connought Meth of foure 
parts of Leinster and four partes of 
Mounster. 



Besides there 
are 



r in Ireland 5530] 
in Leinster 930 ' 
in Connought 900 
in Mounster 2100 
in Vlster 2060 j 
mMeth 540 J 



townes 



There is of arrable Land in it 38640 
plowlands besides Rivers meadowes 
boggs and woods: euerie plowland con- 
teineth 120. acres, euerie acre 4. perches in 
bredth and 40. in length, euerie perch 21 . 
foote, euerie foote 12. inches. In Edward 
the 4th his tyme (whoe had Ireland in his 
obedience) it yeelded the Crowne of 
England 14146ii sterling, taking but a 
noble for a plowland. And besides he 
received for Customes, fishings and other 
Royalties 100000 marks yerelie paid to 
the Castle of Dublin, as yet appereth by 
recorde. And had aboue this, his yerelie 
Rent of Vlster, Connought, Meth, Lein- 
ster and Mounster, which was 22000^1 ster- 
ling, more then this had they advousons 
of manie Churches, Wardes, Marriages 
and guift of diners other good things. 

TO THE QUEENE. 

Out of the ashes of disolacon and 
wastnes of this your wretched Realme 
of Ireland, vouchsafe moste mightie Em- 
presse our Dred soveraigne, to receive the 
voices of a f ewe moste vnhappie Ghostes ; 
of whome is nothinge but the ghost nowe 



left, which lie buried in the bottome of 
oblivion, farr from the light of your 
gracious sunshine ; which spredeth it selfe 
oner countries moste remote, to the 
releeving of their destitute Calamities 
and to the eternall aduancement of your 
renowne and glorie; yet vpon this 
miserable, land, being your owne iuste 
and heritable dominion letteth no one 
little beame of your large mercie to be 
shed: either for vnworthinesse of vs 
wreches which no way discerve so great 
grace, or for that the miserie of our estate 
is not made knowne vnto you but rather 
kept from your knowledge by such as by 
concealement thereof think to haue their 
blames concealed. Pardon therefore 
moste gracious Soveraigne vnto miserable 
wreches, which without your knowledge 
and moste against your will are plunged 
in this sea of sorrowes, to make there euell 
case knowne vnto you and to call forty 
melie redresse vnto you, if yet at least 
any tyme be left, which that your 
majestie in your excellent wisdome may 
the better knowe how to redresse, may 
the same vuchsafe to consider from what 
begining the same first sprunge and by 
what late euill meanes it is brought to 
this miserable condicion which wee nowe 
Complaine of. 

The first cause and Roote thereof, was 
the indirect desire of one persons privat 
gaine, to whome your majestie Comitted 
this vnfortunat gouernment ; whoe whiles 
he fedd yovir expectacion with the hope 
of increasing this your kingdome with 
a newe Countie (to witt the Countie of 
Monohan) vnder that pretence sought to 
enlarge his owne treasure and to infeoffe 
his sonnes and kinsmen in all the terri- 
torie ; which might neuertheles haue ben 
tollerated in regard some good should 



A BRIEFE NOTE OF IRELAND. 



845 



thereby haue come vnto you, had it not 
ben wrought by moste iniuste and dis- 
honorable meanes. ffor after that he 
had receaved A. B. into your faith and 
proteccion promissing liim to make him 
Mc.Mahon for 100. beefes, after wards 
whereas an other of his kinsmen offered 
300 he vniustly tooke and honge him and 
in his stede invested the other ; where- 
vpon the land lords and gentlemen of the 
Countrie adioyning being terrified with 
the face of so foule a trecherie, began 
eftsoones to combine themselues and to 
labour the Erie of TireoDe vnto theire 
parte ; who neuertheles did not manif estlie 
adhere vnto them nor durst breake out 
into manifest rebellion, but taking onely 
dislike of such bad dealing, begaun to 
finde greuance at the gouernment (as 
in deede vnder correction me seemes 
some cause he had) : for first he might 
feare by that example lest he might be 
intrapped in the like; then was he by 
this new Countizing of the Countrie of 
Monohan, both to loose that seignoritie 
which he claimed of that land and all so 
that seruice which he claimed of Mac- 
mahon ; who by holding nowe of your 
Majestic should bo ffreed from his chal- 
lenge. Lastly he was by some his frends 
made to beleeve (whether trulie or no 
god knowes) that ther was a practise 
privilie wrought by the deputie either 
against his life or libertie ; where vpon he 
kept him selfe aloofe and durst not comitt 
his saftie in to the gouemour yet off red 
still if he might haue leave to come into 
England freelie to iustifie him selfe before 
your majestic; which whether he so 
trulie meant is vncertaine yet that 
leave should not haue ben denied, since 
if he had not performed it he might haue 
bene in tyme discouered before he had 
grown e vnto this head that nowe he is. 
But so sone as the rest which then were 
out, felt him thus wauering and doubt- 
fully disposed, they increased his offence 
with daily causes of dislike vntill such 
tyme as they might practiz with your 
Majesties aduersarie the king of Spaine 
to drawe him to his partie and not with 
[out] strong feares and vaine hopes to 
feede his euill humour. Yet all this while 
durst he not break out into open dis- 
loialtie but so carried him selfe as that he 
might make advantage of both parties, 
either to worke his owue Condicions of 
peace with your Majestic by fearing you 
with his enterdeale with the king of 
Spaine or if he could not accomplishethis 
' to vse the same directly against you. 



Yet all this while matters might haue 
bene so managed as that he might well 
enough haue been conteiued in reasonable 
termes but that some were allwaies 
against it who covited nothing more then 
to alien him from your obedience and to 
Minister uewe matter of Jelousies still 
against him. "Wherevpon he breaking at 
length openly fourth yet was so dauled 
with and so faintly persecuted as that 
meeting some tyme with some good suc- 
cesses in fight he tooke greater hart 
thereby, and hauing once felt his owne 
strength and the faintnesse of those which 
were sett here to followe him, grewe 
extreamlie insolent; which he allso in- 
creased through occasion of the devision 
of the gouernment here betwixt Sir 
William Russell and Sir John Norris. Of 
which the one being sharplie bent to per- 
secute him the other thought by good 
treaties rather [to] wynn him to make 
fair warrs. Biit by some it was thought 
that the onely purpose of Sir John Norris in 
handling things after that sorte was to ob- 
taine the absolute gouernment to him selfe. 

After which the chaunge of gouernment 
succeeding the death of the noble Lo. 
Burrowes ensewyng, the sundrie alter- 
acions of Councills and purposes follow- 
ing, together with the devision and 
partaking of those them selues of your 
Councill here, haue since brought things 
to that dangerous condicion that nowe 
they stand in. ffor from this head through 
tolleracion and too much temporizing the 
euill is spred into all partes of the Realme 
and growne in to so ^oiiuersall a contagion 
that nothing but a moste violent medecyne 
will serue to recoueryt. ffor all the Irish 
of all partes are confederated and haue 
generallie agreed to shake of the yoke of 
there obedience to the Crowne of England. 
And even now the vennyme is crept vpp 
hither into this Prouince of Mounster 
w^hich hath hitherto continued in reason- 
able good quietnes. The which nowe so 
much as it was lately pess] euill then the 
rest so much is it nowe worse then all 
the rest, and become indeed amoste miser- 
able disolacion like as a fire, the longer 
it is kept vnder the more violentlie it 
burnethwhenitbreaketh out. 

There came vpp hither latelie of the 
Rebells not past 2000 being sent by the 
said Traitour E. of Tyreone; presently 
vpon whose ariveall all the Irish rose vpp 
in Armes against the english, which were 
lately planted theire, so that in fewe dales 
the[y] became 5. or 6000 ; whereby mani- 
festly appereth that the[y] were formerlie 



846 



A BRIEFE NOTE OF IRELAND. 



combined with them, ffor as Capteine 
Tirrell one of the cheefe leaders of them 
said openlie, he had before his coming vp 
80. of the best lords and gentlemens hands 
writing sent him promissing him to ioyne 
with him heare, which accordinglie they 
performed. And going straight vppon the 
English as they dwelt disparsed, before 
they could assemble themselues, spoiled 
them all, there bowses sacked and them 
selves forced to flie away for safetye. So 
many as they could catch they hewed and 
massacred miserablie ; the rest leaving all 
behinde them fledd with their wives and 
children to such porte townes as were next 
them, where they yet remaine like moste 
pittifuU creatures naked and comfortles, 
lying vnder the towne walls and begging 
aboute all the stretes, daily expecting 
when the last extremity shalbe lade vpon 
them. Coulde your majesties moste merci- 
full eyes see but some parte of the image 
of these our moste ruef ull calamities, they 
would melt with remorce to se so manie 
soules of your faithfull subjects brought 
hither to inhabit this your land, of the 
which many were the last day men of good 
substance and abilitie to live, others of 
verie able bodies to serue your Majestie 
no we suddeinly become so wretched wights 
and miserable out casts of the worlde as 
that none of the Countrie people here 
vouch safeth to comiserate but rather to 
scorne and approbriouslie revile them as 
people abandoned of all helpe and hope 
and exposed to extreme miserie. 

Trulie to think that a Countrie so rich, 
so well peopled, so firmlie fenced and 
fortified with so manie stronge Castles, 
with manie faire walled townes and with 
sea halfe walling it aboute, should he 
suddeinlie wunne, hir inhabitants ban- 
ished, their goods spoiled, there dwelling 
places disolated and all the land allmoste 
in a moment overcume, without stroke 
stricken, without bloud shedd, without 
enemie encounte[re]d or seene, without 
forreine invasion, it is amoste mervelouse 
thing and but so wrought of god, hardlie to 
be beleeued of man ; being such indeede as 
hardlie anie historic can aford example of 
the like. And surelie should any stranger 
here that the English nation so mightie and 
puisant, so farr a broade in a Countrie 
of your owne dominion; lying hard vnder 
the lapp of England, should by so base 
and Barbarous a people as the Irish, so 
vntrained in warrs, so inexperte of all 
gouernment and good pollicies, be so 
suddenlie troden downe and blowne away 
allmost with a blast ; they would for euer 



condemne vs, not knowing the meanes how 
the same is come to passe. Therefore it 
is nott a misse to consider by what meanes 
and euill occasions all this mischeefe is 
happened ; the rather, for the better re- 
dressing thereof and avoyding the like 
hereafter. Some think that the first 
plott by which the late vndertakers of 
your majesties Lands here in Mounster 
were planted was not well . instituted nor 
grounded vpon sound aduisenient and 
knowledg of the Countrie ; ffor that 
more care was therein taken for profitt 
and vtilitie then for strength and safetie. 
ffor indeed what hope was there that a 
sorte of husbandmen trained vpp in peace, 
placed a broade in sundrie places, dis- 
persed as your land l[a]ye dispersed, 
should be able to maintaine and defend 
them selues against a people newlie re- 
couered out of the relikes of rebellion 
and yet practizing Armes and warlike 
exercises ; without due provision therefore 
which is, that first rebel House people 
should haue bine utterlie disarmed and 
for euer bounde from the vse of the like 
hearafter and in stede thereof be com- 
pelled vnto other more Civill trades of 
life ; which they should haue bene settled 
in by such sure establishment that they 
should neuer haue bene able to haue 
swerved from the same. 

But the devisour thereof perhapps 
thought that the civill example of the 
English being sett before them and there 
daylie conuersing with them, would haue 
brought them by dislike of there owne 
savage life to the liking and imbrasing of 
better civilitie. But it is farr other wise ; 
for in steede of following them they flie 
them and most hatefullie shune them for 
2° causes: ffirst because they haue euer 
bene brought vpp licenciouslie and to line 
as eche one listeth, which they esteeme 
halfe happines ; so that nowe to be 
brought into anie better order they ac- 
compte it to be restrained of theire libertie 
and extreame wretchednes. Secondlie, 
because they naturallie hate the English, 
so that theire fashons they allso hate. 
The cause of this originall hate is for that 
they were Conquered of the English ; the 
memorie whereof is yet fresh among them 
and the desire bothe of reuenge and allso 
of recouerie of theire lands are daylie re- 
vived and kindled amongst them by their 
lords and Councellours ; for which they 
both hate our selues and our lawes and 
customes. Therefore in the first institu- 
cion should haue bene provided for that 
before uewe building were erected the 



A BRIEFE NOTE OF IRELAND. 



847 



olde should haue bene plucked downe. 
ffor to think to ioyne and patch them 
both together in an equalitie of state is 
impossible and will neuer be without 
daunger of agreat downef all such as nowe 
is hapened. Howe then, should the Irish 
haue ben quite rooted out ? That were to 
bloudie a course : and yet there continuall 
rebelliouse deedes deserue little better. 
But then when this prouince was planted 
they were so weake that they might haue 
bene framed and f ashoned to anie thinge : 
then should they haue ben disarmed for 
euer and stronge garrisons sett ouer them, 
which they should haue ben forced at 
there owne charges to maintaine without 
anie charge to j'our Majestie, since there 
disloyall dealinges were the cause thereof. 
Which they would then haue ben moste 
glad to here; by which meanes your 
Majestie might haue had even out of this 
Prouince 3. or 4000 souldiers continuallie 
maintained vnto you, whome youe might 
at all tj^mes haue vsed to your seruice 
with continuall supplie and change of 
newe. 

And this I mdertake (vnder correction 
vpon all that I haue in the world) should 
haue bene afforded you with as litle 
greevance and burden of the Countrie as 
nowe they beare allreadie, ffor the charge 
which nowe this Prouince beareth, what 
of your Majesties Composicion, what of 
the President his Imposicion, what of 
Sheriffes and Cessours extorcion and other 
daylie bad occasions is no lesse then 
woulde maintaine you so great a garrison : 
besides it is nowe exacted with the peo- 
ples great discontentment that wolde be 
then yeelded with verie good will when 
they should be sure to knowe the Ytter- 
moste of there charge. 

This at the tyme of the late placing of 
inhabitants here might haue easily bene 
established, but thoccasion was then let 
slipp when this Country was weake and 
waste; yet since the like is likely and 
must of necessitie ensue againe after the 
subdueing of this Present generall rebel- 
lion, it is expedient to be minded before 
it be to be effected. But in the meane 
season wee poore wreches which nowe 
beare the burden of all ouersights, power 
out our moste humble and pittiouse plainte 
"\Tito your moste excellent Majestie that 
it may please you to caste your graciouse 
minde vnto the'cairfull regarde of our 
miseries ; which being quite banished out 
of our inhabitance and the lands vpon 
which wee haue spent all the small por- 
cion of our abilities in building and erect- 



ing such traides of husbandries as wee 
haue betaken, haue nowe nothing left 
but to cry vnto you for tymelie aide before 
wee be brought to vtter distruction and 
our wreched lines (which onelie now re- 
maine vnto vs) be made the pray of doggs 
and sauage wilde beasts. Whereas your 
Majestie as you haue hitherto made your 
selfe through all the worlde a gloriouse 
example of mercie and clemencye and 
euer vnto these vile Catifes (though moste 
vnworthie thereof) so nowe by extending 
vpon them the terror of your wrath in 
avengement of there continuall disloyall- 
tie and disobedience, you shall spreade 
the honourable fame of your Justice and 
redeeme both your owne honour and all 
so the reputacion of your people, which 
these base raskalls through your so longe 
suffrance and this so late hapened re- 
proche [have] shaken and endangered 
with all, moste all Christian princes ; be- 
sides which you shall setle a perpetual 
establishment both of peace (whereby 
your riches shall be much increased) and 
all so of great strength, which may from 
hence be drawne both to the better assur- 
ance of this your kingdome and all so to 
the continuall seruice of that your Realme 
of England, ffor wee well hope and that 
is some comforte to us in all these our 
miseries, that God hath put this madding 
minde so generallie into all this rebelliouse 
nacion the rather to stirre vpp your Majes- 
tie now to take vengance of all theire 
longe and lewde & wicked vsage and to 
make an vniuersall reformacion of all 
this Realme; which nowe doth allmoste 
offer yt selfe vnto yo that [you] may 
worke a perpetuall establishment of peace 
and good gouernment, to your Majesties 
great honour and no lesse profitt. So that 
nowe at length you may haue an end of 
wasting your treasure and people in this 
sorte as you haue done too longe and hin- 
dering you from more honorable atchive- 
ments. 

Pardon therefore moste gracious Souer- 
aigne to wreched greued wights your true 
faithfull subiects which too sharplie haue 
tasted of these euills, to vnfoulde vnto 
your Majestie the feeling of theire miserie 
and to seeke to impresse in your Princelie 
minde the due sense thereof, whereby 
some meete redresse may be tymelie pro- 
vided therefore, before wee feele and 
your Majestie here of, that which wee 
simple wreches see hard at hand. But 
our feare is leste your Majesties wonted 
merciful! minde should againe be.wrought 
to your wonted milde courses and per- 



848 



A BRIEFE NOTE OF IRELAND. 



swaded by some milde meanes either of 
pardons or proteccious, this rebelliouse 
nacion may be again e brought to some 
good conformacion ; which wee beseech 
allmightie god to averte and to sett before 
your gracious eyes the iuste consideracion 
howe that possiblie may be. ffor it is 
not easie to thinke that they whoe haue 
imbrewed them seines so deeplie in our 
bloud and inriched them seines with our 
goods, should euer trust vs to dwell 
againe amongste them : or that wee should 
endure to line amongst those peacablie, 
without taking iuste reuenge of them for 
all our enils. Besides they haueing once 
thus shaken vs will euermore presume 
vpon the pride of there owne strength 
which they haue nowe prooued ; through 
knowledge whereof they will be ymbold- 
ened euer hearafter vpon the least dis- 
like to revolte from your obedience : And 
the relaps of euills your Majestie well 
knowes be moste perillouse. Moreouer 
howe great dishonour it shall be to pro- 
tect or pardon them which not onelie haue 
allwaies carried them seines vndutifuUy 
but nowe allso in theire Common meet- 
ings and their Priests preachings do 
speake so lewdlie and dishonourably of 
your moste sacred Majestie that it perc- 
eth our very soules to here it. But if 
your highnesse will dispose your selfe to 
be inclined to any such milder dealing 
with them or to temporiz any longer with 
pardons and proteccious as hath bene done 
by your gouernours here, then we hum- 
bly beseeche your Majestie to call vs your 
poore subjects alltogether away from 
hence, that at least we may die in our 
Conntrie and not see the horrable calami- 
ties which will thereby come vpon all this 
land and from hence perhapps further, as 
it may well be thought. The which I 
humbiie beseeching allmightie god to put 
in your graciouse minde as may be moste 
for his glorie and your owne kingdomes 
good we cease not daylie to pray vnto 
allmightie god to keepe and maintaine 
your longe prosperous reigne, oner vs in 
all happines. 

Finis. 
Certaine points to be considered of 
in the recouery of the Realme of 
Ireland. 

Question. — The question is whether be 
better and easier for hir Majestie to sub- 
due Ireland throughly and bring it all 
vnder or to reforme it and to repaire hir 
decayed partes. 



Of these twoe that 
must needes be 
better and also 
easier which may 
be done with less 



(charge 
pei'ill 
tyme 



Reason. — The assumption then is that 
it will be lesse charge, lesse perill and 
lesse spending of tyme to subdewe it ail- 
together then to go about to reforme it. 

Proof e of the reason. — If you seeke to 
reforme it, then you must retaine and 
saue the partes that seeme sounde and 
afterward recouer the partes that are 
vnsounde. 

To save and retaine the partes sounde 
is verie hard and allmoste vnpossible, for 
that from them the partes vnsounde will 
receive both secret and open succours. 



Secret 



Open 



by working vnderhand 
trecherously 

by milde and gentle 
intreaty 



To recouer them 
must be 



by warlike pursute 
by milde and gentle 
intreaty 



By gentle treatie ] offering peacable con- 
must be either I ^f.^^\.,, ^, , 
^jy I abiding till they seek 

^ for peace. 

To offer them is moste dishonourable 
and yet perhapps they will not accept yt 
being offered, which would be more dis- 
honour. 

To abide till they seeke yt would be 
chargable and allso perillouse, for they 
will not seeke it till they be driven to it 
by force. 

Therefore they must needs be driven to 
it by force. 



But whether with great force " 
or with smale force is 
nowe to be considered by 
comparing the 



Chargi 
Perill 
Tyme. 



The lesse force seemeth lesse charge 
but considering the long continuance that 
it will require and the perill thereby 
growinge both to Ireland and allso to 
England it selfe in suffering so great a 
rebellion [to] stand so longe on foote, it 
will in the end prooue more chargable 
and allso much more dangerous and yet 
not so effectuall. 



A BRIEFE NOTE OF IRELAND. 



849 



Resolucion. — Besides in so longe con- 
tinuance the Countrie maladie will con- 
sume all the forces. 

The resolucion therefore appereth 
That the greater force will finish all in 
one yere or 2° yeres, which the lesse will 
not do in 4 or 5. yeres. 

Less chargf ull is the grosse accompte. 

C To the forces 

r -n themselues. 

Less perillous -j.^ ^^^j^ ^^^ 

[ Realnies. 

Lesse losse of tyme by means of the 
spedie finishing of the enterprise. 

Great force must be the instrument but 
famine must be the meane, for till Ireland 
be famished it can not be subdued. 

But if the reformacion shall neuerthe- 
les be intended then these proposicions 
are therein to be considered and obserued. 

That there can be no conformitie of 
gonernment: where is no conformitie of 
religion. 

That there can be no sounde agreement 
betwene twoe equall contraries — viz. the 
English and Irish. 

That there can be no assurance of peace 
where the worst sorte are the stronger. 

This will be accomplished with 
10000. men in halfe a yere which 
els will not be performed of 3000 
in 2°. yeres and the same 10000 
wilbe thence presentlie ymployed 
to the rest of the warr. 

ffor the conveyance of the ports which 
are to be possessed stronglie as well to 
let in our owne forces continuallie as to 
keepe out others and allsoe for the great 



reliefe of townes here for the rawe soul- 
dier. 

That the same is meetest to be begune 
in Mounster and from thence to proceede 
to the rest throughe Kery and Offalye. 

That the laying of garrisons will make 
but a protractive warr vnles the Queene 
do first make hir selfe mistris of the feild, 
whereunto there is necessarie a compe- 
tent force of Horse. 

All that the garrison can doe is but to 
take prayes, but if the enemie were once 
broken he must be forced to scatter and 
then the garrisons shoulde haue good 
meanes of seruice vpon the broken partes. 

If it shall seeme that the resolucion to 
subdue Ireland wholly with stronge force 
is too blouddie and crewell the same is 
thus to be mittigated. 

That before the great force goe forthe 
generall proclamacion be made that all 
which will come in and submitt them- 
selues absolutelie within ten or twelue 
dales (the principall excepted) shall haue 
pardon of life, onelie vpon condicion that 
theire bodies, their lands and theire 
goods shalbe at the disposicion of hir 
Majestic, which if they refuse what rea- 
son but afterwards rigor should be ex- 
tended to them that will not receive 
mercie, and haue vtterlie renownced there 
obedience to hir Majestic. 

Whereas manie of the lords of the Coun- 
trie not longe before the confederating of 
this rebellion procured there freeholders 
to take there lands of them seines by 
lease manie of which are since gone into 
rebellion. That provision may be made 
for the avoyding of such fraudulent con- 
ueyances made onelie to defeat hir Majes- 
tic of the benefitt of theire attainder. 



VARIATIONS FROM THE ORIGINAL EDITIONS. 



Page 5 (Letter of the Authors), 1. 29, vi. 
All the early editions read v. 

P. 8 (Verses to the Author), col. 1, 1. 4, 
/aire (1609), /are (1590). 

P. 8 (Verses to the Author), col. 1, 1. 8, 
teedes (1609). The 4to. 1590 has reede. 

P. 12 (Verses by the Author), col. 2, 1. 18, 
soverains. The 4to. 1590 reads soverain, but 
fol. 1611 has soveraignes. 

Page 14, book i. Prol., stanza 4, line 5, my 
feeble (1596), mine feeble (1590). 

P. 16, bk. I. c. i. St. 12, 1, 5, your stroke. The 
4to. 1590 reads your hardy stroke ; but it is cor- 
rected in 'Faults escaped in the Print,' though 
the incorrect reading is retained in the 4to. 1596, 
and in the fol. 1611. 

P. 16, bk. I. c. i. St. 15, 1. 7, shapes (1590), 
shape (1596). 

P. 17, bk. I. c. i. St. 21, 1. 5, later spring. 
The editions of 1590, 1596, and 1611 read later 
ebbe gins f avale {to avale), but this lection is 
corrected in 'Faults escaped in the Print.' 

P. 18, bk. I. c. i. St. 23, 1. 9, oft (1590), ? of 
(Collier). 

P. 18, bk. I. c. i. St. 24, 1. 8, raft (1590), reft 
(1609). 

P. 18, bk. I. c. i. St. 30, 1. 9, sits (1590), fits 
(1609). 

P. 20, bk. I. c. i. St. 42, 1. 8, sights. The 4to. 
1590 reads sighes. In the ' Faults escaped in the 
Print ' we are told to read sights. 

P. 21, bk. I. c. i. St. 50, 1. 3, He thought have 
(1590), He thought V have (1611). 

P. 21, bk. I. c. i. St. 50, 1. 8, can (1590), gan 
(1679). 

P. 22, bk. I. c. ii, Arg. 1. 3. stead (1596). The 
4to. 1590 has steps. 

P. 24, bk. T. c. ii. st. 14, I. 4, et passim (Books 
I. II. III.) 0/(1596), 0/(1596). 

P. 24, bk. I. c. ii. st. 17, 1. 5, cruell spies. 
The 4tos. 1590, 1596, and fol. 1609 read cruelties, 
which is corrected in 'Faults escaped in the 
Print.' 

P. 24, bk. I. c. ii. st. 17, 1. 9, die (1609), dies 
(1590). 

P. 24, bk. I. c. ii. St. 18, 1. 1, quoth (1596), qd. 
(1590). 

P. 25, bk. I. c. ii. st. 19, 1. 9, et passim (Books 
I. II. III.) whither (1596), xohether (1590). 

P. 25, bk. I. c. ii. st. 22, 1. 5, thy (1590), yov/r 
(1596). 

P. 26, bk. I. c. ii. st. 29, 1. 2, shade him thither 
(1590), shade thither (1596), shadoxo thither 
(1609). 

P. 26, bk. I. c. ii. st. 29, 1. 3, now ymounted. 



now that mounted (1590, 1596). The reading in 
the text is found in 'Faults escaped in the 
Print.' 

P. 26, bk. I. c. ii. st. 32, 1. 9, plaints (1596), 
plants (1590). 

P. 33, bk. 1. c. iii. st. 38, 1. 7, the (1590), that 
in errata. 

P. 36, bk. T. c. iv. St. 16, 1. 3, hurtlen (1590), 
Mirlen (1609). 

P. 37, bk. 1. c. iv. St. 23, 1. 7, dry dropsie (1590), 
? dire dropsie (Upton), hydropsy (Collier). 

P. 37, bk. I. c. iv. St. 24, 1. 3, whally (1590), 
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P. 38, bk. I. G. iv. St. 27, 1. 6, pelfe (1596), pelpe 
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P. 38, bk. I. c. iv. St. 29, 1. ^, fourth {\m&)Jorth 
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P. 38, bk. I. c. iv. St. 30, 1. 4, chaw (1590), jaw 
(1609). 

P. 38, bk. I, c. iv. St. 30, 1. 6, neighbours (1596), 
neibors (1590). 

P. 38, bk. I. c. iv. St. 32, 1. ^,fifte, first (1590), 
but.;?/^e is among the errata in ' Faults escaped 
in the Print.' 

P. 39, bk. I. c. iv, St. 39, 1. 2, faery (1596), /ary 
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P. 40, bk. I. c. iv. St. 41, 1. 9, ren/cerst (1590), 
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P. 40, bk. I. c. iv. St. 43, 11. 1, 3, pledge, edge 
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P. 41, bk. i. c. v. St. 2, 1. 5, hurld. The 4to. 
1590 has hurls, but hurld is in * Faults escaped 
in the Print.' The editions 1596, 1609 retain the 
incorrect reading. 

P. 42, bk. I. c. V. St. 7, 1. 9, And hewen helmets 
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P. 43, bk. I. c. V. St. 15, 1. 2, thristy (1590), 
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P. 46, bk. I. c. V. St. 35, 1. 9, leke (1590), leake 
(1596). 

P. 46, bk. I. c. V. St. 38, 1. 6, cliffs. The editions 
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(1596). 

P. 48, bk. I. c. V. St. 52, 1. 9, ensewd (1596), 
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P. 49, bk. I. c. vi. St. 1, 1. 5, in. The 4tos. and 
folio 1609 read it, though in is among the errata. 

P. 51, bk. I. c. vi. St. 15, 1. 2, Or Bacchus (1590), 
Of Bacchus (1596) : Hughes, If Bacchus. 

P. 52, bk. I. c. vi. St. 23, 1. 8, nousled (1590), 
noursled (1596). 

P. 52, bk. I. c. vi. St. 26, 1. 5, fiers and fell 
(1596), sicift and cruell (1590). 

851 



852 



VARIATIONS FROM THE ORIGINAL EDITIONS. 



P. 53, bk. I. c. vi. St. 83, 1. 9, woodn (1596), wods 
(1590). 

P. 54, bk. I. c. vi. St. 39, 1. 7, lie (1596), she 
(1590). 

P. 55, bk. I. c. vi. St. 47, 1. 8, to fight (1590), two 
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P. 58, bk. I. c. vii. st. 22, 1. 9, sight is omitted 
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P. 59, bk. I. c. vii. st. 29, 1. 4, glitterand (1590), 
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P. 60, bk. I. c. vii. st. 82, 1. 18, whose (1609), 
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P. 60, bk. I. c. vii. st. 87, 1. 7, trample (1596), 
amhle (1590). 

P. 60, bk. I. c. vii. st. 87, 1. 8, chauft (1596), 
chaust (1590). 

P. 61, bk. I. c. vii. st. 43, 1. 5, ronne. The 4to. 
1590 has come, w^hich is amended in 'Faults es- 
caped in the Print.' 

P. 62, bk. I. c. vii. St. 47, 1. 3, hands (1596). 
The 4to. 1590 reads hand. 

P. 62, bk. I. c. vii. st. 52, I.. ,4, That. All the 
early editions read that, but ? me. 

P' 63, bk. I. c. viii. Arg. 1. 3, that gyaunt (1590, 
1596), but the gyaunt is among the errata. 

P. 63, bk. I. c. viii. st. 1, 1. 6, through (1596), 
thorough (1590). 

P. 64, bk. I. c. viii. st. 7, 1. 6, wise. The 4to. 
1590 reads wist, vv^hich is corrected in ' Faults es- 
caped in the Print.' 

P. 66, bk. I. c. viii. st. 21, 1. 5, their ? his, i. e. 
Argoglio's (Church). 

P. 66, bk. I. c. viii. st. 21, 1. 7, powre (1596), 
poure (1590). 

P. 66, bk. I. c. viii. st. 22, 1. 4, right (so in all 
old editions). Most modern editions read left. 

P. 66, bk. I. c. viii. st. 24, 1. 6, his (1596), her 
(1590). 

P. 69, bk. I. 0. viii. st. 44, 1. 4, delight, ? dislike 
(Upton), 

P. 70, bk. I. c. ix, Arg. 1. 2, Jyands (1596). The 
text of the 4to. 1590 reads hands, but hands is 
in ' Faults escaped in the Print.' 

P. 71, bk. T. c. ix. St. 9, 1. 3, the (among the 
errata in 'Faults escaped in the Print.') Ed. 
1590 reads that, a lection which Church defends. 

P. 71, bk. I. c. ix. St. 12, 1. 9, on (from 'Faults 
escaped in the Print ' ). The text has at. 

P. 72, bk. I. c. ix. St. 17, 1. 8, proices (1590), 
prowesse (1609). 

P. 74, bk. I. c. ix. St. 32, 1. 7, glee (1590), ? fee 
(Church). 

P. 74, bk. I. c. ix. St. 33, 1. 3, clif in errata, 
clift (1590). 

P. 74, bk. I. c. ix. St. 33, 1. 3, ypigJit (1596), 
yplight (1590). 

P. 74, bk. I. St. 35, 1. 4, griesie (1590), griesly 
(1611). 

P. 75. bk. I. c, ix. St. 42, 1. 7, holds. The 4to. 
1590 reads hold. 

P. 76, bk. I. c. ix. St. 46, 1. 7, falsed (1596), 
falsest (1590). 



P. 77, bk. I. c. ix. St. 52, 1. 1, saw (1596), Jieard 
(1590). 

P. 77, bk. I. c. ix. St. 52, 1. 3, relived (1590), 
relieved (1611). 

P. 77, bk. t. c. ix. St. 53, 1. 2, feeUe (1590), seely 
(1596), silly (1609). 

P. 77, bk. I. c. ix. St. 53, 1. 6, greater (1596), 
greter (1590). 

P. 80, bk. I. c. X. St. 20, 1. 5, Dry-shod, &c. 
This line is found in fol. 1609, but is omitted in 
the 4tos. 

P. 81, bk. I. c. X. St. 27, 1. 6, His Uamefull 
body in salt water sore (1590), His body in salt 
water smarting sore (1596). 

P. 82, bk. I. c. X. St. 36, 1. 4, their. The 4to. 
1590 reads there. 

P. 84, bk. I. c. X. St. 52, 1. 6, Brings. The 4to. 
1590 has Bring. 

P. 84, bk. r. c. x. st. 52, 1. 6, them (1590) ? him 
or for traveiler (1. 4) read travellers. 

P. 85, bk. I. c. X, St. 57, 1. 5, pretious, adopted 
from the errata in ' Faults escaped in the Print.' 
The text of the 4to. 1590 has piteous, which is 
retained by the fol. 1611, 

P. 85, bk, I. c. X. St. 59, 1. 2, frame. The edi- 
tions of 1590, 1596, 1609, 1611, read fame, though 
frame is among the errata in ' Faults escaped in 
the Print.' 

P. 86, bk. I. c. X. St. 62, 1. 4, As wretched, &c. 
(1590). The 4to. 1596 reads Quoth he, as wretched 
and liv^d in like paine. 

P. 86, bk. I. c. X. St. 62, 1. 8, And bitter bat- 
tailes, &c. (1590), And battailes none are to be 
fought (1596). 

P. 86, bk. I. c. X. St. 62, 1. 9, they (1590) is omit- 
ted in 1596 and 1611. 

P. 86, bk. I. c. X. St. 65, 1. 3, face (1590), place 
(1596). 

P. 87, bk. I. c. xi. st, 3. This stanza is not 
found in the%;st 4to,, but is in second 4 to. 1596. 

P. 90, bk. 1^%. xi. St. 22, 1 1, his (1590), ? the 
(Church). 

P. 90, bk. I, c. xi. St. 26, 1. 6, swinged (1590), 
singed (1609). 

P. 91, bk, I, c. xi. St. 80, 1. 5, one. The 4to8. 
read its though one is in 'Faults escaped in the 
Print.' Mr. CoUier says there is no authority for 
reading one. 

P. 92, bk, I. c. xi. St. 37, 1, 2, yelled (1609), 
yelded (1590). 

P. 92, bk. I. c. xi. St, 41, 1. 4, Nor (1609), For 
(4tos. 1590, 1596), 

P. 94, bk. I. c. xi. St. 54, 1. 7, poyse (1590) ? 
noyse. 

P. 96, bk. I. c. xii. st. 11, 1. 2, too (1596), to 
(1590). 

P. 96, bk. I. c. xii. St. 11, 1. 4, gossibs (1590), 
gossips (1596). 

P. 97, bk. I. c. xii. st. 17, 1. 4, note (1590), no'te 
(1596). 

P. 99, bk. I. c. xii. st. 82, 1. 6, loylie (1596), 
wiely (1590). 

P. 99, bk. I. c. xii. st. 34, 1. 2, vaine, adopted 
from the errata. The text of the 4to. 1590 has 
faine. Church thinks that faine —faigned or 
feigned is a good reading. 

P. 99, bk. I, c. xii, st. 34, 1. 3, improvided (1590), 
v/nprovided is found in some modern editions. 

P. 99, bk. I. c. xii. st. 36, 1. 7, bains (1690), 
banes {lb9Q). 



VARIATIONS FROM THE ORIGINAL EDITIONS. 



853 



P. 100, bk. I. c. xii. st. 39, 1. 9, sprite (1590). 
Some later editions, as 1611, read spreete. 

P. 100, bk. I. c. xii. st. 40, 1. 9, His (1590), Her 
(1596). 

P. 101, bk. II. Prol. st 2, 1. 8, Amazon. The 
fol. 1609, following the text of 4to. 1590, reads 
Amazons, but Amazon is among the errata in 
' Faults escaped in the Print.' 

P. 101, bk. II. Prol. St. 4, 1. 6, t?hOu (1596), then 
(1590). 

P. 102, bk. II. c. i. St. 3, I. 2, food {XmO),feude 
(1609). 

P. 103, bk. n. c. 1. st. 12, 1. 9, cJialenge (1596), 
cJialeng (1590). 

P. 104, bk. II. c. i. St. 16, 1. 1, liefe (1596, 1609), 
life (1590). 

■ P. 104, bk. II. c. 1. St. 20, 1. 2, qvdt (1590), quite 
(1596). 

P. 104, bk. II. c. 1. St. 20, 1. 7, Uotted (1596), 
blotting (1590). 

"P. 106, bk. II. c. i. St. 28, 1. 3, xoell he(iom,meth 
(1590, 1596), ill becommeth (1679). 

P. 106, bk. II. c. i. St. 31, 1. 4, on (1596), one 
(1590). 

P. 106, bk. II. c. i. St. 32, 1. 7, must (1596), most 
(1590). 

P. 106, bk. 11. c. i. St. 33, 1. 8, thrise is adopted 
from the errata of 4to. 1590, but these occurs in all 
old editions. 

P. 106, bk. II. c. i. St. 34. 1. 6, steedy (1590), 
steadie (1609). 

P. 107, bk. II. c. i. St. 39, 1. 4, dolour (1590), 
labour (1596). 

P. 108, bk. 11. c. i. St. 42, I. 9, stout courage 
(1590), courage stout (1609). 

P. 108, bk. II. c. i. St. 47, 1. 2, sight (1590), 
sigh't (1609). 

P. 110, bk. II. c. i. St. 58, 1. 4:,frye (1590), Ifryze 
(Church). 

P. 110, bk. II. c. i. St. 59, 1. 2, common (1596), 
commen (1590). 

P. 110, bk. II. c. i. St. 59, 1. 8, great (1596), greet 
(1590). 

P. Ill, bk. II. c. ii. St. 4, 1. 3, lieu. (1590), ? love 
(Church). 

P. Ill, bk. II. c. ii. St. 5, 1. 3. hard (1596), hart 
(1590). 

P. Ill, bk. ir. c. ii st. 7. 1. 7, pray (Collier) 
It is chace in al) the old editions. 

P. 112, bk. II. c. ii. St. 12, 1. 8, fame (1596), 
frame (1590). 

P. 113, bk. II. c. ii. St. 21, 1. 2, hond (1609), 
hand (1596). 

P. 114, bk. II. c. ii. st. 28, 1. 2, their champions. 
The 4to. 1590 reads her champions, but 4to. 1596 
has their champion. 

P. 114, bk. II. c.ii. Bt.80,1. l,fAere(1609), their 
(1590, 1596). 

P. 114, bk. II. c. ii. st. 30, 1. 3, bloodguilUnesse 
(1609), bloodguiltnesse (1590, 1596). 

P. 115, bk, II. c. ii. st 34, 1. 9, her (1590), their 
(1596). 

P. 115, bk. II. c. ii. St. 38, 1. 5, forward (1590), 
^froward (cf. 1. 7 of st. 38). 

P. 116, bk. II. c. ii. St. 42, 1. 6, to hold. All the 
old editions read to make. 

P. 116, bk. II. c. ii. st.'44, 1. 4, enrold. The 4to. 
1590 roads entrold, the fol. 1609 introld. 

P. 117, bk. II. c. iii. st. 8, 1. 7, heard (1596). 
hard (1590). 



P. 117, bk. II. c. iii. st. 4, 1. 5, A pleasing vaine 
of glory, &c. (1590), A pleasing vaine of glory 
vaine did find (1596). 

P. 117, bk. n. c. iii. st. 6, 1. 9, 'Mercy ! ' loud 
(so all old editions), ? ' Mercy, Lord 1 ' 

P. lis, bk. II. c. iii. st. 11, 1. 4, courser (1596), 
course (1590). 

P. 119, bk. II. c. iii. st. 20, 1. 5, does greatly 
them affeare (1590), their haire on end. does 
reare (1596). For greatly (in the errata) the 
text of the 4to. 1500 has unto. 

P. 120, bk. II. c. iii. st. 26, 1. 9, fringe (so all 
the 4tos.). 

P. 121, bk. II. c. iii. st. 35, 1. 4, many bold, em- 
prize (1590), tmany a bold emprize (Jortin). 

P. 123, bk. II. c. iii. st. 45, 1. 4, one foot (1609), 
onfoot (1590). 

P. 123, bk. II. c. iii. st. 46, 1. 9, erne (1590), 
yerne (1609). 

P. 123, bk. II. c. iv. Arg. 1. 3, Phaon (1590), 
Phedon (1596), 

P. 123, bk. II. c. iv. St. 4, 1. 6, loosely (1596), 
loosly (1590), 

P. 124, bk. II. c. iv. St. 12, 1. 3, hong (1590), 
hung (1009). 

P. 124, bk. II. c. iv. St. 12, 1. 8, tonge. The 
text has tongue, which is altered to tonge in the 
errata of the 4to. 1590. 

P. 124, bk. II. c. iv. St. 13, 1. 6, note (1590), 
no'te (1609). 

P. 125, bk. II. c. iv. St. 17, 1. 6, 07i6(1596), wretch 
(1590). 

P. 125, bk. II. c. iv. St. 17, 1. 8, occasion (1596), 
her guilful trech (1590), 

P. 125! bk. II. c. iv. St. 17, 1. 9, light upon (1596), 
wandring ketch (1590). 

P. 125, bk, II. c. iv. St. 18, 1. 5, chose (1590), 
chuse (1609). 

P. 125. bk. II. c. iv. St. 18, 1. 8, Or (1590), Owr 
(1609). 

P. 128, bk. II. c. iv. St. 38, 1. 4, this word xoas (so 
all the old editions) these words were (Hughes's 
second edition). 

P. 128, bk. II. c. iv. St. 40, 1. 3, should (1596), 
shold (1590). 

P. 129, bk II. c. iv. st, 45, 1. 5, that did fight 
(1590), thus to fight (1596). 

P. 129 bk, II. c. V. Arg, 1. 1, Pyrochles, &c. 
(1590), The second 4to. 1596 reads : — 

Pyrrochles does with Guyon fight. 
And Furors chayne unbinds; 

Of whom sore Inert, for his revenge 
Attin Cymochles finds. 

P. 130, bk. II. c. V. St. 5, 1. 9, doe me not much 
fayl (1590), doe not much mefaile (1596). 

P. 130. bk. II c. V. St. 8, 1. 7, /wr^e (1590), 
hurle (1596). hxirlen (1611). 

P. 130, bk. II. c. V. St. 10, 1. 7, enimyes (1596), 
enimye (1590). 

P. 131, bk. II. c. V. St. 15, 1. 9, who selfe (1590), 
whose selfe (1609). 

P. 132, bk. II. c. V. St. 19, 1. 4, shee (1609), hee 
(1590, 1596). 

P. 132, bk. II. c. V. St. 19, 1. 7, garre (1590), do 
(1596). 

P. 132, bk, II. c, V. St. 21, 1. 7, occasions (1590), 
occasion (1609). 

P. 132. bk, II. c. V. St. 22, 1. 5, slight (1590), 
apright (1609), 



854 



VARIATIONS FROM THE ORIGINAL EDITIONS. 



P. 132, bk. II. c. V. St. 23, 1. 1, that (1590), the 
(1609). 

P. 133, bk. II. c. V. St. 29, 1. 5, prickling (1590), 
pricking (1596). 

P. 133, bk. II. c. V. St. 31, I. 5, In Nemm 
gayned, &c. (1590), Gaynd in Nemea (1596). 

P. 133, bk. 11. c. V. St. 32, 1. 0, 7iierinients. AH 
old copies read meriment. 

P. 134,, bk. II. c. V. St. 34, 1. 8, So he them (1590), 
So them (1596 and 1609). 

P. 135, bk. II. c. vi. St. 1, 1. 7, ahstaine (1590), 
restraine (1596). 

P. 135, bk. 11. c. vi. St. 3, 1. 4. As merry as 
Pope Jane (1590), that nigh her breath was 
gone (1596). 

P. 135, bk. II. c. vi. St. 3, 1. 6, Thai to her 
might move (1590), That might to he/r tnove 
(1596). 

P. 136, bk. II. c. vi. St. 12, 1. 9, and throwe her 
sweete smels, &c. (1590), and her sweet smells 
throw, &c. (1596). 

P. 130, bk. II. c. vi. St. 14, 1. 9, wlules (1596), 
whils (1590). 

P. 136, bk. II. c. vi. St. 14, 1. 9, love lay (1590), 
loud lay (1596). 

P. 137, hk. II. c. vi. St. 18, 1. 7, xoave . . . griesy 
(1590), waves . . . griesly (1609). 

P. 137, bk. II. c. vi. St. 21, 1. 8, bonds (1590), 
ho^mds (1609). 

P. 138, bk. II. c. vi. St. 27, 1. 9, there (1596), 
their (1590). 

P. 138, bk. 11. c. vi. St. 29, 1. 2, importune 
(1590), importance (1596), impjortant (1609). 

P. 139, bk. II. c.vi. St. 38, 1. 5, salted (1590), 
sailed (1609). 

P. 140, bk. II. c. vi. St. 43, 1. 7, hath lent this 
cursed light (1596), hath lent but this his cursed 
light (1590). 

P. 141, bk. II. c. vi. St. 48, 1. 6, wondred (1596), 
woundred (1590). 

P. 141, bk. II. c. vi. St. 50, 1. 3, liver swell 
(1596). livers swell (1590). 

P. 141. bk. II. c. vi. St. 51, 1. hy fire too inly 
(1596), fler inly (1590). 

P. 14'2. bk. II. c. vii. st. 1, 1. 2, to a stedfast 
starve, ? to the stedfast starre,\.e. the pole-star 
(Cburch). 

P. 142, bk. II. c. vii. st. 3, 1. 9, fire-spitting 
il590\ fire-spetting (1609). 

P. 142, bk. II. c. vii. st. 4, 1. 4, Well yet ap- 
peared (1590), Well it appeared (1596). 

P. 142, bk. n. c. vii. st. 5, 1. 6, Jngoioes (1590), 
Ingoes (1596), Ingots (1679). 

P. 142, bk. II. c. vii. st. 5, 1. 9, straunge (1596), 
straung (1590). 

P. 142, bk. II. c. vii. st. 7, 1. 3, rich hils (1590). 
rich heapes (1596). 

P. 143. bk. II. c. vii. st. 10, 1. 1, ill besits (1590), 
ill befits (1609). 

P. 143, bk. II. c. vii. st. 12, 1. 9, as great (1596), 
in great (1590). 

P. 144, bk. II. c. vii. st. 19, 1. 5, blood guiltinesse 
(1609), blood guiltnesse (1590,1596). 

P. 144, bk. II. c. vii. st. 21, 1. 5, internnll 
Payne (1590), ivf email Payne (1596). Per- 
haps infernall Payne = infernal punishment 
should stand in the text. Collier suggests eternal 
as an amended reading. 

P. 145. bk. II. c. vii. st. 24, 1. 7, ought (1596), 
nought (1590). 



P. 146, bk. II. c. vii. st. 36, 1. 4, yron (1596), 

dying (1590). 

P. 146, bk. II. c. vii. St. 37, 1. 1, when an (1590), 
when as (1596). 

P. 147, bk. II. c. vii. st. 89, 1. 8, mesprise (1590), 
mespise (1596). 

P. 147, bk. II. c. vii. st. 40, 1. 7, golden (1596), 
yron (1590), 

P. 147, bk. II. c. ii. st. 40, 1. 7, But (1596), And 
(1.590). 

P. 147, bk. II. c. vii. st. 41, I. 3, sterne was his 
looke (1590), Sterne was to looke (1596). 

P. 149, bk. II. c. vii. st. 52, 1. 6, with which. 
All the old copies read which with. 

P. 150, bk. II. c. vii. st. 60, 1. 4, intemperate 
(1596), more temperate (1590). 

P. 150, bk. II. c, vii. St. 64, L 9, of his pray 
(1590), of the pray (1596). 

P. 151, bk. II. c. viii. st. 3, 1. 8, Come hither, 
hither (1609), Come hether. Come hether (1590). 

P. 153, bk. II. c. viii. st. 16, 1. 7, tomb-blacke 
(1596), tomUackb (1590). 

P. 154, bk. II. c. viii. st. 25, 1. 1, Which those 
his cruel I foes (from the errata in 'Faults es- 
caped in the Print'). The text of the 4tos. 
read : — 

Which those same foes that siand hereby, 
The folios (1609, 1611) have : — 
Which those same foes, that doen awaite hereby, 

P. 155, bk. II. c. viii. st. 29, 1. 7, upheave. All 
old editions read upreare. 

P. 155, bk. II. c. viii. st. 32, 1. 3, lodge (1596), 
lodg (1590). 

P. 155, bk. II. c. viii. st. 35, 1. 5, in his (1590), 
on /m (1609). 

P. 156, bk. II. c. viii. st. 37, 1. 3, rayle (1590), 
traile (1609). 

P. 156, bk. II, c. viii. st. 40, 1. 4, so well as he it 
ought (1590), so wisely as it ought (1609). 

P. 157, bk. II. c. viii. st. 44, 1. 8, no more (1596), 
not thore I.e. not there (1590). 

P. 157, bk. II. c. viii. st. 47, 1. 4, swerd (1590), 
sword (1596). 

P. 157, bk. II. c. viii. st. 47, 1, 9, this (1590, 
1596, 1609, 1611), he (1679). 

P. 157, bk. II. c. viii. st. 48, 1. 8, Prince Arthur 
(1609), Sir Guyon (1590). 

P. 157, bk. II. c. viii. st. 49, 1. 7, tred (1590), 
treed (?) 

P. 158, bk. II. c. viii. st. 55, 1. 3, bowing with. 
All the old editions read with bowing ; but with 
is directed to be deled among the errata in ' Faults 
escaped in the Print.' 

P. 159, bk, II. c. ix. St. 4, 1. 5, liefe (1590), life 
(1679). 

P. 159, bk. II. c. ix. St. 6, 1. 9, Arthegall (1596), 
Arthogall (1590). 

P. 159, bk. II, c. ix. St. 7, 1. 5, Seven times the 
Sunne (1590), Now hath the Sunne (1596). 

P. 159, bk. II. c. ix. St. 7, 1. 6, Hath walkte 
about (1590), Walkte round aboute (1596). 

P. 160, bk. II. c. Ix. Hi. 9, 1. 1, weete. All old 
editions read %oote. 

P. 161. bk. II. c. ix. St. 15, 1. 8, Capitaine 
(1609). Captaine (1590), 

P. 161, bk. II. c. ix, St. 18, 1. 3, woo'd (1596), 
wooed (1590). 

P. 161, bk. II. c. ix. st, 21, 1, 1, them (1596), 
him (1590). 



VARIATIONS FROM THE ORIGINAL EDITIONS. 



855 



P. 161, bk. II. c. ix. St. 21, 1. 3, fensihle (1590), 
.sensiUe (1596). 

P. 162, bk. II. c. ix. St. 28, 1. 4, meate (1590), 
meet (1679). 

P, 163, bk. II. c. ix. St. 37, 1. 8, doen you love 
0'>'t9), doen your love (1590). 

P. 163, bk. "ii. c. ix. St. 38, 1. 2, mood. All old 
editions read word. 

P. 164, bk. II. c. ix. St. 38, 1. 9, three years 
(1590), twel'vemoueths (1596). 

P. 164, bk. II. c. ix. St. 41, 1. 7, Castory (from 
errata in ' Faults escaped in the Print '). The 
texts of 1590, 1596 read lastevy. 

P. 164, bk. II. c. ix. St. 42, 1. 1, cheare (1596), 
cleare (1590). If the reader prefers cleare (the 
reading which Collier prints and defends), he 
must take it as a substantive in the sense of 
clearness, serenity. 

P. 165, bk. II. c. ix. St. 48, 1. 3, these (1596), 
this (1590). 

P. 165, bk. II. c. ix. St. 49, 1. 4, reason (so all 
copies). Mr. Collier says that in Drayton's copy 
of the fol. 1611 reason is altered to season. 

P. 165, bk. II. c. ix. St. 52, 1. 9, th' house (1609), 
the house (1590). 

P. 167, bk. II. c. x. St. 6, 1. 6, For safety that 
(1590), For safeties sake that (1596). 

P. 167, bk. "ii. c. x. St. 7, 1. 7, liveden (1590), 
lived then {ibm). 

P. 167, bk. II. c. x. St. 7, 1. 9, sternnesse (1596), 
sternesse (1590). 

P. 168, bk. II. c. X. St. 15, 1. 9, munificence 
(1596), 7nmiifience (1590). 

P, 169, bk. II. c. X. St. 19, 1. 5, upon the present 
floure (1590), in that impatient stoure (1596). 

P. 169, bk. II. c. X. St. 20, 1. 2, to sway (1590), 
o/s?oay (1596). 

P. 170, bk. II. c. X. St. 24, 1. 8, it mote (1596), 
he mote (1590). 

P. 170, bk. II. c. X. St. 30, I. 2, weeke (1590), 
wik.e (1609). 

P. 171, bk. II. c. X. St. 31, 1. 1, too (1596), to 
(1590). 

P. 171, bk. II. c. X. St. 34, 1. 7, then (1590), till 
(1596), when (1609). 

P. 172, bk. II. c. X. St. 41, 1. 1, Gurgiunt 
(1590), Gurqunt (1596). 

P. 172, bk. II. c. X. St. 43, 1. 1, Sisillus. All 
copies read Sifillus. 

P. 173, bk. II. c. X. St. 53, 1. 2, in great (1590), 
^o^th great (1609). 

P. 175, bk. rr. c. x. st. 65, 1. 9, have forst 
(1590), enforstilom). 

P. 178, bk. II. c. xi. St. 9, 1. 9, they that Bul- 
warke sorely rent (1596), they against that Bul- 
warke lent (1590). 

P. 178, bk. II. c. xi. St. 10, 1. 2, assignment 
(1590), dessignment (1596). 

P. 178, bk. II. c. xi. St. 11, 1. 4, dismay d (so 
all editions, ancient and modern) but ? mis- 
mayd, i.e. mis-made, made amiss, mis-shaped, 
ill-shaped. (Child). If this conjecture be right, 
and it is extremely plausible, the comma after 
ape should be deled. Church thought that 
dismayd = dismayed (frightened), and that 
^ Some like to houndes, some like to apes,'' 
should be read as in a parenthesis, so that dis- 
7nayd will refer to feends of hell, cf. ' ghastly 
spectacle dismayd,' 'P. Q.' bk. iii. c. iii. st. 50, 
1. 3. 



P. 178, bk. II. c. xi. St. 13, 1. 2, is (1590), was 
(1596). 

P. 178, bk. II. c. xi. St. 13, 1. 5, assayed (1590), 
assay led (1596). 

P. 179, bk. II. c. xi. St. 21, 1. 8, there . . . 
there (I60d), their . . . their (1590). 

P. 181, bk. II. c. xi. St. oO, 1. 9, survive (among 
the errata in ' Faults escaped in the Print'). The 
texts of the 4to. 1590, and folios 1609, 1611 read 
revive. 

P. 181, bk. II. c. xi. St. 32, 1. 5, U7irest (1596), 
i»fest (1590). 

P. 188, bk. II. c. xii. Arg. 1. 1, by (1596) 
through (1590). 

P. 183, bk. II. c. xii. Arg. 1. 2, passing through 
(1596), through passing (1590). 

P. 184, bk. II. c. xii. st. 8, 1. 4, Jioars (1590), 
hoarse (1596). 

P. 185, bk. II. c. xii. st. 13, 1. 9, Apolloes tem- 
ple (1590), Apolloes honor (1590). 

P. 186, bk. II. c. xii. st. 21, 1. 1, heedful (1596), 
earnest (1590). 

P. 186, bk. II. c. xii. st. 23, 1. 9, inonoceroses 
(Child), monoceros (1590). 

P. 187, bk. II. c. xii. s. 27, 1. 4, sea resounding 
(1009), sea the resounding (1590). 

P. 189, bk. II. c. xii. st. 39, 1. 8, upstaring 
(1590), upstarting (1596). 

P. 189, bk. 11. c. xii. st. 43, 1. 7, mightiest 
(1596), migtest (1590). 

P. 190, bk. II. c. xii. st. 47, 1. &, foresee (1609), 
for see (1590). 

P. 190, bk. II. c. xii. st. 51, I. 1, Thereroith 
(1590), Thereto (1596). 

P. 190, bk. IT. c. xii. st. 54, 1. 7, Ilyacine 
(1611), Hyacint (1590). 

P. 191, bk. II. c. xii, st. 60, 1. 5, curious yma- 
geree (1590), pure imageree (1609). 

P. 191, bk. II. c. xii. St. 61, 1. 8, fearefully 
(1590), tenderly (1596). 

P. 193, bk. II. c. xii. st. 76, 1. 8, That (1596), 
Thot (1590). 

P. 193, bk. II. c. xii. st. 77, 1. 5, alahlaster 
(1590, 1596, 1009, 1611), alabaster (1679). 

P. 194, bk. II. c. xii. st. 81, 1. 4, that same 
(1596), the same (1590). 

P. 194, bk. II. c. xii. st. 83, 1. 7, spoyle (1590), 
spoyld{\m&). 

P. 196. bk. III. c. i. Prol. st.l , 1. 2, Tlie fay rest 
(1590). That fayrest {159Q). 

P. 196. bk. in. c. i. Prol. st. 4, 1. 2, thy selfe 
thou, (1590), your selfe yoth (1590). 

P. 196, bk. HI. c. i. Arg. 1. 3, Malecastaes (from 
errata in 'Faults escaped in the Print'). The 
texts of 4tos. 1590, 1596, and folios 1609, 1611, 
read Materastaes. 

P. 202, bk. HI. c. i. st. 41, 1. 8, lightly (1609), 
highly (1590). 

P. 203, bk. III. c. i. St. 47, 1. 7, which (1596), 
that (1590). 

P. 203, bk. III. c. i. St. 48, 1. 2, brust (1590), 
hurst (1609). 

P. 204, bk. III. c. i. St. 56, 1, 8, Bascimano 
(1590), Bascio mani (1609). 

P. 204, bk. III. c. i. St. 60, 1. 8, wary (1609), 
weary (1.590). 

P. 204, bk. III. c. i. St. 60, 1. 9, fond (1590), 
fand (1609). 

P. 206, bk. III. c. ii. St. 3, 1. 6, too (1596), :• 
(1590). 



856 



VARIATIONS FROM THE ORIGINAL EDITIONS. 



P. 206, bk. HI. c. ii. st. 4, 1. 1, She traveiling 
loith Quyon by the way (so all old editions). 
Upton proposed to read the Redcrosae Knight 
instead of Ouyon. Todd suggested Redcrosne, 
and Drayton, according to (Jollier, proposed S. 
George. 

P. 207, bk. III. c. ii. st. 8, 1. 5, Which to prove 
(1590), Which I to prove (1596). 

P. 207, bk. Ill, c. ii. st. 15, 1. 4, allegge (1590), 
alledge (1679). 

P. 208, bk. III. c. ii. st. 16, 1. 9, part (1590), 
point (1609). Mr. Collier says that Todd was a 
careless collator, yet Todd is right in saying that 
the folios read point, and Mr. Collier is wrong in 
asserting that they read part. 

P. 210, bk. III. c. ii. st. 30, 1. 5, her in her 
warme bed (1590), in her warme bed her dight 
(1596). 

P. 211, bk. III. c. ii. St. 44, 1. 1, minde (1590), 
mine (1609). 

P. 212, bk. in. c. ii. st. 50, 1. 2, breaded (1590), 
braided (1609). 

P. 213, bk. III. c. iii. st. 1, 1. 1, Most (1590), Oh ! 
(1609). 

P. 213, bk. III. c. iii. st. 3, 1. 1, dredd (1590), 
drad (1609). 

P. 213, bk. III. c. iii. st. 4, 1. 8, protense (1590), 
pretence (1596). 

P. 216, bk. III. c. iii. st. 23, 1. 5, shall (1590), 
all (1679). 

P. 216, bk. III. c. iii. st. 29, I. 1, with (1590), 
where (1596). 

P. 217, bk. III. c. iii. st. 35, 1. 1, thy (1590), the 
(1596). 

P. 218, bk. HI. c. iii. st. 37, 1. 7, their (1590), 
the (1596). 

P. 218, bk. III. c. iii. st. 44, 1. 5, yeares (in 
1590) is omitted by the 4to. 1596 and fol. 1609, 
and full is inserted to render the line complete. 

P. 218, bk. III. c. iii. st. 44, 1. 6, Ere they to 
former rule, &c. (1596), Ere they unto their 
former rule (1590). 

P. 219, bk. III. c. iii. st. 50, 1. 9, Hee (from the 
errata in * Faults escaped in the Print '). The 
text of 4to. 1590 reads she, and omits as earst, 
which are supplied from the fol. 1609. 

P. 220, bk. III. c. iii. st. 53, 1. 3, {need makes 
good schoUers) teach (1590), whom need new 
strength shall teach (1596). 

P. 222, bk. III. c. iv. st. 5, 1. 8, she (1596), he 
(1590). 

P. 222, bk. III. c. iv. st. 8. 1. 9, thy (1590), these 
(1596). 

P. 223, bk. III. c. iv. st. 15, 1. 6, speare (1609) 
spear es (1590). 

P. 225, bk. III. c. iv. st. 27, 1. 6, fleshly (1596), 
fleshy (1590). 

P. 225, bk. III. c. iv. st. 30, 1. 6, swowne (1596), 
swownd (1590). 

P. 225, bk. III. c. iv. st. 33, 1. 4, raynes (1590), 
traynes (1596). 

P. 226, bk. HI. c. iv. st. 39, 1. 9, sith we no more 
shall meet (1596), till we againe may meet 
(1590). 

P. 226, bk. III. c. iv. st. 40, 1. 6, gelly-blood 
(1590), jelly'd blood (1611). 

P. 22Y, bk. III. c. iv. St. 43, 1. 4, vauted (1590), 
vaulted (1609). 

P. 227, bk. in. c. iv. Bt. 46, 1. 2, great (1596), 
gret (1590). 



P. 227, bk. III. c. iv. st. 48, 1. 1, off (1590), of 
(1596). 

P. 228, bk. III. c. iv. St. 49, 1. %,forhent (1590), 
forehent (1609). 

P. 229, bk. III. c. iv. st. 59, 1. 5, Bayes dearest 
children be (1596), The children of day be 
(1590). 

P. 230, bk. III. c. V. St. 3, 1. 2, till that at last 
(1590), till at the last (1609). 

P. 232, bk. III. c. V. St. 19, 1, 5, no (1596), now 
(1590). 

P. 232, bk. III. c. V. St. 21, 1. 9, blood. The 
4to. 1590 reads flood (1596), bloud. 

P. 233, bk. III. c. V. St. 80, 1. 7, better (1596), 
bitter (1590). 

P. 284, bk. III. c. V. St. 37, 1. 8, did (1590), 
^Jiad (Collier). 

P. 234, bk. III. c. V. St. 39, 1. 9, his (1596), iJieir 
(1590). 

P. 234, bk. III. c. V. St. 40, 1. 4, loves sweet ieene 
(1596), sweet loves teene (1590). 

P. 235, bk. 111. c. V. St. 40, 1. 9, liking (1590), 
living (1596). 

P. 235, bk. III. c. V. St. 44, 1. 5, bountie, 
'ibeautie (Collier). 

P. 236, bk. 111. c. iv. st. 50, 1. 8, to all th' 
(1590), to is omitted in fol. 1609. 

P. 236, bk. 111. c. v. St. 51, 1. 9, let to (1590), let 
it (1611). Collier is wrong in contradicting Todd's 
assertion that the fol. 1611 reads let it. 

P. 236, bk. III. c. V, St. 53, 1. 9, weare (1609), 
were (1590). 

P. 237, bk. III. c. vi. st. 8, 1. 9, were (1590), 
was (1596). 

P. 237, bk. III. c. vi. st. 5, 1. 3, bare (1596), 
bore (1590). 

P. 237, bk. III. c. vi. st. 6, 1. 5, Ms beames. 
The fol. of 1609 has his hot beames. 

P. 238, bk. 111. c. vi. st. 12, 1. 2, aspect. The 
4to. 1590 reads aspects. 

P. 238, bk. III. c. vi. st. 12, 1. 4, beaniie (1590), 
beauties (1596). 

P. 239, bk. III. c. vi. st. 20, 1. 5, channge . . . 
siraunge. The 4to. 1590 reads chaung . . . 
siraung ; the 4to. 1596 has cliange, strange. 

P. 240, bk. 111. c. vi. St. 25, 1. 5, Which as 
(lfi09), From which {4tos. 1590, 1596). Church 
proposed to read Of which afoiintaine, &c. 

P. 240, bk. III. c. vi. st. 26, 1 . 4, bothfarre and 
neare (1596), omitted in the 4to. 1590. 

P. 240, bk. III. c. vi. St. 28, 1. 6, thence (1590), 
hence (1596). 

P. 240, bk. III. c. vi. st. 29, 1. 6, Gnidus{159Q), 
Qnidas (1590). 

P. 241, bk. III. c. vi. St. 89, 1. 1, and to all 
(1590), to is omitted in fol. 1611. 

P. 242, bk. III. c. vi. st. 40, i. 6, saw. All the 
old copies read spyde. 

P. 242, bk. III. c. vi. st. 42, 1. 5, heavy (1596), 
heavenly (1590). 

P. 242, bk. III. c. vi. st. 45, 1. 4, And dearest 
love (in 1609), omitted in the 4tos. 

P. 242, bk. 111. c. vi. st. 45, 1. 5, Narcisse 
(1596), Marcisse (1590). 

P. 243, bk. III. c. vi. st. 48, 1. 9, losen (1590), 
loosen (1609). 

P. 243, bk. III. c. vi. St. 52, 1. 9, launched (1596), 
launch (1590), launced (1609). 

P. 244, bk. 111. c. \ii. Arg. 1. 4, Gyaunts. It 
is Gynant in 1590, and Gyants in 1596. 



VARIATIONS FROM THE ORIGINAL EDITIONS. 



857 



P. 244, bk. III. c. vii. st. 1, 1. 8, s/ie did (1596), 
he did (1590). 

P. 244, bk. III. c. vii. St. 5, 1. 1, the tops (1590), 
th' tops (1609). 

P. 245, bk. III. c. vii. st. 9, 1. 3, to (1596), two 
(1590). 

P. 245, bk. in. c. vii. st. 13, 1. 6, hath (1590), 
had (1609^ 

P. 246, bk. III. c. vii. st. IS, 1. 5, Might by the 
icitch or by her sonne compaat (1590). The 
verb be must be understood before compast. 
Might be the witch or that her nonne (1596). 

P. 246, bk. III. c. vii. st. 19, 1. 6, her (1590), 
that (1609). 

P. 247, bk. in. c. vii. st. 23, 1. 4, he (1596), she 
(1590). 

P. 243, bk. III. c. vii. st. 32, 1. 7, fnuchell(\b'i&), 
much j7/ (1611). Collier is wrong in contradict- 
ing Todd's assertion respecting the lection of the 
fol. 1611. 

. P. 249, bk. III. c. vii. st. 43, 1. 8, nere. The 
4to. 1590 has were; the 4to. 1596 reads neare. 

P. 249, bk. III. c. vii. st. 45, 1. 5, from hitn 
{\bm, him' from (1609). 

P. 250, bk. III. c. vii. st. 46, 1. 8, the (1590), thai 
(1596). 

P. 250, bk. III. c. vii. st. 48, 1. 4, And many 
hath to &c. (1596), Till him Chylde Thopas to 
&c. (1590). 

P. 252, bk. HI. c. viii. st. 2, 1. 7, golden (1590), 
broken (1596). 

P. 252, bk. III. 0. viii. st. 5, 1. 1, advice : — device 
(1590), advise (1596). 

P. 25:3, bk. iii. c. viii. st. 6, I. 7, wex (1590), 
wax (1609). 

P. 253, bk. III. c. -viii. st. 7, 1. 4, to womens 
(1590), a icomans (1596). 

P. 253, bk. III. c. viii. st. 9, 1. 9, whom (1609), 
who (4tos.) 

P. 254, bk. III. c. viii. st. 17, I. 3, brought, 
through. The 4to. 1590 has broght, throgh. 

P. 255, bk. III. c. viii. st. 25, 1. 6, hond. It is 
hand in all old editions. 

P. 256, bk. in. c. viii. st. 30, 1. 3, frory (1609), 
frowy (1590), but see p. 256, st. 35, 1. 2. 

P. 256, bk. III. c. viii. st. 32, 1. 7, Had . . . 
assoyJd (so all the old editions). Church pro- 
posed to read Did . . . assoyle. 

P. 256, bk. III. c. viii. st. 33, 1. 9, her by (1590), 
thereby (1596). 

P. 257, bk. III. c. viii. st. 37, 1. 9, hight (1596), 
high (1590). 

P. 258, bk. III. c. viii. st. 47, 1. 5, surely. Upton 
suggested sorely. 

P. 2.58. bk. III. c. vUi. st. 49, 1. 2, T'have (1596), 
To have (1590). 

P. 2.59, bk. HI. c. ix. st. 2, 1. 4, attoiie (1596), 
attonce (1590). 

P. 259, bk. III. c. ix. st. 7, 1. 3, misdonne (1596), 
disdonne (1590). 

P. 261, bk. HI. c. ix. St. 20, 1. 9, peraant (1590), 
persent (1609), present (1611). 

P. 261, bk. III. c. ix. St. 22, 1. 1, Bellona (1590), 
Minerva (1596). 

P. 261, bk. III. c. ix. St. 22, 1. 5, her speare 
(1590), the speare (1596). 

P. 262. bk. III. c. ix. st. 27, 1. 5, that glaunces 
(1609). icith glaunces (1590). 

P. 262, bk. III. c. be. st. 27, 1. 7, demeasnure 
(1590), demeanure (1609). 



P. 263, bk. III. c. ix. st. 32, 1. 8, glad (1596), 
yglad (1590). 

P. 26:3, bk. ni. c. ix. st. 37, 1. 7, glories (1590, 
1596, 1609), glorious {\%n, 1679). 

P. 261, bk. III. c. ix. St. 43, 1. 9, remoud (1590), 
remou'd (1609), removed (1679). 

P. 2W, bk. III. c. ix. St. 45, 1. 3, neck (1596), 
necks (1590). 

P. 265, bk. III. c. ix. st. 47, 1. 3, heard (1596), 
hard (1590). 

P. 265, bk III. c. ix. st. 49, 1. 4, Which, after 
rest (1596), And after rest (1609). 

P. 266, bk. III. c. X. St. 2, 1. 2, grievously (1596), 
grivously (1590). 

P. 267, bk. III. c. X. St. 8, 1. 9, to (1596), with 
(1590). 

P. 268, bk. III. c. X. St. 18, 1. 4, Then (1596), So 
(1590). 

P. 268, bk. III. c. X. St. 21, 1. 9, earned (1590), 
yearned (1609). 

P. 270, bk. III. c. X. St. 31, 1. 3, and zcith thy 
(1596), that with thy (1590). 

P. 270, bk. III. c. X. St. 31, 1. 7, vertues pay 
(1609), vertuoics pray (1590). 

P. 270, bk. III. c. X. St. 33, 1. 7, over-ronne. It 
is overonne in 1590. 

P. 271, bk. III. c. X. st. 40, 1. 1, addresse. All 
old copies have addrest. 

P. 271, bk. HI. c. x. st. 40, 1. 3, wastefull (1596), 
faithful I (1590). 

P. 271, bk. III. c. X. St. 41, 1. 7, wide forest, 
(1590), icild forest (1609). 

P. 272, bk. III. c. X. St. 47, 1. 1, the (1609), his 
(1590). 

P. 274, bk. HI. c. xi. st. 2, 1. 3, golden (1609), 
golding (1590). 

P. 274, bk. HI. c. xi. st. 4, 1. 4, all that I ever, 
&c. (1590), thai I did ever, &c. (1596). 

P. 274, bk. III. c. xi. st. 6, 1. 6, ;io.«(1590), was 
(1611). Collier is wrong in contradicting Todd's 
assertion respecting the reading of the fol. 1611. 

P. 274, bk. III. c. xi. st. 7, 1. 6, of (1590), of 
(1596). 

P. 275, bk. HI. c. xi. st. 12, 1. 1, singulis (1609), 
singulfes (1590). 

P. 2':6, bk. HI. c. xi. St. 19, death (1590), ? life 
(Jortin). 

P. 2T6, bk. HI. c. xi. st. 22, 1. 8, theichich (1596). 
In 4to. 1590 the is omitted. 

P. 277, bk. HI. c. xi. st. 23, 1. 2, Inglorious, 
beastlike. The 4to. 1590 reads Inglorious and 
beastlike. In fol. 1011 and is omitted. Collier 
is wrong in saving that no old edition omits and. 

P. 277, bk. III. c. xi. st. 27, 1. 7, entred (1596), 
decked (1590). 

P. 277, bk. HI. c. xi. st. 28, 1. 8, Like a (1596), 
Like to a (1590). 

P. 278, bk. HI. c. xi. st. 83, 1. 9, her (1590), his 
(1609). 

P. 278, bk. III. c. xi. st. 36, 1. 7, thee (1596), the 
(1590). 

P. 279, bk. Hi.c. xi. st. 88, 1. 5, fire (1590), yfer 
(1596). 

P. 279, bk. HI. c. xi. st. 89, 1. 6, each other (1596), 
his other (1590). 

P. 279, bk. HI. c. xi. st. 39, 1. 8, stag (suggested 
by Jortin). All old copies read Aog'. 
"p. 280, bk. HI. c. -xi. st. 47, 1. 9, hevens hight 
(suggested by Church). All old editions read 
heven bright. 



858 



VARIATIONS FROM THE ORIGINAL EDITIONS. 



P. 282. bk. III. c. xii. st. 7, 1. 8, wood (1596), 
word (1590). 

P. 282, bk. HI. c. xil. st. 9, 1. 3, other (1609), 
others (1596). 

P. 283, bk. III. c. xii. st. 12, 1. 3, too or f roe 
(1590), to and fro (1596). 

P. 283, bk. lii. c. xii. st. 12, 1. 6, winged (1590), 
wliiyy (1596). 

P. 'A^'d, bk. III. c. xii. St. 17, 1. 6, did, iosse (so 
all copies). Church would omit did, and for 
tosse read tost : In her right hand a fierhrand 
she tost. 

P. 283, bk. III. c. xii. st. 18, 1. 5, drad (1596), 
dread (1590). 

P. 283, bk. III. c. xii. st. IS, 1. 8, hony -laden. 
All old editions read hony-ludy. 

P. 284, bk. III. c. xii. st. 21, 1. 1, fading. Church 
thinks that Spenser meant to write failing. 

P. 284, bk. III. c. xii. st. 21, 1. 8, still (1596), 
skill (15911). 

P. 284, bk. III. c. xii. st. 23, 1. 5, hand is omit- 
ted in 4tos., but is among the errata in 'Faults 
escaped in the Print.' 

P. 284, bk. III. c. xii. st. 26, 1. 7, hy the (1590), 
with that (159C). 

P. 2S5, bk. III. c. xii. st. 21, 1. 3, and Jjore all 
away (1590), nothing did remayne (1590). 

P. 285, bk. IH. c. xii. st. 27, 1. 8, It (1590), In 
(1611). Collier is wrong respecting the reading 
of the folios. 

P. 285, bk. III. c. xii. st. 28, 1. 1, there (1609). 
The 4tos. read their. 

P. 235, bk. III. c. xii, st. 29, 1. 1, wandering 
(1590), wondering (1611). 

P. 285, bk. Ill, c. xii. st. 33, 1. 3, to herselfe 
(159G), to the next (1590). 

P. 286, bk. III. c. xii. st. 34, 1. 4, imto her (1609), 
unL^ him (1590). 

P. 236, bk. III. c. xii. st. 38, 1. 5, hor\l (1596), 
sor^d, i.e. made sore, hurt (1590). 

P. 286, bk. III. c. xii. st. 40, 1. 6, faire Lady 
(1596), faire Lad (1590). 

P' 287, bk. III. c. xii. st. 45, 1. 9, Whitest here 
I doe respire. 

When Spenser printed his first three books of 
the ' Fairie Queeno' the two lovers, Sir Scuda- 
more and Amoret, have a happy meeting: but 
afterwards, when he printed the fourth, fifth, and 
sixth books, he reprinted likewise the first three 
books; and, among other alterations, he left out 
the five last stanzas and made three new stanzas, 
viz. 43, 44, 45. More easie issew noio, &c. B}- 
these alterations this third book not only con- 
nects better with the fourth, but the reader is 
ke])t in that suspense which is necessary in a 
well-told story. The stanzas which are men- 
tioned above as omitted in the second edition, 
and printed in the first, are the following — 

43. 
" At last she came unto the place, where late 

" She left Sir Scudamour in great distresse, 

" Twi.xt dolour and despight halfe desperate, 

" Of his loues succour, of his owne redresse, 

" And of the bardie Rritomarts successe : 

" There on the cold earth him now thrown she 
" found, 

" In wilfull anguish and dead heavinesse, 

" And to him cald ; whose voices knowen sound 
*' Soon as he heard, himself he reared light from 
" ground. 



nigh 



" There did he see, that most on earth him joyd, 
" His dearest loue, the comfort of his dayes, 
" Whose too long absence him had sore anuoyd, 
" And wearied his life with dull dela\-es. 
" Straight he upstarted from the loathed layes, 
" And to her ran with hasty egernesso, 
" Like as a Dcare, that greedily embayes 
" In the cool soile, after long thirstinesse, 
" Which he in chace endured hath, now 
" breathlesse. 

45. 
" Lightly he dipt her twixt his armes twaine, 
" And streightly did embrace her body bright, 
" Her body, late the prison of sad paine, 
" Now the sweet lodge of loue and deare 

"delight: 
" But she. faire Lady, overcommen quight 
" Of huge aftection, did in pleasure inelt, 
'• And in sweete ravishment pourd out her 

" spright. 
" No word thev spake, nor earthly thing they 
" felt, 
" But like two senceles stocks in long embrace- 
" ment dwelt. 

46. 

" Had ye them scene, ye would have surely 

" thought 

" That they had beene that faire Hermaphrodite, 

" Which that rich Komane of white marble 

'• wrought, 
" And in his costly Bath causd to bee site. 
'•So seemd those two, as growne together 

" quite, 

" That Britomart, halfe envying their blesse, 

" Was much empassiond in'her gentle sprite, 

" And to her selfe oft wisht like happinesse : 

" In vain she wisht, that fate n'ould let her yet 

" possesse. 

47. 
" Thus doe those louers, with sweet counter- 
vayle, 
" Each other of loues bitter fruit despoile. 
" But now my teaie begins to faint and fayle, 
" All woxen weary of their journall toyle : 
" Therefore I will their sweatie yokes assoyle 
" At this same furrowes end, till a new day ; 
" And ye, faire Swayns, after your long tur- 

moyle, 
" Now cease your worke, and at your pleasure 
" play : 
" Now cease your work ; to morrow is an holy 
" day." 

P. 288. bk. IV. c. i. 1. 4, Triamond. All the 
early editions have Telamond. 

P. 291, bk. IV. c. i. St. 16, 1. 4, griefull (1596), 
griefe-fuU (1609). 

P. 291, bk. IV. c. i. St. 16, 1. 7, no7ie (1596), one 
(1609). 

P. 296, bk. IV. c. ii. st. 2, 1. 5, cooicented (1596), 
consented (1679). 

P. 299, bk. IV. c. ii. st. 19, 1. 1, Resitting (1596), 
befitting (1679). 

P. 299, bk. IV. c. ii. st. 22, 1. 7, amsing. The 
4tos. have advising, the fohos avising. 

P. 303, bk. IV. c. ii. st. 52, 1. 9, so be (1596), Id 
so (?). 

P. 305, bk. IV. c. iii. st. 7, 1. 4, skill (1609), sill, 
(1596). 



VARIATIONS FROM THE ORIGINAL EDITIONS. 



859 



P. 305, bk. IV. c. iii. st. 8, 1. 8, avengement 
(1009), advengement (1596). 

P. 305, bk. IV. c. ui. st. 9, 1. 6, n'ote (1609), not 
(1590). 

P. 305, bk. IV. c. iii. st. 13, 1. 8, other brethren 
(so all copies). It should be second brother 
(Church). 

P. 306, bk. IV. c. iii. st. 20, 1. 1, adventure (so 
all copies). It has been proposed to read advan- 
tage ; but adt'enture = opportunity. 

P. 308, bk. IV. c. iii. st. 36, 1. 3, wards (so all 
copies). Church proposed to read f-ico/'ds. 

P. 311, bk. IV, c. iii. st. 52, 1. 9, elswhere (1609), 
elstcere (1596). 

P. 311, bk. IV, c, iv. St. 1, 1. 4, minds (1596), 
lives (1609). 

P, 311, bk. IV. c. iv, St. 2, 1, 3, als (1609), els 
(1596). 

P. 311, bk. IV. c. iv. St. 2, 1. 4, Blandamour 
(1679), Scudamour (1590). 

P, 312, bk. IV, c, iv, st, 8, 1. 2, Ferrazt (1609), 
Ferrat (1596). 

P. 312, bk, IV. c. iv. st. 10, 1. 5, worse (1609), 
worst (1596), 

P. 313, bk, IV, c, iv. st, 17, 1. 4, maiden-headed 
(1596), ? satyr-headed (Church). 

P. 314, bk. IV. c, iv. st, 24, 1, 9, sicound. The 
4to. has sound. 

P, 314, bk. rv. c. iv. st, 24, 1, 1, beam-like 
(1609), hravelike (1596). 

P. 315, bk. IV. c. iv. st, 29, 1. 6, cuffijig (1611), 
cufjling (1596). 

P. 318, bk. IV. c. V. St. 4, 1. 4, Lemno (1596), 
Lemnos (1611). 

P. 318, bk. IV. c, V. St. 5, 1. 5, Acidalian{lb^&), 
Aridalian (1609). 

P. 318, bk. IV. c. V. st, 6, 1. 8, Martian (1596), 
? martial. 

P. 320, bk, IV. c. V. St. 16, 1. 1, that (1596), the 
(1609). 

P. 320, bk. IV. c. V. St. 21, 1. 8, one (so all old 
copies). Hughes reads vvm. 

P. 321, bk. IV, c. V, St. 23, 1, 7, sens (1596), 
sivce (1609), 

P, 321, bk. IV. c. V. St. 25, 1. 5, one (1609), once 
(1596). 

P, 322, bk. IV. c. V. st. 31, 1. 3, his (1609), her 
(1596). 

P. 322, bk. IV. c. V. st. 35, 1, 4, unpared (1596), 
prepared (1611). 

P. 322, bk, IV. c. V. st, 37, 1. 2, Pyracmon 
(1609). Ed, 1596 reads Pynacmon. 

P. 323, bk. IV. c. V. st. 40, 1, 7, toheresoever 
(1596), wheresoere (1611). 

P. 327, bk. IV. c. vi. st. 24, 1. 8, feare (1609), 
his feare (1596). 

P'. 327, bk. IV, c. vi. st, 28, 1. 6, Him (pro- 
posed by Upton and Church), Her (1696), He 
(1609), 

P, 328, bk. IV, c. vi, st. 33, 1. 6, ranging (1596), 
raging (1611), 

P. 330, bk. IV. c. vi. st. 44, 1. 4, in (1596). 
Some modern editors, following fol. 1609, alter to 
on. 

P, 380, bk, IV. c. vi. st, 46, 1, 5, tohom (1609), 
who (1596), 

P. 330, bk. IV. c. vii. st. 1, 1. 1, darts (1609), 
dart (1596). 

P. 332, bk. IV. c. vii, st, 10, 1, 9, over-sight 
(1596), ore-sight (1609), 



P, 332, bk. IV. c. vii. st. 12, 1. 1, caytive (1596). 
Some editors have proposed to read captive. 

P. 333, bk. IV. c. vii. st. 22, 1. 1, J^or hedge 
(1596). Mr. J, P. Collier proposes to read For 
hedge. 

P. 333, bk. IV, c. vii. st. 23, 1. 3, to (1596) is 
omitted in 1679. 

P. 333, bk. IV. c. vii. st. 25, 1. 1, wJiich (1609), 
icith (1596), 

P, 335, bk, IV. 0, vii. st. 84, 1. 1, sad (1609), 
said (1596). 

P, 337, bk. IV. c. viii, st. 1, 1. 9, injlxed (1596), 
infected (1611). 

P, 338, bk. IV. c. viii, st. 9, 1. 9, pertake (1596), 
partake (1009). 

P. 338, bk. IV. c. viii. st. 12, 1. 3, her (suggested 
by Church), him (1596). 

P. 345, bk. IV, c. viii. st. 64, 1, 1, this (1590), 
his (1609), 

P. 345, bk. IV. c, ix. Arg. 1, 2, ^mylia (sug- 
gested by Church), Poeana (1596). 

P. 345, bk. IV. c. Lx. st. 1, 1. 8, vertuous (1609), 
tertues (1596). 

P. 346, bk. IV, c. ix. st. 3, I. 3, these (1590), this 
(1609). 

P. 347, bk. IV, c. ix. st. 11, 1. 9, them (suggested 
by Church), him (1596). 

P. 347, bk. IV. c. ix. st. 12, 1, 2, he (1596), 
? they or was (Church), 

P. 347, bk. IV. c. ix. st. 14, I, 8, dyde — dyed, 
complexioned. Church suggested eyde. 

P. 347, bk. IV, c. ix. st. l7, 1. 5, quest. It is 
guest in 1596 and in all old copies. 

P. 347, bk. IV. c. ix, st, 17, 1. 7, bequest (1596), 
request (1611). 

P. 348, bk. IV. c. ix. st. 23, 1. 8, wide. Mr. J. 
P. Collier says that in Drayton's copy of the fol. 
of 1611 wilde is suggested as an emendation for 
wide. 

P. 349, bk, IV, c. ix, st. 26, 1, 1, Then gan (pro- 
posed by Church). In 1596 it is their gan, in 
1611 tJiere gan. 

P. 349, bk. IV. c. ix. st. 30, 1, 8, repayed (1609), 
repayred (1596). 

P, 350, bk. IV. c. ix. st. 87, 1. 2, Knight (1596), 
? Knights (Upton). 

P. 352, bk. IV. c. X. st. 7, 1. 9, ancient (1609), 
ancients (1596). 

P. 352, bk. IV. c. X. st. 9, 1. 1, earne (1596), 
yearne (1611). 

P. 353, bk, IV, 0. X. st. 17, 1. 5, adward (1596), 
atoard (1609). 

P. 353, bk. IV. c. X, st. 19, 1, 1, meanest (1609), 
nearest (1596). 

P, 354, bk, IV. c, X. St. 23, 1. 2, ghesse (1596), 
6ee(1609), 

P. 354, bk. IV. c. X. st, 23, 1. 8, to bee (1596), to 
ghesse (1609), / ghesse (1611), 

P. 354, bk. IV. c. X. St. 26, 1. 9, aspire (1596), 
inspire (1611). 

P. 854, bk. IV. c. X. st, 27, 1. 1, Hyllus (1596), 
Hylus (1609). 

P. 356, bk. IV. c. X. st. 85, 1. 6, hell (so all 
copies). Some editors have suggested mell = 
confound; but heU=0. E. hill ov hele= cover, 
which agrees with its nominative waters. And 
fire devoure the uyre is a parenthetical clause. 

P. 35S, bk. IV. c. X, St. 51, 1. 9, girlonds (so all 
editions), ? gardians (Church), ? guerdons (J. 
P. Collier). 



86o 



VARIATIONS FROM THE ORIGINAL EDITIONS. 



P. 358, bk. IV. c. X. st. 55, 1. 8, warie (1596), 
i tvearie (Church and Upton). 

P. 358, bk. IV. c. X. st. 56, 1. 4, at (1596), on 
(1609). 

P. 359, bk. IV. c. xi. st. 4, 1. 2, dredd (1596), 
drad (1609). 

P. 359, bk. IV. c. xi. st. 4, 1. 6, seven (1596), 
three (1609). 

P. 361, bk. IV. c. xi. st. 17, 1, 6, age. All old 
copies read times. 

P. 361, bk. IV. c. xi. St. 19, 1. 4, /ortold (1596), 
foretold (1611). 

P. 363, bk. IV. c. xi. st. 34, 1. 5, Grant (Child). 
The ed. of 1596 reads Guant. 

P. 365, bk. IV. c. xi. st. 45, 1. 1, lovely (1596), 
loving (1609). 

P. 365, bk. IV. c. xi. st. 48, 1. 8, Endore (1596), 
read Eudore (Child). 

P. 366, bk. IV. c. xi. st. 52, 1. 7, hut (so all 
copies). Some editors have proposed to read both. 

P. 368, bk. IV. c. xii., st. 13, 11. 1, 2, Thus whilst, 
«fec. (1596). 

Thus whilst his stony heart was touchi with, 

«fec. 
Andmighty courage something mollifide (1609). 

P. 369, bk. IV. c. xii. st. 23, 1. 9, Thai it roas 
no old sore (1596), That no old sore it was 
(1611). 

P. 371, bk. V. Prol. st. 2, 1. 2, at (1596), as (1611). 

P. 371, bk. V. Prol. st. 2, 1. 9, degendered 
(1596), degenered (1611). 

P. 372, bk. V. Prol. st. 7, 1. 8, thirtie (1596), 
? thirteen. 

P. 372, bk. V. Prol. st. 9, 1. 4, ne (1596), no 
(1611). 

P. 372, bk. V. Prol. st. 11, 1. 2, stead (1609), 
place (1596). 

P. 373, bk. V. c. i. st. 4, 1. 1, Irena (1609), 
Eirena (1596). 

P. 376, bk. V. c. ii. Arg. 1. 3, Munera, &c. The 
4to. has Momera. The correct reading was 
adopted by Hughes. 

P. 377, bk. V. c. ii. st. 2, 1. 7, As to his (1609), 
And to his (1596). 

P. 377, bk. V. c. ii. st. 4, 1. 1, he (1609), she 
(1596). 

P. 378 bk. V. c. ii. st. 11, 1. 4, When as. All 
editions read Who as. Church proposed to read 
Tho as = then as. 

P. 380, bk. V. c. u. st, 32, 1. 4, earth (1609), 
eare (1596). 

P. 381, bk. V. c. ii. st. 38, 1. 1, these (1596), 
those (1609). 

P. 382, bk. V. c. ii. st. 44, 1. 4, way (1596), 
weigh (1609). 

P. 382, bk. V. c. ii. st. 45, 1. 8, weight (so all 
editions), ? scale (Church). 

P. 382, bk. V. c. ii. st. 46, 1. 9, way (1596), lay 
(1609). 

P. 386, bk. V. c. iii. st. 20, 1. 2, advewed (so all 
editions). Upton suggested had viewed. 

P. 389, bk. V. c. iii. st. 40, 1. 6, we here (1609), 
were here (1596). 

P. 389, bk. V. c. iv. st. 1, 1. 3, Had neede have 
(1596), Bad need o/(16il). 

P. 390. bk. V. c. iv. st. 8, 1. 8, doure (1596), 
dowre (1609). 

P. 392. bk. V. c. iv. st, 22, 1. 2, pinnoed (1596), 
pinniond (1611). 



P. 394, bk. V. c. iv. st. 36, 1. 1, watchman 
(1609), watchmen (1596). 

P. 394, bk. V. c. iv. st. 36, 1. 8, halfe like a 
man (1596), arm'd like a man (1609). 

P. 394, bk. V. c. iv. st. 37, 1. 3, so few (so all 
copies). Church proposed to alter neare in 1. 1 
to new, so as to rh3^me with few. Mr. J. P. 
Collier proposes to read to feare instead of so 
few, thus making a suitable rhyme for neare. 

P. 394, bk. V. c. iv. st. 37, 1. 6, there (1596), 
their (1611). 

P. 394, bk. V. c. iv. st. 39, 1. 3, doaU . . , 
divide (1609), doile . . . davide (1596). 

P. 404, bk. V. c. vi. st. 5, 11. 6, 7, For hourea, 
&c. (so all editions) ; but we ought to read, says 
Church, 

For dayes, huthoures ;for moneths that passed 

were. 
She told but weekes, &c. 

P. 405, bk. V. c. vi. st. 13, 1. 9, singulis (1609), 
singulfs (1596). 

P. 406, bk. V. c. vi. st. 16, 1. 7, things com- 
pacte. Mr. J. P. Colher, following Church, reads 
thing compacie = a concerted thing. But the 
clause may stand if we look upon things as in the 
genitive case. 

P. 406, bk. V. c. vi, St. 17, 1. 5, Heard (1609), 
Here (1596), 

P. 407, bk. v. c. vi. st. 24, 1. 1, their (1596), her 
(1609). 

P. 407, bk. V. c. vi. st, 25, 1. 9, nights. Church 
suggested Knighfs. 

P. 407. bk. V. c. vi. st. 29, 1. 5, glims (1596), 
gWnse (1609). glimpse (1679). 

P. 408, bk. V. c. vi. st. 32, 1. 7, did (1596), ? had. 

P. 408, bk. V. c. vi. St. 33, 1. 7, avenge (1596), 
revenge (1609). 

P. 408, bk. V. c. vi. st. 34, 1. 7, their (1596), 
that (1611). 

P. 408, bk. V. c. vi. st. 35, 1. 5, vilde (1596), vile 
(1609). 

P. 410. bk. V. c. vii st 6, 1. 9, her ivreaihed 
(1596), ? hi.'' wreathed (Church). 

P. 411. bk. V. c. vii. st. 13, 1. 5, to robe (1596), 
to be (1611). 

P. 414, bk. V. c, vii. st. 38, 1. 5, bad (1596) sad 
(1609). 

P. 415, bk. V. c. vii. st. 42, 1. 3, Princes* (1609), 
Princes (1596). 

P. 420. bk. V. c. viii. st. 34, 1. 8, curat (1596), 
curas (1679), 

P. 420. bk. V. c, viii, st. 40, 1. 6, knowen (1609), 
knowne (1596). 

P. 421. bk. V. c. viii. st. 48, 1. 6, whether (1596), 
whither (1609). 

P. 422, bk. V. c. viii. st, 50, 1. 8, cowheard 
(1596), coicard (1609). 

P. 425, bk. V. c. ix. st. 21, 1. 1, knights (1596), 
knight (1611). 

P, 425, bk. V. c. ix. st. 26, 1. 4, Font. The 4to. 
of 1596 reads Fons. 

P. 426, bk. V. c. ix. st. 33, 1. 8, rebellious 
(1609), rebellions (1596). 

P. 428, bk. V. c. ix. st. 44, 1. 1, appose (1596), 
oppose (1609). 

P. 429, bk. V. c. X. st. 6, 1. 4, and he/r (1609), 
and of her (1596). 

P. "430, bk. V. c. X. St. 8, 1. 4, Idols ? Idol 
(Church). 



VARIATIONS FROM THE ORIGINAL EDITIONS. 



86: 



P. 481, bk. V. c. X. St. 18,.l. S,/astne8S6 (159G), 
safencsfie (1611). 

P. 402, hk. V. c. X. St. 28, 1. 1, whether (159fi), 
whither (Ul\). 

P. 432, bk. V. 0. X. St. 23, 1. 4, threating (1596), 
threntning (1611). 

P. 432, bk. V. c. X. St. 26, 1. 3, so now ? now so 
(Church). 

P. 434, bk. V. c. X. st. 87, 1. 6, Jiard preased 
(1596), had preaced (1609). 

P. 435, bk. V. c. xi. st. 5, 1. 9, have rive (1596), 
not rive (1611). 

P. 436, bk. V. c. xi. st. 12, 1. 4, to them (1596), 
on them. (IG19). 

P. 436, bk. V. c. xi. st. 13, 1. 9, through (1609). 
Ed. 1596 reads throgh. 

P. 440, bk. V. c. xi. st. 40, 1. 6, shall sure ahy. 
The 4to. 1596 omits the two words shall sure, 
which are supplied from the folio 1611. 

P. 440, bk. V. c. \i. St. 41, 1. 2, too blame 
(1596), to blame (1679). 

P. 440, bk. V. c. xi. st. 41, I. 6, know (sug- 
gested by Upton), knew (1596). 

P. 442, bk. V. c. xi. st. 54, 1. 9, corruptfull 
(1596), corrupted (1609). 

P. 443, bk. V. c. xi. st. 61, 1. 7, meed (so all 
editions). The rhyme requires hifre (Church). 

P. 443, bk. V. c. xi. st. 61, 1. S,/roward (1609), 
forward (1596). 

P. 443, bk. V. c. xii. st. 1, I. 9, enduren (1609), 
endure (1596). 

P. 444, bk. V. c. xii. st. 6, 1. 9, the Eagle (1596), 
th' Eagle {Km). 

P. 445, bk. V. c. xii. st. 17, 1. 5, such (1596), 
sure (1609). 

P. 446, bk. V. c. xii. st. 19, 1. 2, shame (1596), 
? harme (Collier). 

P. 447, bk. V. c. xii. st. 80, 1. 6, hungrily 
(1596), Auw(7fr/y (1609). ___,,_ _ 

P. 451, bk. VI. Prol. sl7 6, 1. 9, fame (adopted 
by Collier), iiame (1596). 

P. 452. bk. VI, c. i. St. 8, 1. 7, wretched (1596), 
wicked (1611). 

P. 455, bk. VI. c. i. st. 28, 1. 6, ere he (1609), ere 
thou(\miS). 

P. 455, bk. VI. c. i. St. 84, 1. 2, sxoound (adopted 
by Child), sound (1596). 

P. 456, bk. VI. c. i. st. 87, 1. 5, potshares (1596), 
potshards (1611). 

P. 456, bk. VI. c. i. st. 40, 1. 9, yearne (1596), 
earne (1609). 

P. 457. bk. VI. 0. ii. st. 3. 1. 2, deed and word 
(1600), act and deed (1596). 

P. 458, bk. VI. c. ii. st. 8, 1. 8, eares. All old 
editions read eyes. 

P. 458, bk. VI. c. ii. st. 8, 1. 4, eyes. All old 
editions read eares. 

P. 462, bk. VI. c. ii. st. 89, 1. 2, implements 
(1596), ornaments (1609). 

P. 464, bk. VI. c. iii. st. 1, 1. 8, a man (1596). 
In 1679 a is omitted. 

P. 465, bk. VI. c. iii. st. 12, 1. 7, save hole 
(1596), salrehole(.\<S\\). 

P. 466. bk. vi. c. iii. st. 21, 1. 8, default (1696), 
? assault (Collier). 

P. 467, bk. VI. c. iii. st. 24, 1. 5, Crying aloud 
to .9hew (1609). The 4to. 1596 has Crying aloud 
in rttine to shew, Ac. 

P. 467, bk. VI. c. iii. st. 28, 1. 6, soft footing 
(1679), sof ting foot (1596). 



P. 468, bk. VI. c. iii. st. SO, 1. 9, thorough (1609). 
The 4to. 1596 has through. 

P. 468, bk. VI. c. iii. st. 85, 1. 8, ^chich (1609). 
The 4to. 1596 has that. 

P. 469, bk. VI. c. iii. st. 42, 1. 4, o;y)ror6(1609), 
reprove (1596). 

P. 469, bk. VI. c. iii. st. 42, 1. 7, reprove (1609), 
approve (1596). 

P. 470, bk. VI. c. iii. st. 48, 1. 2, and all (so all 
old editions), ? with all. 

P. 472, bk. VI. c. iv. St. 18, 1. 8, where (1609), 
there (1596). 

P. 472, bk. VI. c. Iv. st. 16, 1. 8, hurt (1611), 
hurts (1596). 

P. 474, bk. VI. c. iv. st. 81, 1. 5, of our unhap- 
2^ie paine (so all old copies). Church proposed 
oftJiis our happie j)aine. 

P. 475, bk. VI. c. iv. St. 85, 1. 8, Lo ! (1609), 
Lotc (1596). 

P. 476, bk. VI. c. V. Arg. 1. 1, Serena (Hughes), 
Matilda (1596). 

P. 479, bk. VI. c. V. st. 28, 1. 2, lives (1596), 
? live. Professor Child prints lived. 

P. 480, bk. VI. c. V. St. 86, 1. 4, o/-(1609), of 
(1596). 

P. 481, bk. VI. c. V. St. 89, 1. 3, gree (1609), glee 
(1596). 

P. 481, bk. VI. c. V. St. 41, I. 2, there {Xm^). 
The 4to. has their. 

P. 4S2, bk. VI. c. vi. St. 4, 1. 4, Of which (1596), 
In which (1611). 

P. 48;^, bk. VI. c. vi. St. 11, 1. 9, Makes. The 
4to. 1596 has Make. 

P. 484, bk. VI. c. vi. st. 17, 1. 7, Calepine 
(Hughes), CaUdore (1596). 

P. 486, bk. VI. c. vi. st. 85, 1. &, fight (1609), 
right (1596), 

P. 488, bk. VI. c. vii. st. 8, 1. 7, armed (1609). 
The 4to. has arm'd. 

P. 490, bk. VI. c. vii. st. 15, 1. 9, ycarnerf (1596), 
earned (1609). 

P. 493, bk. VI. c. vii. st. 88, 1. 7, through (1609). 
The 4to. 1596 has throgh. 

v. 493, bk. VI. c. vii. st. 40, 1. 7, tyreling (1596), 
tyrling {X&l^i). 

P. 495, bk. VI. c. viii. st. 8, 1. 9, misust (1596), 
misus'd (1609). 

P. 496, bk. VI. c. viii. st. 11, 1. 9, tuo (1609), 
tow (1596). 

P. 497, bk. VI. c. viii. st. 15, 1. 8, pownded 
(1596), pawned (1609). 

P. 497, bk. VI, c. viii. st. 17, 1. 6, From (1609), 
For (1596). 

P. 500, bk. VI. c. viii. st. 89, 1. 4, daintest 
(1596), daintiest (1609). 

P. 501. bk. VI. c. viii. st. 47, 1. 8, toyle (1609), 
tot/le''^ (1596). 

■p. 501, bk. VI. c. viii. st. 50, 1. 4, they (1596), 
shee (1609). 

P. 502, bk. VI. c. ix. st. 4, 1. 9, time (1596), 
? tine (Church and Upton). 

P. 505, bk. VI. c. ix. st. 28, 1. 6, th'' heavens 
(1596). Some modern editions read the heaven. 

P. 506, bk. VI. c. ix. st. 36, 1. 3, addrext (1596), 
? he drest (Church). 

P. .506, bk. VI. c. ix. St. 36, 1. 8, Gen one 
(Hughes), Jienone (4to. 1596 and all old edi- 
tions). 

P. 508, bk. VI. c. ix. st. 45, 1. 9, bought (159C), 
? sought (Church). 



862 



VARIATIONS FROM THE ORIGINAL EDITIONS. 



P. 508, bk. VI. c. ix. st. 46, 1. 5, did dwell (1611), 
did icell (15%). 

P. 508, bk. VI. c. X. St. 2, 1. 9, in the port (1609). 
The 4to. has on the port. 

P. 511, bk. VI. c. X. St. 22, 1. 5, JEacidee. The 
4to. has jEcidee. 

P. 511, bk. VI. c. X. St. 24, 1. 7, froward (1611), 
forward (159G). 

P. 512, bk. VI. c. X. St. 34, 1. 9, Iter. Collier 
suggests ere = before. 

P. 513, bk. VI. c. X. 6t. 86, 1. 6, he (omitted in 
all old editions). 

P. 513, bk. VI. c, X. St, 42, 1. 5, daily (1596), 
? deadly (Church). 

P. 514, bk. VI. c. X. St. 44, 1. 8, And (1609), 
But (1596). 

P. 516, bk. VI. c. xi. st. 19, 1. 4, pretended, 
? protended (Collier). 

P. 517, bk. VI. c. xi. st. 24, 1. 1, reliv'd (1596), 
revived (1609), 

P. 520, bk. VI. c. xi. st. 45, 1, 4, lyful (1596), 
lifeful (1609). 

P. 523, bk. VI, c, xii. st. 12, 1. 8, loos (1596), 
praise (1609). 

P. 526, bk. VI. c. xii. st. 40, 1, 7, learned (1596), 
gentle (1609). 

P. 526, bk. VI. c. xii. st. 41, 1. 3, cleanest (1596), 
? clearest (Child). 

P. 534, bk. VII. c. vi. st. 53, 1. 6, vmto (1609). 
The folio 1611 has unto unto. 

P. 534, bk. VII. c. vi. st. 54, 1, 8, chainpain 
(1611), champian (1609). 

P. 535, bk. VII. c. vii. st. 2, 1. 3, feeble. The 
folios have sable. 

P. 536, bk. VII. c. vii. st. 8, 1. 9, showe (1611), 
show (1609). 

P. 536, bk. VII. c. vii. st. 9, 1. 1, hard (1611), 
heard (1609). 

P. 536, bk, VII. c. vii. st. 9, 1, 7, kinde. The 
folios have kindes. 

P. 536, bk. VII. c. vii. st. 10, 1, 7, they : — 
which they (1611), 

P. 536, bk. VII. c. vii. st. 12, 1. 5, Peleus (1611), 
PeUne (1609). 

P. 537, bk. VII, c. vii. st. 16, 1. 3, thy (1609), 
my (1611). 

P. 538, bk. VII. c. vii. st. 28, 1. 3, bloosmes 
did (1609). The ed, of 1611 omits did. 

P. 540, bk, VII. c, vii. st. 41, 1. 5, rode (so all 
copies) ; the rhyme requires rade. 

P. 540, bk. VII. c. vii. st. 41, 1. 7, Idcean 
(Upton). The folios read loean. 

P. 542, bk. VII. c. vii. st. 55, 1. 7, saine (1609), 
faine (1611). 

P. 543, bk. VII. c. viii. st. 1, 1. 7, to cast (1609), 
and cast (1611). 

P. 543, bk. VII. c. viii. st. 2, 1. 8, Sahaoth (1611), 
Sabbaoth (160)9. 

P. 543, bk. VII. c. viii. st. 2, 1. 9. For that Mr. 
Collier suggests thou. But there should perhaps 
be no comma after God, and the sentence will be 
an optative one signifying ' O onay that great God 
of hosts grant me the enjoyment of that rest etei-- 
nal.' Perhaps Sabaoths sight is an allusion to the 
ancient interpretation of the word Jerusalem, i.e. 
visio pads. 

P. 543, bk. VII. c. viii. st. 2, 1. 9, Sabaoths 
(1609 and 1611), ? Sabbaths (Church). 

P. 543, bk. VII. c. viii. st. 2, 1. 9, Sabaoth God 
(1611), Sabbaoth God (1609). 



THE SHEPHEARDES CALENDAR. 

P. 548, 1. 4, Noblesse {\m^), noblenesse (1597). 
P. 548, 1. 12, my (1579), thy (1611). 
P. 549, col, 1, 1, 17, of few (1579), of af&we 
(1597). 
P. 549, col. 2, 1, 22, coveting (1579), covering 

P, 549, col, 2, 1. 41, common. The 4to. (1579) 
has conimen. 

P, 550, col, 1, 1. 46, seene (1586), seme (1579 
and 1581). 

P. 550, col. 1, 1. 54, to be counted siraungers 
(1597), straungers to be coxmted (1579). 

P. 550, col. 2, 1. 24, ungyrt (1579). All other 
old editions read unright. 

P. 551, col, 1, 1, 23, as one that (1597), as that 
(1579). 

P. 551, col, 2. 1, 22, rare (1579), rath (1597), 

P. 551, col. 2, 1. 1. from bottom, thys 10 
(1579), the tenth (1597). 

P. 552, col. 1, 1. 15, more . . . then (1597), 
most . . . and (1579), 

P. 552, col. 1, 1. 18, Jnvencion. The ed, 1579 
has Iwcericion. 

P, 552, col. 1, 1, 18, these (1597), his (1579). 

P. 552, col. 1, 1. 26, definition. The ed, 1579 
has difinition. 

P. 552, col. 1, 1. 38, JEglogues (1597). The ed. 
1579 reads Eclogues. 

P. 552, col. 1, 1. 44, containe (1597), conceive 
(1579). 

P. 553, col. 1, 1. 4, Abih. All old editions read 
Abil. 

P. 553, col. 2, 1. 8, entraunce. The ed. 1579 
has enrravMce. 

P. 553, col. 2, 1. 14, itself e (1597), self{\t>1^). 

P. 553, col. 2. 11, 22, 23, of thone paH . . . of 
thoiher (1579), of the one part . . . of the other 
(159T). 

P. 553, col. 2, 1. 26, Shepheards (1597), Shep- 
heard (1579). 

P. 554 (Januakie), Arg. 1. 1, him (1579), him-. 
selfe (1597). 

P.554(Arg.), 1. 5, delights (1579), delight (1597). 

P. 554, 1. 34, bloosmes (1579), blossomes 
(1581). 

P. 555 (Glosse), col. 2, 1. 16, who thai hath 
(1597), wJio hath (1579). 

P. 556 (Glosse), col. 2, 1. 16, counie/rfeiding 
(1579), counterfaiting (1597). 

P. 556 (Glosse), col. 1, 1. 19, Poesye (1579), 
Posie (1597). 

P. 556 (Glosse), col. 1, 1. 21, notwithstandeing. 
The ed. 1579 reads notwithstande. 

P. 556 (Febeuakie), 1. 17, thretUe (1579), 
tJiirtie (1597). 

P. 557, 1. 52, youngth (1579), youth (1597). 

P. 557, 1. 57, hast (1597), hath (1579). 

P. 557, 1. 86, tadvaunce (1579), to advance 
(1597). 

P. 558, 1. 142, overcrawed (1597), overawed 
(1579). 

P. 558, 1. 181, oft (1579), o/(1597). 

P. 558, 1. 189, To this the (1579), To this this 
(1597). 

P. 559, 1. 218, to the earth (1579), to the ground 
(1611). 

P. 559 (Glosse), col. 2, 1. 6 from the bottom,, 
meanes (1611). All 4tos. read meane. 



VARIATIONS FROM THE ORIGINAL EDITIONS. 



863 



P. 560 (Glosse), col. 2, 1. 11 from bottom, 
giveth (1597), gevetli (15T9). 

P. 560 (Emblome), col. 1, 1. 10, wexe (15T9), 
wax6 (1597). 

P. 560 (Embleme), col. 1, 1. 15, rash-headed 
(1579), raw-headed (1597). 

P. 660 (Embleme), col. 2, 1. 2, God (1597), 
Gods (1579). 

P. 560 (Embleme), col. 2, 1. 12, with him 
(1579), at him (1597). 

P. 560 (Makoh), 1.4, nighes (to be pronounced 
as a dissyllable). The 4tos. read Highest, and 
fol. 1611 nigheth. 

P. 560, 1. 6, icinters (1579), winter (1597). 

P. 561, col. 1, 1. 40, als (1579 and 1597), alas 
(15S1 and 15S6). 

P. 561 (Wyllyes Embleme), 1. 2, Gods (Child). 
All old editions read God. 

P. 562 (Glosse), col. 1, 1. 24fi-om bottom, God- 
desse (1597). The 4to. 1579 has Goddes. 

P. 562 (Glosse), col. 2, 1. 17, winged love (1597), 
wandring love (1579). 

P. 563 (Apkil), (Arg.), 1. 2, herein (1579), here 
of{im). 

P. 563 (Arg.), 1. 5, alienate (1579), alienated 
(1597). 

P. 564, 1. 64, angelick (1579), angel-liJce 
(1597). 

P. 564, 1. l^b,finenesse (1597), finesse (1579). 

P. 565 (Glosse), col. % 1. 19, meanesse (1579), 
7nea7i7ies (1597). 

P. 566 (Glosse), col. 2, 1. 29, defflT/ (1597), 
deaffly (1579). 

P. 566, col. 2, 1. 22 from bottom, behight (IGU). 
The 4tos. 1579, 15S1, 1586, 1597, read bedight. 

P. 567 (Glosse), col. 1, 1. 4, coronation (1579), 
carnation (1597). 

P. 567 (Glosse), col. 2, 1. 4, slea (1579), slay 
(1597). 

P. 567 (Glosse). col. 2, 1. 7, o/(1579\ ly (1597). 

P. 567 (Glosse), col. 2, 1. is, hlinded (1579, 
1581, 1586, 1597). Collier, who reads blended, 
is wrong in stating that Todd has no authority 
for printing blinded; fol. 1611 has blended. 

P. 567 (Maye), (Arg.), 1. 1, fifte (1597), firste 
(1579). 

P. 567, ]. 19, no (1579), ne (1581). 

P. 568, 1. 54, great (1597), gread (1579). 

P. 568, 1. 82, for say (1597), foresay (1579). 

P. 569, 1. 1.50, sav /(1597. 1611), sayrf 7(1579). 

P. 569, 1. 159. witen (1579), twiten (1611). 

P. 569, 1. 164, none (1579), no (1597). 

P. 570, 1. 211, the (1579, 1581, 1586, 1597), Iter 
(1611). 

P. 570, 1. 'nz, forestall {\mi),forstaU (1579). 

P. 571 (Glosse), col. 2, 1. 1, oracles (1579), mira- 
cles (1597). 

P. 571 (Glosse), col. 2, 1. 5, passengers (1579), 
persons (1597). 

P. 572 (Glosse), col. 1, 1. 32, Algrind (1597), 
Algrim (1579). 

P. 572 (Glosse), col. 1, 11. 1, 2 from bottom, of 
lohom . . . Prometheus, in 1579 and 1581, but 
omitted in 1586. 

P. 572, col. 2. 1. 19, hys (1579), her (1581). 

P. 572, col. 2; 1. 37. and (1579), or (1586). 

P. 572, col. 2, 1. 65, Tyranne (1579), Tyrant 
(1597). 

P. 573, col. 1, 1. 14, agreeing (1597), a greet- 
ing (1597). 



P. 573, col. 2, 1, 6, beware (1579), to beware 
(1597). 

P. 573 (June), 1. 16, shroude (1611), shouder 
(1579). 

P. 573, 1. 24, ravenes (1611), ravene (1579, 
1581, 1586). 

P. 575, 1. 98, painfull (1579), plainefull (1581, 
1586). 

P. 575 (Glosse), col. 2, 1. 14 from bottom, all is 
omitted in 1597. 

P. 576 (Glosse), col. 1, 1. 4, Lorde (1579), Lorde 
0/(1597). 

P. 576 (Glosse), col. 1, 1. 5, noblesse (1579), 
noblenesse (1597). 

P. 576 (Glosse), col. 2, 1. 18, of (1597), of the 
(1581). 

P. 576 (Glosse), col. 2, 1. 81, undermyne (1597), 
undermynde (1579). 

P. 577 (Julye), 1. 35, witlesse (^.bT^),^oeetless6 
(1579). 

P. 577, 1. 58, hyllye (1579), holy (1597). 

P. 577, 1. m,forsayd {1591),foresayd (1579). 

P. 577, 1. 77, recourse (1581), resourse (1579). 

P. 577, 1. 99, a starre (1611). The 4tos. 1579, 
1581, 1586, 1597 have the siarres. 

P. 577, 1. 129, And (15S6), As (1579, 1581). 

P. 578, 1. 191, other (1579), others (1597). 

P. 578, 1. 197, welter (1579), tceltre (1597). 

P. 578 (Thoraalins Embleme). The old edi- 
tions have Falinodes Embleme. 

P. 578 (Glosse), col. 2, 1. 2, lapsiis (1579), lapsv, 
(1597). 

P. 579 (Glosse), col. 1, 1. 16, then (1597), and 
(1579). 

P. 579 (Glosse), col. 1, 1. 25 from bottom, tJiat 
(1579), the (1586). 

P. 579 (Glosse), col. 1, 1. 52, of the (1597), of 
(1579). 

P. 579 (Glosse), col. 2, 1. 46, of a (1579), of the 
(1597). 

P. 580 (August), (Arg.), 1. 2, choose (1579), 
chose (1597). 

P. 580, 1. 10, did passe (1597), didst passe 
(1579). 

P. 580, 1. 13, thatmischaunce (1597), tJiatnewe 
mischaimce (1579). 

P. 581, 1. 46, hetheward, read hetherward. 

P. 581, 1. 53, holy (1597), holly (1579). 

P. 581, 1. 84, thy hart (1579), my hart (1597). 

P. 581, 1. 104, curelesse (Collier). All editions 
read carelesse. 

P. 582, 1. 162, debarres . . . from (1579), 
debars . . . o/(1611). 

P. 582, 1. 166, woodes (1597). The 4to. 1579 
has icoddes. 

P. 582, 1. 167, or (1579), nor (1597). 

P. 582, 1. 172, as (1597), a (1579). 

P. 583, col. 2, 1. 198, nigheth (1579). The 4to. 
1597 has higheth = hieth, hastens. 

P. 583 (Glosse), col. 2, 1. 4, shee, omitted in 
4to. 1579, is supplied from the edition of 1597. 

P. 583, col. 2. 11. 15, 16, so . . . partes (1579), 
omitted hv 1597. 

P. 583 (September), 1- 6, dirke (1579), darke 
(1611). 

P. 584, 1. 13, ripeth (1579), rippeth (1597). 

P. 584, 1. 22, Iwene (1579), xoeele (1597). 

P. 584, 1. 24, estate (1597), astate (1579). 

P. 585, 1. 99, For-thy (1579), For they (1611). 

P. 585, 1. 112, whote (1579), hote (1597). 



864 



VARIATIONS FROM THE ORIGINAL EDITIONS. 



P. 5S5, 1. 123, doen (1579), do (1597). 

P. 585, 1. 144, stay (1597), stray (1579), 

P. 585, 1. 145, yeed. The 4to8. have yeeld; 
the folio 1611 reads yead. 

P. 585, 1. 158, walke (1579), talke (1611). 

P. 585, 1. 160, to (1597), two (1579). 

P. 585, 1. \m,prire (1579), prime (1597). 

P. 586, 1. 257, her (1579), his (1597). 

P. 587 (Glosse), col. 1, 1. 5, Thrise. The 4to. 
1579 has These ; fol. 1611 Thrice. 

P. 589 (October), 1. 75, he forst to fayne 
(1579), to forst iofaine (1597), to force to faine 
(1611). 

P. 589, 1. 79, thy place (1597), the place (Xm'ii). 

P. 589, 1. 80, doe (1579), doest (1597). 

P. 589, 1. 103, weightye. The 4to. 1579 has 
tcightye, the folio 1611 xoaightie. 

P. 590 (Glosse), col. 2, 1. 11, Arcadian. The 
4to. 1579 has Aradian, 4to. 1597, fol. 1611 
Arabian. 

P. 590 (Glosse), col. 2, 1. 34, is. So all old 
editions (?) in. 

P. 590 (Glosse), col. 2, 1. 50, from stately dis- 
coi(/rse (1579), to stately course (1597, 1611). 

P. 590 (Glosse), col. 2, 1. 54, v)el knoioen to he 
Virgile (1579), well knew noble Virgil (1597, 
1611). 

P. 591 (Glosse), col. 1, 1. 6, flocks (1579), flocke 
(1597). 

P. 591 (Glosse), col. 1, 1. 40, hyfire; omitted 
in 4to. 1597. 

P. 591 (Glosse), col. 1, 1. 50, layde (1597), lay 
(1579). 

P. 591 (Glosse), col. 2, 1. 17, Petrarch, saying 
(1579), Petrarchs saying (1597). 

P. 591 (Glosse), col. 2, 1. 32, had (1597), hath 
(1579). 

P. 591 (Glosse), col. 2, 1. 43, is (1597), it (1579). 

P. 591 (Glosse), col. 2, 1. 51, forth (1579), out 
(1597). 

P. 591 (Glosse), col. 2, 1. 52, whom seeing 
Vulcane so fair e (1579), whom Vulcan seeing 
sofaire (1597,1611). 

P. 592 (jS-ovember), (Arg.), 1. 2, alhe (1597), 
albeit (1597). 

P. 593, 1. 78, you is not in 4to8., but occurs in 
fol. 1611. 

P. 593, 1. 85, hath display de. The 4to. 1579 
reads doth display e. 

P. 593, 1. 98, heame (1597), heme (1579). 

P. 593, 11. 98, 99, him (1597), hem (1579). 

P. 593, 1. 115, colourd (1597), coloured (1579). 

P. 595 (Glosse), col. 1, 1. 48, enjoy (1579), re- 
ceive (1597). 

P. 595 (Glosse), col, 1, 1. 57, dyed (1597), deyed 
(1579). 

P. 595 (Glosse), col. 2, 1. 23, signe. Not in 
1579, but in 1597. 

P. 595 (Glosse), col. 2, 1. 25, Atropos daugh- 
ters. The 4to. 1579 reads Atropodas ughters. 

P. 596 (Embleme), col. 2, 1. 2, to (1579), of 
(1597). 

P. 596 (Decem.), 1. 29, recked (1611). The 
4tos. read wreaked. 

P. 596, 1. 43, derring-doe. The 4to. 1579 has 
derring to, but derring doe is in the Glosse, 
p. 598, col. 2, 1. 4. 

P. 597, 1. 70, loathed (1579), loathing (1611). 

P. 597, 1. 76, season (1579), reason (1611). 

P. 597, 1. 89, r enrage (1597), to tenrage (1579). 



P. 598. 1. 145, gather together ye (1597), gather 
ye togither (1579). 

P. 599 (Glosse), col. 1, 1. 1, or (1579), of (1597). 

P. 599 (Glosse), col. 1, 1. 15, nor (1579), or (1597). 

P. 599 (Glosse), col. 1, 1. 22, leapes (1579), 
heapes (1597). 

P. 599 (Glosse), col. 1, 1. 37, in (1579), in the 
(1597). 

P. 599 (Glosse), col. 2. 1. 13, knewest (1579), 
knowest (1597). 

P. 599 (Glosse), col. 2, 1. 17, our (how our in 
1579), hoto is omitted by 1597. 

P. 599 (Glosse), col. 2,1. 21, TTius. The4to. 1579 
has This. 

P. 599 (Embleme), col. 1, 1. 3, of Poetry (in 
1579), is omitted by 1597. 

P. 599 (Embleme), col. 1, 1. 8, nee . . . nee. 
So in all the 4tos. Some mod. editions read non 
. , , non. 

P. 599 (Embleme), col. 2, 1. 2, hath (in 1579) is 
omitted by 1597. 

P. 599 (Embleme), col. 2, 1. 5, quod (1597), quoR 
(1579). 

P. 599 (Epilogue), col. 2, 1. 1 from bottom, de- 
spise (1579), displease (1597). 

THE EUINES OF TIME. 

P. 608, 1. 361, to (1591), do (1611). 

P. 608, 1. 363, covetize. > The edition 1591 reads 
covertise. 

P. 609, 1. 414, made (1591), ? had (Jortin). 

P. 609, 1. 447, For lie that now, &c. (1591), 
For such as now have most the world at will 
(1611). 

P. 609, 1. 451, Jiim that (1591), such as (1611). 

P. 609, 1. 454, O let the man (1591), O let not 
those (1611). 

P. 609, 1. 455, Nor alive, &c. (1591) Alive nor 
dead he of the Muse adorned (1611) . 

P. 610, 1. 499, brickie (1591), brittle {\?>n) . 

P. 611, 1. 541, Ocean (1611), Occcean (1.591). 

P. 611, 1. 551, which (1611). The ed. 1591 
reads with. 

P. 611, 1. 571, Was but earth, &c. (1591), Was 
hut of earth and with her weightinesse (1611). 

P. 611, 1. 574, worlds (1611), words (1591). 

P. 612, 1. 647, bred was (Ull), was bred (1591). 

P. 612, 1. 664, t/ie earth (1591), tW earth (1611). 

P. 613, 1. 675, worldes. All old editions read 
worlds. 

TEARES OF THE MUSES. 

P. 616, 1. 113, anew (?) in rew. 

P. 616, 1. 126, of sin. Some mod. editions read 
to sin. 

P. 617, 1. 232, singulis (1611), singulfs (1591). 

P. 620, 1. 401, that winged God (1591), the 
winged God. 

P. 622, 1. 576, Poetresse (1591), Poetesse in 
some mod. editions. 

P. 622, 1. 600, living (1611), loving (1591). 

VIEGIL'S GNAT. 

P. 628, 1. 23, waves (1591), ? wave. 

P. 625, 1. 122, heart (1611). The ed. 1591 has 
hear, 

P. 625, 1. 149, Ascroean. The ed, 1591 reads 
Astrcean. 



VARIATIONS FROM THE ORIGINAL EDITIONS. 



865 



P. 628, 1. 340, not (1611) is omitted by 4to. 1591. 

P. 628, 1. 348,^7-6 {\m\),fi6r (1611). 

P. 629, 1. 387, throat. Thie 4to. 1591 reads 
threat. 

P. 629, 1. 406, fluUering (1611), flattering 
(1591). 

P. 629, 1. 417, waladay (1591), weladay {UW). 

P. 631, 1. 536, mbtile USH), slye (1591). 

P. 631, 1. 575, billoives. The 4to. 1591 reads 
hiUowe. 

P. 631, 1. 588, HerccBan (1591), ? JEgean. 

MOTHER HUBBERD'S TALE. 

P. 635, 1. 53, Gossip (1611), Goship (1591). 

P. 6:^5, 1. 67, lifted upoii high (1591), Lifted 
high (1611). 

P. 635, 1. 87, worldes (1611), worlds (1591). 

P. 638, 1. 2&4, thetch (1591), thatch (1611). 

P. 638,1. 340, earried (1591), ? covered (Collier). 

P. 640, 1. 453, diriges (1611), dirges (1591). 

P. 640, I. 501, or (1591), ere (1611). 

P. 642, 1. 629, she (1591), hee (1611). 

P. 642, 1, 648, at (in 1611), omitted by 1591. 

P. 644, 1. 734, genirie (1591). This word must 
be pronounced as three syllables (Todd). Per- 
haps Spenser wrote genterie. 

P. 644, 1. 735, lothefuU (1591), ? slothefull (Col- 
lier). 

P. 645, 1. a30. Mndle. The 4to. 1591 and the 
fol. 1611 read klndh/. 

P. 647, 1. 997, whether. The 4to. 1591 has 
whither. 

P. 647, 1. 1012, stopt. The 4to. 1591 and fol. 
1611 have stept. 

P. 647, 1. 1019, whither. The 4to. 1591 reads 
whether. 

P. 650, 1. 1245, stard (1591), staird (1611). 

THE RUINES OF ROME. 

P. 652, St. 2, 1. 7, Mausolus. The 4to. 1591 has 
Man-solus. 

P. 653, St. 4, 1. 6, The Giants old (1611), the 
old Giants (1591). 

P. 654, St. 9, 1. 7, palaces. The line Is defec- 
tive ; ? p'laces failed. 

P. 655, St. 15, 1. 14, noio (1611). Omitted by the 
4to. 1591. 

P. 655, St. 8, 1. 5, ornaments. The 4to. has 
ornament. 

P. 656, St. 20, 1. 4, Tethis (1591), Thetys (1611). 

P. 656, St. 20, 1. 6, dimned, read dimmed. 

P. 658, St. 30, 1. 8, stackes (1611), stalkes{\b9\). 

MUIOPOTMOS. 

P. 660, 1. 34, yongth (1591), youth (1611). 

P. 661, 1. 149, ehampain o're he. The 4to. 
591 has champion he, but the fol. 1611 reads 
champaine o^re he. 

P. 663, 1. 250, dispacing. The 4to. has dis- 
placing. 

P. 664, 1. 335, hayrie (1591), ayrie (1611). 

P. 664, 1. 854, enfested (1591), ? enfesterd 
(Collier). 

P. 664, 1. 370, framde craftily {\&\V), didslily 
frame {\m\). 

P. 665, 1. 392, hateful i\5n), fatall (1611). 

P. 665, 1. 44?1 , yongthly. The 4to. has yougthly, 
but see p. 660, 1. 34. 



VISIONS OF THE WORLDS VANITIE. 

P. 666, St. 8, 1. 11, did. The 4to. 1591 has doth. 
P. 667, St. 8, 1. 12, 7i««it'e(1611), nature (1591). 

VISIONS OF BELLA Y. 

P. 668, St. 2, 1. 9, On. The 4to. 1591 reads one. 

P. 668, St. 2, 1. 9, Afrike golds. 'iAfrikes gold. 

P. 669, St. 9, 1 . 1, astonied. The 4to. 1591 reads 
astoined. 

The following is an earlier version of ' The Vi- 
sions of Bellay,' which is found in the 'Theatre 
FOR Worldlings.' 'A Theatre lohereiji be 
represented as wel the miseries and calamities 
that follow the voluptuous Worldlings, As also 
the greate joyes aivd plesures which the faith- 
full do enjoy. An Argument both profitable 
and delectable, to all that sincerely lore the 
word of God. Devised by S. lohn rander 
Koodt. Seene and allowed according to the 
order appointed. Imprinted at London by 
Henry Bynneman. Anno Domini. IbGQ.'' 8vo. 
Then follow two pages of Latin verses — * In com- 
mcndationem operis ab Nobiliss. et virtutis Studi- 
osissimo Domino, loanne vander Noodt Patricio 
Antuerpiensi a^diti, Carmen.' and 'Doctor Ger- 
ardus Goossenius Medicus, Physicus, et Poeta 
Brabant, moder. in Zoilum Octastichon.' And a 
dedication to Q. EHzabeth, dated 'At London 
vour Majesties Citie and seate royal. The 25. of 
^Iay. 1569.' and signed, ' Your Majesties most 
humble servant. lean vander Xoodt.' 

Next come Spenser's six ' Visions of Petrarch' 
(called Epigrams), with four additional lines at 
the end, and then follow the remaining poems, 
entitled ' Sonets,' with descriptive woodcuts. 

Then follow 107 leaves of Prose, entitled 'A 
briefe declaration of the Authour upon his tii- 
sions, taken out of the holy scriptures, and dyvers 
Orators, Poetes, Philosophers, and true his- 
tories. Translated out of French into Englishe 
by Theodore Roost. ' The following is an extract. 
'And to sette the vanitie and inconstancie of 
worldly and transitorie thyngs, the livelier before 
your eyes, I have broughte in here twentie 
sightes or vysions, and- caused them to be 
grauen, to the ende al men may see that with 
their eyes, whiche I go aboute to expresse by 
writing, to the delight and plesure of the eye and 
eares, according unto the saying of Horace. 

Omne tulit punctum, qui miscuit utile dulci. 
That is to say. 

He that teacheth pleasantly and well. 
Doth in eche poynt all others excell. 
Of which oure visions the learned Poete M. Fran- 
cisco Petrarche Gentleman of Florence, did invent 
and write in Tuscan the six flrste, after suche 
tyme as hee had loved honestly the space of .xxi. 
yeares a faire, gracious, and a noble Damosell, 
named Laurette, or (as it plesed him best) Laura, 
borne of Avinion, who afterward hapned to die, 
he being in Italy, for whose death (to shewe his 
great grief) he mourned ten yeares together, 
and amongest many of his songs and sorowfull 
lamentations, devised and made a Ballade or 
song, containyng tJie sayd visions, which bicause 
they serve wel to our purpose, I have out of the 
Brabanis speeche, turned them into the Eng- 
lishe tongue.^ fol. 13. 



866 



VARIATIONS FROM THE ORIGINAL EDITIONS. 



' The other ten 'visions next ensuing, ar de- 
scribed of one loachim du Bellay, Gentleman of 
France, the wMche also, bicause they serve to our 
purpose, I ha/oe translated them out of Dutch 
into English.'' fol, 14, 

SONETS.i 

It was the time when rest the gift of Gods 

Sweetely sliding into the eyes of men. 

Doth di'owne in the forgetfulnesse of slepe, 

The carefuU travailes of the painefull day : 

Then did a ghost appeare before mine eyes 

On that great rivers banke thatrunnes by Eome, 

And calling me then by my propre name, 

He bade me upwarde unto heaven looke. 

He cride to me, and loe (quod he) beholde, 

"What under this great Temple is containde, 

Loe all is nought but flying vanitie. 

So I knowing the worldes unstedfastnesse, 

Sith onely God surmountes the force of ty 

In God alone do stay my confidence. 

On hill, a frame an hundred cubites hie 
I sawe, an hundred pillers eke about, 
All of fine Diamant decking the front. 
And fashiond were they all in Dorike wise. 
Of bricke, ne yet of marble was the wall. 
But shining Christall, which from top to base 
Out of deepe vaute threw forth a thousand rayes 
Upon an hundred steps of purest golde. 
Golde was the parget : and the sielyng eke 
Pid shine all scaly with fine golden i^lates. 
The floor was Jaspis, and of Emeraude. 

worldes vainenesse. A sodein earthquake loe. 
Shaking the hill even from the bottome deepe, 
Threwe downe this building to the lowest stone. 

Then did appeare to me a sharped spire 
Of diamant, ten feete eche way in square, 
Justly proportionde up unto his height. 
So hie as mought an Archer reache with sight. 
Upon the top therof was set a pot 
Made of the mettall that we honour most. 
And in this golden vessell couched were 
The ashes of a mightie Emperour. 
Upon foure corners of the base there lay 
To beare the frame, foure great Lions of golde. 
A worthie tombe for such a wortbie corps. 
Alas, nought in this worlde but griefe endures. 
A sodaine tempest from the heaven, I saw, 
With flushe [?flashe] stroke downe this noble 
monument. 

1 saw raisde up on pillers of Ivorie, 
Whereof the bases were of richest golde, 
The chapters Alabaster, Christall frises. 
The double front of a triumphall arke. 
On eche side portraide was a victorie. 
With golden wings in habite of a Nymph, 
And set on hie upon triumphing chaire, 
The auncient glorie of the Romane lordes. 

The worke did shew it selfe not wrought by man. 
But rather made by his owne skilfuU liande 
That forgeth thunder dartes for Jove his sire. 
Let me no more see faire thing under heauen, 
Sith I have seene so faire a thing as this, 
With sodaine faUing broken all to dust. 



1 Or 'The Visions of Bellay.' 



Then I behelde the faire Dodonian tree. 
Upon seven hilles throw forth his gladsome shade, 
And Conquerors bedecked with his leaves 
Along the bankes of the Italian streame. 
There many auncient Trophees were erect, 
Many a spoile, and many goodly signes, 
To shewe the greatnesse of the stately race, 
That erst descended from the Trojan bloud. 
Eavisht I was to see so rare a thing. 
When barbarous villaines in disordred heape, 
Outraged the honour of these noble bowes. 
I hearde the tronke to grone under the wedge. 
And since I saw the roote in hie disdaine 
Sende forth againe a twinne of forked trees. 

I saw the birde that dares beholde the Sunne, 
With feeble flight ventui-e to mount to heaven, 
By more and more she gan to trust hir vpings, 
Still folowing th' example of hir damme ; 
I saw hir rise, and with a larger flight 
Surmount the toppes even of the hiest hilles. 
And pierce the cloudes, and with hir wings to 

reache 
The place where is the temple of the Gods, 
There was she lost, and sodenly I saw 
Where tombling through the aire in lompe of fire, 
All flaming downe she fell upon the plaine. 
I saw hir bodie turned all to dust. 
And saw the foule that shunnes the cherefuU light 
Out of hir ashes as a worme arise. 

Then all astonned with this nightly ghost, 

I saw an hideous body big and strong, 

Long was his beard, and side did hang his hair, 

A grisly forehed and Saturnellke face. 

Leaning against the belly of a pot 

He shed a water, whose outgushing streame 

Ran flowing all along the creekie shoare 

Where once the Troyan Duke with Turnus fought. 

And at his feete a bitch Wolfe did give sucke 

To two yong babes. In his right hand he bare 

The tree of peace, in left the conquering Palme, 

His head was garni sht with the Laurel bow. 

Then sodenly the Palme and OHve fefl. 

And faire greene Laurel witherd up and dide. 

Hard by a rivers side, a waihng Mmphe, 

Folding hir armes with thousand sighs to heaven, 

Did tune hir plaint to falling rivers sound. 

Renting hir faire visage and golden haire. 

Where is (quod she) this whilome honored face ? 

Where is thy glorj- and the auncient praise, 

Where all worldes hap was reposed. 

When erst of Gods and man I worshipt was ? 

Alas, suffisde it not that civile bate 

Made me the spoile and bootie of the world, 

But this new Hydra mete to be assailde 

Even by an hundred such as Hercules, 

With seven springing beds of monstrous crimes. 

So many Neroes and Cafigulaes 

Must still bring forth to rule this croked shore. 

Upon a hill I saw a kindled flame. 
Mounting like waves with triple point to heaven. 
Which of incense of precious Ceder tree 
With Balmelike odor did perfume the aire. 
A bird all white, well fetherd on hir winges 
Hereout did flie up to the throne of Gods, 
And singing with most plesant melodie 
She climbed up to heaven in the smoke. 



VARIATIONS FROM THE ORIGINAL EDITIONS. 



S67 



Of this faire fire the fairc dispersed rayes 
Threw fortli abrodc a thousand shining leaines, 
When sodain dropping of a golden shonre 
Gan quench the gly storing tlanie. O grevous 

chaunge ! 
That wliich erstwhile so pleasaunt scent did yelde, 
Of Sulphure now did breathe corrupted sinel. 

I saw a fresh si)ring rise out of a roeke, 
Clere as Ohristall against the 8uiuiy beaines, 
The bottouic yellow like the shining land, 
That golden I'actol drives upon the plaine. 
It seemed that arte and nature strived to joyne 
There in one place all pleasures of the eye. 
There was to heare a noise alluring slepe 
Of many accordos more swete than Mermaids song, 
The seates and benches shown as Ivorie, 
An hundred Nymjihes sate side by side about, 
When from nie hilles a naked rout of Faunes 
With hideous cry assembled on the place. 
Which with their feete uncleane the Mater fouled, 
Threw down the seats, and droue the Nimphs to 
flight. 

At length, even at the time when Morpheus 
Most truely doth appeare unto our eyes, 
Wearie to see th' inconstance of the "heavens : 
I saw the great Typhanis sister come, 
Hir head ftiU bravely with a morian armed, 
In majestie she seemde to matche the Gods. 
And on the shore, harde by a violent streame, 
She raisde a Trophee over all the worlde. 
An hundred vanquisht kings gronde at hir feete. 
Their armes in shamefull wise bounde at their 

backes. 
While I was with so dreadfull sight afrayde, 
I saw the heavens warre against hir tho. 
And seing hir striken fall with clap of thunder, 
With so great uoyse I start in sodaiue wonder. 

The sixth, eighth, thirteenth, and fourteenth 
' Visions of Bellay,' which are in Spenser's 
translation of 1591,' are not in the 'Theatre for 
Worldlings;' but, four others are substituted, of 
which the writer thus speaks : ' And to the eude 
we myght speake more at large of the thing, I 
have taken /o?//'e viftiona out of the rerehxtions 
of S. John, where as the Holy Ghost by S. John 
setteth him (Antichrist) out inhis colours.' Fol. 20. 

I saw an ugly beast come from the sea. 
That seven heads, ten crounes, ton homes did beare, 
Having theron the vile blaspheming name. 
The cruell Leopard she resembled much : 
Feete of a beare, a Lions throte she had. 
The mightie Dragon gave to hir his power. 
One of hir heads yet there I did espie. 
Still freshly bleeding of a grievous wounde. 
One cride aloude. What one is like (quod he) 
This honoured Dragon, or may him withstande ? 
And then came from the sea a savage beast. 
With Dragons speche, and shewde his force by fire, 
With wondrous signes to make all wights adore 
The beast, in setting of hir image up. 

I saw a Woman sitting on a beast 
Before mine eyes, of Orenge colour hew : 
Horrour and dreadfull name of blasphemio 
Fildo hir with pride. And seven heads I saw, 
Ten homes also the stately beast did beare. 



She seemde with glorie of the scarlet faire. 
And with fine perle and golde puft up in heart. 
The wine of hooredome in a cup she bare. 
The name of Mysteiie writ in hir face; 
The bloud of Martyi's dere were hir delite. 
Most fierce and loll tins woman seemde to me. 
An Aiigoll then descending downe from Heaven, 
With tiiondnng voice crido out aloude, and sayd, 
Now for a ti'uth great Babylon is fallen. 

Then might I see upon a white horse set 
Tiie faithfull man with llaniing countenaunce, 
His head did shine with crounes set thorupou. 
The worde of God made him a noble name. 
His precious robe I saw embrued with bloud. 
Then saw I from the heaven on horses white, 
A puissant armie come the selfe same way. 
Then cried a shining Angell as me thought. 
That birdes from aire d(>sconding downe on earth 
Should warre upon the kings, and eate their fiesh. 
Then did I see the beast and Kings also 
Joinyng their force to slea the faithfull man. 
But this fierce hatefull beast and all hir traino 
Is pitilesse throwno downe in pit of fire. 

I saw new Earth, new Heaven, sayde Saint John. 
And loe, the sea (quod he) is now no more. 
The holy Citie of the Lorde, from hye 
Descendeth garnisht as a loved spouse. 
A voice then sayde, beholde the bright abode 
Of God ami men. For he shall be their God, 
And all their teares he shall wipe cleane away. 
Hir brightnesse greater was than can be founde, 
Square was this Oitie, and twelve gates it had. 
Eche gate was of an orient i)erfect j)earle. 
The houses golde, the pavenu^nt precious stone. 
A lively streame, more cleere than Christall is, 
lianne through the mid, sprong from triumphant 

seat. 
There growes lifes fruite unto the Churches good. 

THE VISIONS OF PETRARCH. 

P. 671, St. 1, 1. 5, mote (1591), mought (JYieoXve 
for Worldlings). 

P. 671, St. 1, 1. 9, that (1591), this (T. for W.). 

P. 671, St. 2, 1. 5, show (1591), shew (T. for W.). 

P. 671, St. 2, 11. 9-14. In the T. for W. these 
linos are as follows : — 

Sirnke on, a rock, that laider water lay. 
O yreat misfortune, O great griefe, I say, 
Thus in one moment to see lost and drownde 
So great riches, as lyke can not be founde.' 

P. 671, St. 8, 1. 1, TVie (1591), T/ien (T. for W.). 

P. 671, St. 8, 1. 2, the (1591), a (T. for W.). 

P. 671, St. 8, 1. 8, Amidst (1591), Amidde (T. 
for W.). 

P. 671, St. 8, 1. 7, That tnth, &c. (1591), 3Iy 
sprites irere ravisht with these pleasures there 
(T. for W.). 

P. 672, St. 4, 1. 1, a (1591), the (T. for W.). 

P. 672, St. 4, 1. 7, To the soft (1591), Unto the 
gentle (T. for W.). 

P. 672, St. 4, 1. 8, That my glad heart, &c. 
(1591), The sight roherof dyd make my heart 
re Joyce (T. for W.). 

'p. 672, St. 4, 1. 9, But, while herein, &c. (1591), 
But while I take herein, &c. (T. for W.). 

P. 672, St. 4, 11. 18, 14, are omitted by T. for W. 



868 



VARIATIONS FROM THE ORIGINAL EDITIONS. 



P. 672, St. 6, 1. 7, at last (1591), at length (T. 
for W.). 

P. 672, St. 5, 11. 12-14. These three lines are not 
in T. for W. but instead we have the following 
concluding line : — For pitie and love my heart 
yet hurnes in paine. 

P. 672, St. 6, 1. 2. thinking yet (X5Q\),intMnk- 
ing (T. for W.). 

P. 672, St. 6, 1. 11, on (1591), in (T. for W.). 

P. 672, St. 6, 1. 12, and sorroicful annoy (1591), 
That dothe our heartn anoy (T. for W.). 

P. 672, St. 6, 11. 13-U, are omitted by T. for W. 

P. 672, St. 7. This stanza does not occur in T. 
for W., but the four following lines are added to 
the Epigrams : — 

My Song thus noio in thy Conclusions, 
Say boldly that these same six visions 
Do yelde unto thy lorde a sweete request, 
Ere it he long within the earth to rest. 



P. 672, St. 7, 1. 1, behold, 
beheld. 



The 4to. 1591 reads 



DAPHNAIDA. 

P. 674, 1. 79, unpitied, unplained (1591). Some 
modern editions read unpitied and unplained. 
P. 676, 11, 159, 160. fro (1591), from (1611). 
P. 679, 1. 391, till (1596), tell (1591). 
P. 680, 1. 478, starves (1591), starre (1596). 
P. 680, 1. 487, deepe (1591), deere (1596). 



COLIN CLOUTS COME HOME AGAINE. 

P. 682, 1. 1, knowen. The 4to. 1595 reads 
knowne. 

P. 683, 1. 46, glorious bright, i.e. glorious 
bright one (1595), Some modern editions read 
glory bright. 

P. 683, 1. 88, lasse, (1611), losse (1595). 

P. 683, 1. 91, ehose (1595), choose (1611). 

P. 684, 1. 168, singulis (1611), sin gulfs (1595). 

P. 686, 1. 315, bordrags. The 4to. 1595 reads 
bodrags. 

P. 687, 1. 382, there is Oorydon. The 4to. 1595 
reads there is a Cory don. 

P. 688, 1. 487, Urania. The ed. 1595 reads 
Uriana. 

P. 690, 1, 600, clusters. The 4to, 1595 reads 
glusters. 

P. 690, 1, 601, braunches (suggested by Collier), 
The 4to. 1595 has bunches. 

P. 690, 1. 670, dtirst. The ed. 1595 has darest. 

P. 692, 1. 151, fare (1611), /ar (1595). 

P. 692, 1. 762, drownded (1595), drowned 
(1611). 

P. 693, 1. 860, her (referring to earth). Some 
editions read their. 

P. 693, 1. 861, life-giving. All old editions 
read like giving, 

P. 693, 1. 884, the creatures (1611). Ed. 1595 
has their creatures. Collier suggests these. 

ASTROPHEL. 

P. 695, 1. 40, and weetingVy (1595), ? unweet- 
ingly. 

P. 696, 1. 68, often (1611), oft (1595). Did Spen- 
ser Intend to write oft had sighed ? 



P. 696, 1. 71, sighH, i.e. sigJud (1595), sigh't 
(1611). 
P, 696, 1. 107, needeth (1611), need (1595), 
P. 697, 1. 167, beare (1595), biere (1611). 

THE DOLEFULL LAY OF CLOPJNDA. 

P. 699, 1. 35, Mm did see (1611), him see (1595). 
P. 699, 1. m,fro me (1611), me fro (1595). 

THE MOURNING MUSE OF THESTTLIS. 

P. 700, 1. 20, thy ireful. All old editions read 
their ireful. 

P. 701, 1. 34, Seyne. The old editions read 
Reyne. 

P. 703, 1. 193, to thee let fall. Some editions 
read to let thee fall. 

A PA8T0RALL AEGLOGUE. 

P. 704, 1. 29, testified. Ed. 1595 has testfied, 
P. 704, 1, 41, hard (1595), sad (1611). 

AN ELEGIE, 

P. 706, 1. 3, glasse. The ed. 1595 reads grasse. 

P. 707, 1. 72, nigJit (1611), migJU (1595). 

P, 707, 1. 109, never (1611), ever (1595). 

P, 708, 1, 134, Astrophill. The original has 
Astrophrill. 

P. 708, 1. 150, To shori-livde (1595). Some 
editions read The short-Uvde. 

P. 708, 1. 155, nor (1595), or (1611). 

P. 708, 1. 177, do (1595), doth (1611). 

P. 708, 1, 181, This loord (1611), His word 
(1595). 

P. 708, 1. 206, of each kinds (1611), of kinde 
(1595). 

P. 708, 1. 234, discollor (1611), discollors{\m5). 

AN EPITAPH (II). 

P. 710, 1. 25, parallels (1611), parables {\5^h). 
P. 710, 1. 39, Go, seeke (1611), Go, seekes (1595). 



SONNETS. 

P. 713, St, 10, 1, 7, captive. Ed. 1595 reads 
captiiies. 

P. 714, St. 11, 1. 8, unpittied. Ed. 1595 reads 
unpitteid. 

P. 714, St. 15, 1. 3, treasure. Ed. 1595 reads 
treasures. 

P. 716, St. 21, 1. 6, love. Ed. 1595 reads loves. 

P. 717, St. 26, 1. 4, braunche is. The ed. of 1595 
reads braunches. 

P. 717, St. 26, 1. 5, rough read tough (1595). 

P. 718, St. 33, 1. 11, Sins (1595), Sith (1611). 

P. 718, St. 35. This stanza is repeated iu ed. 
1595, and comes between stanzas 82 and 83. 
There is a different reading in 1. 6, it is having it 
in our text, but seeing it in the omitted version. 

P. 721, St. 47, 1. 11, her (1595). their (1611). 

P. 721, St. 50, 1. 9, first (1595). Some copies 
read /or, 

P. 722, St. 53, 1. 6, sembloMt (1597), semblance 
(1611). 

P. 722, St. 55, 1. 12, mind (1595). Some editions 
read love. 



VARIATIONS FROM THE ORIGINAL EDITIONS. 



869 



P. 728, St.. 57, 1. 10, tliene f tJione. 

P. 723, St. 5S, 1. I, Hi/ her. 8onio editors tiro- 
pose to rend To but Hi/-- concorninj::. 

P. 7'i.S, St. 58, 1. S. n'loriea (151)5). Sonio edi- 
tions (lis KUl) road {//orioiin. 

V. 725, St. 71, 1. I), ahooe. Ed. 1595 reads 
ahoiit. Did Sponsor write : — 

£ut as i/our icorA'e if) all about ywove t 

P. 727, St. 82, 1. 2, placed. Ed. 15<)5 has plac'd. 

P. 729, St. 87, 1. 9, the idmi (1011), th' hlmt 
(1595). 

P. 729, St. 88, 1. 8, roio. The ed. 1595 reads 
vew. 

EPITHALAMION. 

P. 780, 1. 2, me (1595). Some editions rojid the. 

P. 780, 1. 18, girlands. •Tho od. 1595 roads 
glrlaiid. 

P. 781, 1. C7, dore (so od. 1595), but read deere 
as susr^ostod bv Professor Cliild. 

P. "781, 1. 92," dreamer. All the old editions 
read dreatne. 

P. 782, 1. 190, masefiill. The ed. 1595 has 
■mazefuU, but ainase/ull is su{r{,'ested by Pro- 
fessor Child. 

P. 788, 1. 208, reoei/ve. Ed. 1595 has rec'i/n\ 

P. 784, 1. 290, nig/its sad dread (1011), nights 
dread (1595). 

P. 734, 1. 841, PonA-e. The od. 1595 reads 
PonA-e. 

P. 785, 1. 859, your bed (1595). Some modern 
coi)ies road the bed. 

P. 785, 1. 879, wool. The ed. 1595 has ivoll. 

P. 786, 1. 8S5, thy will (1011), thei/ will (1595). 

IIYMNES. 

AN UYMNK OF LOVE. 

P. 787, 1. 09, inaA-e (1590), made (1611). 

P. 787, 1. 88, hated fyre. Ed. 1590 has hate 

P. 788, 1. 122, icith. Warton proposed to read 
from. 

P. 788, 1. 150, Since (1590). Some modern 
copies read Sith. 

P. 789, 1. 101, doest (1590). Some modern 
copies read doth. 

l». 789. 1. 227, hath eyde (1590). Some copies 
read had eyde. 

AN UYMNK OF BKAITTIB. 

P. 741, 1. 0, doest (1590). Some modern edi- 
tions read doth. 

P. 741, 1. 47, dotheih it (1596). Collier reads 
closes it. 

P. 742, 1. as, oft-times. Ed. 1596 has oftimes. 

P. 748, 1. 147, Performed. The ed. 1590 reads 
deform'd. 

V. 748, 1. 158, will, ? erill. 

P. 748, 1. 171, afections (1590), ? afection. 

P. 748, 1. 195, lio love (1590), uot lore ((.\^llior). 

P. 744, 1. 222, to his fancies (1590), f of /lis 
fancies. 

AN UYMNK OF IIKA.VKNL1E LOVE. 

P. 745, 1. 5;?, inpowre (1596), ofpowre (Collier). 
P. 746, 1. 72, still to them (1590). Collier reads 
unto them. 



P. 747, 1. 158, launching (1596). Some modern 
editions road la unci ng. 

P. 747, 1. 179, ()/■ us (1590),/()/' us (CollierV 

P. 747, 1. ISS, us so (1590), was so (Collier). 

l\ 747, 1. 195, Krcn he himfn/fe. Ed. 1590 has 
Kren himself'e. in 1011 it is h'rcn hee hi»)St/r'. 

P. 748, 1.288, of great (1590), l>i/ great (Coilifi"). 

P. 748, 1. 2()(5, to thee (1590)./(>/- thee (1011). 

UYMNK OF IIK.VVENl.IK UKAITTIE. 

P. 751, 1.121, Suns bright beames (1596), AV?<- 
brighf beainen (KUl). 

P. 751, 1. 1()5, And datnpish aire. Ed. 1596 
roads The darA- and dampish aire. 

P. 751, 1. 170, more bright (in 1611), is omitted 
by 1596. 

P. 7f>S, 1. 270, to inline (1596), a paine (1611). 

P, 758, 1. 294, on matter (1611), no matter 
(1596). 

PROTIIALAMION. 

P. 754, 1, 5, wliom (1596). Some copies read 
whose. 
P. 755, 1. 117, Yet (1611), Yeat (1596). 

SONNETS WRITTEN BY SPENSER. 

I. This is taken f\-om ' Foure Letters, and 
Certaine Sonnets : Especially touching Robert 
(rreene, and other parties, by him abused: 
itc. London, ito.: Imprinted by John Wolfe, 
1592.' 

II. This is prefixed to ^ Xennio, Or a Trea- 
tise of Xobilify, .^c. Writ/en in Italian by 
that famous Doctor and worthy Knight, Sir 
John Jiaptista Xenna of Bari. Done into 
Englifih by William. Joius, (rent., 4to. 1595.' 

I I I. Prolixod to tlio ' I/i.sforie of George Cas- 
triot, surnamed Scandtrbeg, King of Al- 
banie : (Containing his famous <u'tes, &,o. 
Newly translated out (f French into English 
by Z. I., Gentleman. Jmj»inted by W. Pon- 
sonbi/, 1590,' fol. Tliore is a copy of this work 
in tho Uodloian Library. AA. 87."Art. Sold. 

IV. Protixod to ' The Commonwealth and 
Gorerninent of Venice. Written by the Car- 
dinall (rasper Contareno, and translated out 
of Italian into English by Lewis LewA'enor, 
Esquire. TiOiidoii. Jm/>ri nted bi/ John Win- 
detfor Edmund Mattes, ^:o., 1599,' 4to. 

A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF 
IRELAND.! 

P. 769, col. 2, 1. 18, entred (22), enured (19). 

P. 759, ool. 2, 1. 2 ft-om bottom, Breaghe (22), 
Iriach (19). 

P. 7(iO, col. 1, 1. 48, sure {22),faire (19). 

P. 7C)0, col. 2, 1. 18, forestald (22), foreslal ed 
(19 and 78). 

P. 7(iO, col. 2, 1. 37, Tanistih (22), Tanist (19). 

P. 701, col. 1, 11. 85-80, innoration (19), inva- 
sion (78). 

P. 701, col. 2, 1. 24, wayved (78), wayed, 
waied (19 and 22). 

P. 701, col. 2, 1. 46, of a King (22), ' Of a Kintre, 
which tytle was gryven by tho Yrish rather for a 



1 22 = Additional MS. 22022. 19=llarl. MS. 
1982. 78 = llarl. MS. 7888. W. = Ware's Text. 



8/0 



VARIATIONS FROM THE ORIGINAL EDITIONS. 



more greater liononr of their coiintrey then for 
anj- gfratitication or addition of power to the 
kynge, who was befoi-e Lord of Yreland ; which 
tytle did not imi>ort the absolute soveraigne com- 
mand of a lord soigjiour over his subjects as over 
his vassalles ; for all other absolute power of 
priucipalitie he had in himself before deryved 
from manie former kinges,' &c. 

P. 762, col. 1, 1. 21, keepe (22), j^lucke. (19). 

P, 762, col. 2, 1. 2 from bottom, loarrelUce (19), 
wicked (22). 

P. 763, col. 2, 1. 26, enured (73), enired (22 
and 19). 

P. 764, col. 1, 11. 23, 24, Culvers, Mointerolis, 
Oroirke. MS. 22 omits Cahners and Mointe- 
rolis; 19 reads Ciolvers, Moneroo {'S Jiloneroe), 
and Oufkes {Orourcks 73). 

P. 764, col. 1, 11. 26, 27, Glaunmaleerih, SMI- 
lelah, Briskeliigh, Polmonte. MS. 19 has 
Glaumalor (73 Qlamalour), Shillelagh and 
Br-isklagh. Polmonte Is inserted from Ware's 
text. 

P. 764, col. 2, 1. 2, the Earle of Ulster. Ware's 
text has the Earle of, which is omitted in the 
Brit. Mus. MSS. For UMer, 19 reads Lacie. 

P. 764, col. 2,1. U,builded . . . Tomond {22), 
repaired . . . Thomond, (19). 

P. 764, col. 2, 1. 3 from bottom, Clarifort (19), 
Clareforte (73), Clariford (Ware). Omitted 
by 22.' 

P. 764, col. 2, 11. 3, 2 from bottom, Mourne 
and Buttevant (19). Omitted by 22, 

P. 765, col. 1, 1. 13, remember (22), reade^ld). 

P. 765, col. 2, 1. 3, 7mrt (22), seaihe (19). 

P. 765, col. 2, 1. 17, Donluee (Ware), Donlace, 
(19). Omitted by 22. 

P. 765, col. 2, 1. 19, Belfast (19). Omitted by 
22. 

P. 765, col. 2, 1. 29, en Ranagh. Omitted by 
22 ; inserted from 19. 

P. 765, col. 2, 1. 30, Belfast . . . Newton. 
Omitted by 22 ; inserted from 19. 

P. 765, col. 2, 1. 40, in the Ardes. Omitted by 
22 ; inserted from Ware : 19 reads at the Ardes, 
73 in A rdes. 

P. 765, col. 2, 1. 47, Bremmegham (22), Brem- 
inghain (19). 

P. 765, col. 2, 1. 52, to breathe or (22), to staie 
nor (19). 

P. 766, col. 1. 11. 4-13, and left . . . warres, in 
22, 19, and 73, but omitted by 'Ware. 

P. 766, col. 1, 1. 1 from bottom, Gerald (22), 
Garrelt (19 and 73). 

P. 766, col. 2, 1. 24, bluster (22), blatter (19, 
and Ware). 

P. 766, col. 2, 1. 4 from bottom, Leis (22), Leix 
(19). 

P. 767, col. 1, 1. 1, Oreylevs (IS), Orelies (19). 

P. 767, col. 1, 11. 7-10, All this . . . kindle (22), 
All these ichieh ye have named, and manie 
moe besides often tymes have I right well 
knotoen to kyndle (19). 

P. 767, col. 2,^ 11. 38-43, to keepe . . . pro- 
vision (19). Omitted bv 22, and Ware. 

P. 769, col. 1, 1. 7, leave (22), dryve (19). 

P. 769, col. 1, 1. 15, garrans (19), gerrans (22), 
garrandes (73). 

P. 769, col. 2, 1. 29, which purposely therfore 
is appoynted (22), which is purposelie ap- 
pointed thereunto (19). 



P. 770, col. 1, 1. 10, attaynted . . . void (22). 
Ware and MSS. 19 and 73 omit hath beene made 
voyd ; and for attaynted. Ware and 19 read 
conieyned. 

P. 770, col. 1, 1. 13, wronge (19), xvroaght 

P. 771, col.'l, 1. 14 from bottom, Palentine 
(22), Palatyne (19), Pallavtyne (73). 

P. 773, col. 1, 11. 3.5-36, Ouddeehih, Cosshirh 
(22), Caddie, Cossherie (19). Shragh and Sore- 
him (73 Stragh and Brehim) are omitted in 22. 

P. 773, col. 1, 1. 4:1, for their common saying e 
is (19). 

P. 773, col. 2, 1. 10, Kin-cogish (22), Kincon- 
glishe (19), Kingongish (73). 

P. 773, col. 2, 11. 39, 38 from bottom, inclusive 
. . . 7iim (19). Omitted by 22. 

P. 774, col. 1, 1. 24, Cogish (22), Congish (73). 

P. 774, col. 1, 1. 23 from bottom, follozcers (19), 
fellowes (22). 

P. 774, col. 2, 1. 11, I suppose to be Scythians 
ichich at, &c. In Ware's text we have the 
following passages (omitted in all the Brit. Mus. 
MSS.), which, however, is directed to be crossed 
out as being then agreeable to the best MS. copy ; 
which passage is also omitted in the MS. of tliis 
' View ' belonging to the Marquis of Stafford 
(Todd) : — 

Eudox. How commeth it then to passe, that 
the Irish doe derive themselves from Gathelus 
the Spaniard? 

Iren. They doe, indeed, but (I conceive) 
without any good ground. For if tUere were any 
such notable transmission of a colony hether out 
of Spain e, or any such famous conquest of this 
kingdome by Gathelus, a Spaniard, as they would 
faine believe, it is not unlikely, but the very 
Chronicles of Spaine (had Spaine then beene in 
so high regard as they now have it) would not 
have omitted so memorable a thing as the sub- 
duing of so noble a realme to the Spaniard, no 
more than they doe now neglect to memorize 
their conquest of the Indians, specially in those 
times, in which the same was supposed, being 
nearer unto the flourishing age of learning and 
writers under the Eomans. But the Irish doe 
heerein no otherwise then our vaine Englishmen 
doe in the Tale of Brutus, whom they devise to 
have first conquered and inhabited this land, it 
being as impossible to prove, that there was ever 
an}"- such Brutus of Albion or England as it is 
that there was any such Gathelus of Spaine. 
But surely the Scythians (of whom I earst spoke 
at. &c.). 

P. 774, col. 2, 1. 23, Sciottenland (19), Scutter- 
land (22). 

P. 774, col. 2, 11.25-33, T wonder . . . and the 
same (in 19 and 73). Omitted by 22. 

P. 775, col. 2, 11. 2, 8, of all which . . . Buck- 
hanan (22). Omitted bv W. 

P. 775, col. 2, 1. 30, lea've (so all copies) ? learn. 

P. 775, col. 2, 1. 40, antiquitye (22), auncient- 
nes (19 and 73). 

P. 776, col. 1, 1. 29, Cales (22), Cadis (19) :]. 43, 
Galdtmum (W.), Galdum (22), Galdumon (19). 

P. 776, col. 1, 1. 40, Celties (22), Celtw (19), 
Celts (W.). 

P. 776, col. 2, 1. 30, ^ftye (22), fyfteene (19). 

P. 776, col. 2, 1. 37, Slevius (22), Slanius (W.), 
Stanius (19). 



VARIATIONS FROM THE ORIGINAL EDITIONS. 



871 



P. 776, col. 2, 11. 44-45, As the Laiine provei-l>e 
is (omitted by 22 ; In 19 and 73). W, reads as 
the later proverb e is. 

F. Ill, co\A,l\.2-5, forbeing . . . would (22). 
Omitted by W. 

P. 777, col. 2, 1. 4, Isabell (22), Elizabeth (W., 
19 and 73). 

P. 777, col. 2, 1. 16, atmcientrye (22, 73 and 
W.), auncestrie (19). 

P. 778, col. 1, 11. 10-14, of the which . . . of 
the Gaules (19 and 73). Omitted by 22. 

P. 778, col. 1, 1. 31, Gaull (22), Gaules (19), 
Gald (73 and W.). 

P. 778, col. 2, 1. 19, Cummurretih (12), Oum- 
merick {ya) , Cameriche (Ti). 

P. 778, col. 2, 1. 60, ^oinning (22), employing 
("W. and 73), empeopling (19). 

P. 779, col. 2, 1. 23, bolyes (W. and 19), bogges 
(22 and 73). 

P. 779, col. 2, 1. 46, bolyes (22), boolying (W.), 
BoUinge (19 and 73). 

P. 780, col. 2, 1. 27, Gaules (22 and W.), Afri- 
cans (19 and 73). 

P. 780, col. 2, 1. 56, besemeth (22), deserve (19). 

P. 781, col. 1, 1. 3, encloseth (22), ensconceth 
(19). 

P. 781, col. 1, 1. 43, Beantoolhe (22), Monashutt 
(19 and 73), ifonashul (W.). 

P. 781, col. 2, 11. 42, 43, as have . . . that 
people. W. reads as have been devised for 
that people ; 22, taken for theyr reformation ; 
19, as have been devised for that people ; 73 
as have been devised for the reformation of 
the people. 

P. 781, col. 2, 11. 25-27, 1 say . . . tobe named 
(22). Omitted by W. 

P. 782, col. 1, 1. 12, Laimlaider iW .) Landar- 
gaho (19), Layarrigabowe (22). 

P. 782, col. 1, 1, 36, blunt (22), blynde (19 and 
W.). 

P. 782, coL 1,1. 61, approovaunce (,22) y appar- 
ance (19). 

P. 782, col. 2, 11. 1-2, Scota . . . judgement 
(22), Scota be like an Egiptian word or carrie 
anie smacke of anie learninge or judgement 
(19). 

P. 782, col. 2, 1. 9, owles or cats eyes (19), an 
owle or catt-is eyes (22). 

P. 782, col. 2, 1. 15, Irish (W.), English (22). 

P. 782, col. 2, 1 .17, Farreehs. W. has Ferragh ; 
22 Farreels ; 19 Ferrah ; 73 Ferraghe. 

P. 783, col. 1, 1. 54, clashing (19), lashing 
(22). 

P. 783, col. 2, 1. 3, joining (19), comming (22). 

P. 783, col. 2, 1. 39; oath (19), wealth (22). 

P. 784, col. 1, 1. 36, Lycanthropia (W.), Hican- 
thropia (22). 

P. 784, col. 2, 1. 51, shavinge (19), shewing 
(22). 

P. 786, col. 1, 11. 57-58, an other huge . . . 
upon them, (22), and through other huge calam- 
ities which came upon thein (19). 

P. 787, col. 1, 11. 36-37, Neman, Shenan, Mau- 
gan (22), Heenan, Shenan, Mangan (W.). 

P. 787, col. 1, 11. 46-61, of xchich sorte . . . 
quite Irish (22, 19, and 73). ' Omitted by Ware, 



who states that this passag^e is in the Lambeth 
MS., and in the MS. belonging to the Marquis of 
Stafford. 

P. 789, col. 1, 1. 36, head (W.), hand (22, 19, 
and 73). 

P. 790, col. 1, 11. 18-27, Me thinkes . . . dislike 
0/(19 and W.). Omitted by 22. 

P. 790, col. 2, 1. 6, TirtcBus (W. and 19), Tyr- 
reus (22). 

P. 791, col. 2, 1. 36, Kearrooghs (22), Garrowes 
(19). 

P. 792, col. 2, 11. 12-17, by reading . . . of 
folke (19), by reading those which you call 
Folkemotes the which builte by two severall 
nations, the one by the Saxons, as the worde 
signifyeth in Saxone meeting of folke (22). 

P. 792, col. 2, 1. 58, as ye ... of stones (19). 
Omitted by 22. 

P. 795, col. 2, 1. 5, to P. 798, col. 1, 1. 18, Tins is 
truly . . . way togither (22, 19 and 73). Omitted 
by W. 

?. 796, col. 1, 11. 30, 31, charge therof . . . but 
the inconvenience (19), charge therof, nor any 
defect of zeale for reformation herof, hut the 
inconvenience (22). 

P. 799, col. 1, 11. 46-50, And this is . . . for 
accursed (omitted by W.). 

P. 799, col. 1, 1. 47, times not called amisse 
(19), times called banisse (22). 

P. 806, col. 1, I. 27, Jacques Geffray (22), 
Seguor Jeffrey (19), Signior Jeffrey (W.). 

P. 808, col. 2, 1. 7, JIagueeirhe (22), Macguire 
(73), llacknyre (19). 

P. 808, col. 2, 1. 41, Tyrrelaghe 0-Neale (22), 
Turlagh Levagh (19), Turlough Oneale (78). 

P. 809, col. 1, 1. 13, advise (22), devyce (19). 

P. 810, col. 1, 1. 3, Cximmerreeighe (22), Co- 
mericke (19 and 73). 

P. 810, col. 1, 11. 29, 30, Brin in the Brittons 
. . . darke (22), Brin in the Britons language 
signifieth woodie, and Toll hillie (19 and 73). 

P. 810, col. 1, 1. 35, Deurmuid-ne-Galh (22), 
Dermonigle (19). 

P. 810, col. 2, 1. 16, Glan-Maleeirh (22), Glan 
Malor (19 and W.). 

P. 810, col. 2, 1. 17, Ballinecorrih (22), Bal- 
linecarre (19). 

P. 811, col. 1, 1. Zb, placing (19 and 73), plotting 
(22). 

P. 811, col. 2, 1. 31, good spialls (22), good 
especialls (19). 

P. 811, col. 2, 1. 35, bayte (22), bayjoning (19). 

P. 813, col. 1, 1. 58, unto them . . . cohere they 
(22), unto them that they shal be brought and 
removed with such creete as they have into 
Leinster, where they, &c. (19). 

P. 814, col. 2, 11. 41, 42, which amounteth . . . 
acres (22). Omitted by W. 

P. 823, col. 1_, 1. 56, kinde of being bounde 
(19), kinde of living being hound (22). 

P. 825, col. 2, 11. 55-56, Alloonagh . . . dogge 
(22), Sascona, that is English (19). 

P. 827, col. 1, 1. 20, sparke. All the MSS. 
agree in this reading. Ware has speare, but 
sparke may be a provincial form of the O. Eng. 
sparthe, a battle axe. 



GLOSSARY. 



A, in* A Gods name.' 

A7>ace, abase, to lower, to hang down. 

Aband, to abandon. 

Abashment, fear. 

Abeare, to behave, conduct. 

Abet, abett, to aid, support, maintain; asserting 

falsely. 
Abid, abode, remained. 
Abie, aby, abye, to pay the penalty of, to atone 

for, suffer for ; abide by. 
Abject, to throw or cast down. 
Abode, remained ; a delay, stay. 
Abolish, to wipe out. 
Aboard, abovd, from the bank, astray, at a 

loss. Aborde, harbor. 
Abouts, about. 
Abrade, to rouse, wake up, 
AbrayX^ret. abi'ayde), to start up suddenly, to 

awake ; to quake with sudden fear. 
Abusion, abuse, deceit, fraud. 
Accloy, accloye, to clog up, choke, encumber, 

hinder. 
Accoasting, skimming along near the ground. 
AcGompt, accoumpt, account. 
Accorage, to encourage. 
Accord, to grant, to agree, to reconcile; an 

agreement. 
According, agreeably to, according to ; accord- 
ingly. 
Accoste, to go side by side, to adjoin, border. 
Accourting, entertaining (courteously). 
Accoustrement, garb. 
Accoy, acGoie, to subdue, daunt, tame. 
Accoy, to coy, caress. 
Accoyl, to assemble, gather together. 
Accreio, to increase. 

Achates i^Acates), purchased provisions, cates. 
Acquight, acquit, acquite, to deliver, release ; 

acquitted, free. 
Adamants, crystals. 
Adaw, to adaunt, tame, moderate. 
Adayes, daily, 
Addeerae, to adjudge. 
Addoom, to adjudge. 
Address, to prepare, adjust, direct, clothe, arm. 

Addrest, ready. 
Adjoyne, to approach, join. 
Admiraunce, admiration. 
Admire, to wonder at. 
Adore, to adorn. 
Adorne, ornament. 
Adoicne, down. 

Adrad, adred, adredde, afraid, terrified. 
Adrad, to be frightened. 
Advaunce, to extol ; impel. 



opportunity ; to attempt, 
consider, perceive, take 



Adventure, chance ; 
Adview, to view. 
Advise, advise, to 

thought of, bethink. 
Advisement, consideration. 
Adward, an award ; to award. 
JEmuling, emulating, rivalling {oemuled). 
Afeard, afraid. 
Affear, to frighten. 
Affect, affection ; sorrow ; imitation. 
Affection, passion. 
Affide, affyde, betrothed ; Intrusted. 
Afflicted, low, humble. 
Afford, to consent. 
Affrap, to strike, to strike down, to encounter, 

to assault. 
Affray, to terrify, fray ; terror. 
Affrende, to make friends. 
Affret, encounter. 

Affront, to confront, encounter, oppose. 
Affy, to betroth, espouse ; intrust. 
Aff'yaunce, betrothal. 
Afore, in front, before. 
Aggrace, favor, kindness, goodwill; to make 

gracious. 
Aggrate, to please, delight, charm, treat 

politely. 
Aglet, point, tag. 
Agree, to settle, to cause to agree. 
Agreeably, alike, in a manner to agree. 
Agrise, agrise. agryse, agryze, to cause to 

shudder, to terrify, to make disgusted, 
Agryz'd, having a terrible look, disfigured, 
Aguise, agnize, to deck, adorn, fashion, 

accoutre ; to disguise, 
Alablaster, alabaster, 
Albe, albee, although, 
Aleggeaunce, alleviation. 
Alew, howling. 
Algate, algates, altogether, wholly, by all 

means, in all ways, at all events, nevertheless. 
All, although ; ' all as' = as if. 
Allegge, to lessen, allay. 
Almes, a free allowance, alms. 
Alone (only), -nithout compulsion. 
Alow, downwards. 
Alow, praise. 
Als, also. 

Amaine, violently, by force. 
Amate, to daunt," subdue, to stupefy, terrify; to 

keep company with. 
Amaze, amazement. 
Ambassage, embassy. 
Amearst, amerced, punished. 
Amenage, to manage, handle. 



874 



GLOSSARY. 



Amenaunce, carriage, behavior. 

Amis, amice, a priestly vestment. 

Am,ount, to mount up, ascend. 

Amove, to move, remove. 

Andvile, anvil. 

Annoy, annoyance, grief, hurt. 

Aniickes, antiques, ancient or fantastic figures. 

Apace, fast, copiously. 

Appall, to falter ; to w^eaken. 

Appay, apay (pret. and p. p. appay'd, ap- 

paid), to please, satisfy, pay. 
Appeach, to impeach, accuse. 
Appease, to cease from. 
Appele, to accuse ; to offer. 
Appellation, appeal. 

Apply, to attend to ; to bend one's steps to. 
Approven., to put to the proof, to prove. 
Approvaunce, approval. 
Arhorett, little grove. 
Aread, areed (p. p. ared), to tell, say, declare, 

describe, inform, teach, interpret, explain ; ap- 
point ; detect. 
Arear, areare, arere, arreare, to the rear, 

back.v(rard, aback. 
Aret, arret, to allot, intrust, adjudge. 
Arew, in a row, in order. 
Arguments, signs, indications. 
Arights, rightly. 
Arke, box, chest. 
Arras, taipestry of Arras. 
Arr aught (pret. of arreach), seized forcibly. 
As, as if. 

Askaunce, sideways. 
Aslake, to slake, abate, appease. 
Aslope, b'n the slope, aside. 
Assay, to try, attempt, assail, attack ; an attempt, 

trial ; value. 
Assayde, affected. 
Asseige, to besiege. 
Assignment, design. 
Assize, measure. 
Assoil, assoyl, to absolve, determine, set free, let 

loose, renew ; to pay ; remove. 
Assott, to befool, to beguile, bewilder. 
Assure, to promise, assert confidently. 
Asswage, to grow mild. 
Assyn, to mark or point out. 
AstaH, to start up suddenly. 
Astert, bef&ll, come upon suddenly. 
Astond, astound, astonied, astonished, stunned. 
Astonish, to stun. 
Astonying, confounding. 
Attach, to seize, take prisoner {attack). 
Attaine, attayne, to find, reach, fall in with. 
Attaint, to stain, obscure. 
Attempt, to tempt. 
Attendement, Intent. 
Attent, attention. 
Attone {atone), at one, together, reconciled. 

Attone, attons, at once, together. 
Attrapt, dressed. 
Atween, at/ioeene, between. 
Atwixt, between, at intervals. 
Aumayl, to enamel. 
Availe, avale, to fall, sink, lower, descend, bow 

down. 
Avaunt, depart. 
Avauntage, advantage. 
Avaunting, advancing (boastfully). 
Avenge, revenge. 



Avengement, revenge. 

Aventred, thrust forward (at a venture). 

Aventring, pushing forward. 

Aviee, avyse, to perceive, consider, regard, view, 

take note of, reflect, bethink ; advise. 
Avizefull, observant. 
Avoid, to depart, go out. 

Avoure, ' to make avoure ' = to justify, maintain. 
Awarned, made, was made aware. 
Awayte, to wait for ; watch. 
Awhape, to terrify, frighten. 
Ay gullets {aglets), tags, points of gold. 
Aym,, direction. 

Babe, doll. 
Bace, low. 
Bace, the game of prisoner's base ; 'bad l>ace'' = 

challenged. 
Baffuld, disgraced (as a recreant knight). 
Baile, to deliver ; custody. 
Batns, banns (of marriage). 
Bale, grief, sorrow, affliction, trouble ; hales, 

ruins ; baleful, full of bale, destructive, deadly ; 

halefulnesse, ruin. 
Balke, to disappoint, to deal at cross purposes ; a 

ridge between two furrows. 
BalUards, billiards. 
Ban, baiine, to curse {hand, cursed). 
Band, forbid, banish ; assemble. 
Bandog, mastiff. 
Bane, death, destruction. 
Banket, banquet. 
Bannerall, a standard (shaped like a s^allow'a 

tail). 
Barhe, equipments of a horse, horse-armour. 
Barhican, a watch-tower. 
Ba/rd, ornamented with hars (ornaments of a 

girdle). 
Base, low ; the lower part. 
Basenesse, a low humble condition. 
Basen-wide, widely extended. 
Bases, armor for the legs. 
Bash, to be abashed. 
Bastard, base, lowborn. 
Basted, sewed slightly. 
Bate, did bite; fed. 
Bate, to bait, attack. 
Batt, stick. 

Battailous, ready for battle, in order for battle. 
Baiteilant, embattled, fortified. 
Battill (properly to fatten), to be of good flavor. 
Button, stick, club. 
Bauldricke, belt. 
Baivne, a hill. 
Bay, a standstill, a position in which one is kept 

at bay. 
Baye, to bathe. 
Bayes {hates), laurels. 
Bayt, bait, artifice ; to bait (a bull) ; to cause to 

abate, to let rest. 
Beades, prayers. 
Beadroll, a list. 
Beare, burden ; bier. 
Beastlyhead, 'your heastlyhead,'' *a gpreeting 

to the person of a beast.' 
Beath'd, plunged. 
Beauperes, fair companions. 
Beckes, beaks. 

Become, to come to, go to, to suit, to happen. 
Bed, bad. 



GLOSSARY. 



875 



BedigM, dressed, equipped, decked, ftdprned ; 
'ill-bedight,' disfigured. 

JBeduck, to dive, dip. 

Befell, was fitting, proper. 

Beginne, beginning. 

Begord, stained witli gore. 

Behave, to employ, use. 

Belieast, behest, command. 

Behight, call, name, address, pronounce, prom- 
ise, command ; ordained ; adjudged, intrusted. 

Behoofe, profit. 

Behote, to promise ; call ; behott, promised. 

Belaccoyle, kind salutation or greeting. 

Belamoure, helamy, a lover. 

Belay, to beset, encompass ; adorn. 

Beldame, fair lady. 

Belgard, fair (or kind) looks. 

Bellibone, a beautiful and good woman. 

Belyde, counterfeited. 

Ben {bene, been), are. 

B-end, band. 

Benejtciall, a benefice. 

Bent, long stalks of (bent) grass, 

Beraft, bereffe. 

Bere, to bear ; bier. 

Beseeke, beseech. 

Beaeene, 'well-beseen,' of good appearance, 
comely. 

Beseme, beseeme, to be seemly, to seem fit, to 
suit, fit, become, appear. 

Besitting, befitting. 

Bespeake, to address. 

Bespredd, adorned. 

Besprent, befiprint, besprinkled. 

Bestad (bested, bested ded), situated, placed, 
placed in peril ; treated ; attended ; beset ; ' ill 
bested ' = in a bad plight. 

Bestaine, to stain. 

Bestow, to place. 

Bestrad, bestrided. 

Bet, did beat. 

Betake (pret. betooke), to take (into), to deliver, 
bestow, betake one's self. 

Beteeme, to deliver, give. 

Bethinke, to make up one's mind. 

Bethrall, to take captive. 

Betide, betyde, to befall, to happen to; betid, 
betyded, betight, befall, befallen. 

Belt, better. 

Bever, the front part of a helmet (covering the 
mouth). 

Bevy, company (of ladies). 

Beivaile, to choose, select. 

Bewray, to reveal, betray, accuse ; signify. 

Blckerment, bickering, strife. 

Bid, to pray. 

Bide, to bid, offer. 

Biggen, cup. 

Bilive, bylive, blive, forthwith, quickly. 

Bits, battle-axes. 

Blame, to blemish ; injury, hurt. 

Blunckt, confounded, put out of countenance. 

Blast, to wither. 

Blatter, to bluster (in note). 

Blaze, to blazon forth, proclaim. 

Blem,ishment, a blemish. 

Blend (pret. and p. part, blent), to mix, con- 
fuse, confound, defile, blemish, stain, obscure. 
Blent, blinded, obscured, blotted. 

Mere, to blear (one's eyes), deceive. 



Bless, to preserve^ deliyejc ; to brandish. 

Blesse, bliss. 

Blin, to cease. 

Blincked, dimmed. 

Blind, dark. 

Blist, wounded, struck. 

Blist, blessed. 

Bloneket, liveries, gray coats. 

Blont, blunt, unpohshed. 

Bloosme, blossom, bloom. 

Blot, blotten, to defame, blemish. 

Blubbred, wet or stained with tears. 

Boad, 'booties boad' = lived uselessly, profit- 
lessly. 

Beads, bodes, portends. 

Bode, abode. 

Boley (or buala)^ 'plaqe (situated in a grassy 
hollow) enclosed by man in which to put 
cattle in the spring and summer months, 
while on the mountain pastures — a place that 
insures safety.' (Henry Kinahan in The 
Athenceum, No. 2167, May 8, 1869). 

Bollet, bullet. 

Bolt, arrow. 

Bond, bound. 

Boone, prayer, petition. 

Boord, bord, to accost, to address, talk with; 
conversation ; go side by side. 

Boot, to avail, profit ; booty, gain. 

Booting, availing. 

Bore, borne. 

Borde, coast. 

Bordraging (pi. bordrags), border ravaging, 
border raid. 

Borowe, borrowe, pledge, surety. 

Borrell, rustic. 

Bosse, middle of shield. 

Bouget, budget. 

Bought, fold. 

Boidt, to sift, bolt. 

Bounse, to beat. 

Bountie, bounty, goodness. Bov/nieous, gen- 
erous, good. Bountyhed, generosity. 

Bourdon, burden (of a song). 

Bourne, boundary. 

Bout, about. 

Bouzing-can, a drinking-can. 

Bownd, to lead (by a direct course). 

Boivre, chamber, inner room ; to lodge, shelter. 

Bowrs, muscles (of the shoulder). 

Boy, a term of reproach. 

Boystrous, rough, rude (as applied to a club). 

Brace, to embrace, encompass. 

Brag, proudly. Bragly, proudly. Bragging, 
proud. 

Bram,e, sharp passion (cf. O.E. breme, severe, 
sharp). 

Bransles, dances, brawls. 

Bra&t, burst. 

Brave, fair, beautiful. 

Braverie, finery. 

Bravely, gallantly, splendidly. 

Brawned, muscular, brawny. 

Bray (braie), to cry out suddenly, cry aloud, 
utter aloud ; gasp out. » 

Braynepan, skull. 

Breaded, braided, embroidered. 

Breare, brere, briar. 

Breech, breeches. 

Breede, work, produce. 



876 



GLOSSARY. 



Breem, breme, boisterous, rough, sharp. 

Brenne, to burn. 

Brent, burnt. 

Brickie, brittle. 

Brigandine, a kind of light vessel. 

Brim, margin of the horizon. 

Brlze, hryze, gadfly. 

Brocage, pimping. 

Broch, to commence, broach. 

Brode, abroad. 

Brond, sword. 

BrondirOn, sword. 

Brands, embers, brands. 

Brood, a brooding-place (? an error for bood = 

O.E. bood or abood, an abode, resting-place; 

cf. bode). 
Brooke, to endure, bear, brook. 
Bronzes, twigs. 
Brunt, assault. 
Brust, burst. 

Bruied, renowned, bruited. 
Brutenesse, bruiishnesse, brutality, brutelike 

state. 
Buckle to, make ready. 
Buf (pi. bufes), a blow, 
Bug, apparition, bugbear, goblin. 
Bugle, wild ox. 
Buegle, bead. 
Bullion, pure gold. 
Burdenous, heavy. 
Burganet, headpiece, helmet. 
Burgein, burgeon, bud. 
Buskets, bushes. 
Busse, kiss. 
But-if, unless. 

Buxom, obedient, yielding, tractable. 
By-and-by, one by one, singly. 
Byde, abide. Byding, abiding, remaining, 
Bylive, quickly, also active. See Bli/oe, belive. 
Bynem,pt, named, appointed ; bequeathed. 

Cabinet, cottage, little cabin. 

Ccerule, azure. 

Caitive, caytive, subject, captive; vile, base, 

menial, rascal. 
Call, caul, cowl, cap. 
Camis, camus, a light, loose robe of some light 

material (as silk, &c.), chemise. 
Can or 0am, (an auxiliary of the past tense), did. 
Can, knows. 

Cancred, canke/rd, corrupt. 
Canon bitt, a smooth round bit (for horses). 
Capita yn, captain. 
Caprifole, woodbine. 
Captivaunce, captivity, 
Captived, taken captive, enslaved. 
Capucdo, hood (of a cloak), capuchin. 
Card, chart. 
Care, sorrow, grief, injury. Careful, sorrowful. 

Careless, free from care ; uncared for. 
Carke, care, sorrow, grief. 
Carl, carle, an old man ; churl. 
Carriage, burden. 
Cast, to consider, plot, resolve, purpose ; time, 

period, opportunity, ' nere their utmost cast ' 

= almost dead ; a couple. 
Castory, color (red or pink). 
Caudron, caldron. 

Causen, to assign a cause or reason, explain. 
Cauielous, wary. 



Caved, made hollow. 

Centonel, a sentinel. 

Certes, certainly. 

Cesse, to cease. 

Cesure, a breaking off, stop. 

Chaffar, to chaffer, exchange. 

Chalenge, to claim ; to track, follow ; accusation. 

Chamelot water, camlet watered. 

Chamfred, wrinkled, furrowed. 

Champain, champian, champion, open coun- 
try, plain. 

Charwpionesse, a female warrior. 

Character, image. 

Charge, assault, attack. 

Charget, chariot. 

Charm, to tune ; a tune, song. 

Chauff, chaufe, to become warm, to be irritated, 
to chafe ; rage. 

Chaunceful, hazardous, 

Chaunticleer, the cock. 

Chaw, jaw ; to chew. 

Chayre, chary, 

Chayre, chariot. 

Cheare, chere, countenance, favor, cheer, 
Chearen, to cheer up. 

Checked, chequered. 

Checklaton (O.E. ciclaton), a rich kind of cloth. 

ChereUe, cheerfully. 

Cherishment, a cherishing. 

Cherry, to cherish. 

Cheverye, chief rent, 

Chevisaunce, enterprise, undertaking, perform- 
ance, bargain. 

Chickens (faithlesse), heathen brood. 

Chief e, ' wrought with a chiefe,' worked with a 
head (like a nosegay). 

Childed, gave birth to a child. 

Chimney, fireplace. 

Chine, back. 

Chorle, churl, 

Chynd, cut, divided. 

Clark, clerk, scholar. 

Clave, clove, cleft, did cleave, 

Cleane, cleene, dene, pure, clean', entirely. 
Cleanly, skilfully, 

Cleep, to call. 

Clemence, clemency. 

Clew, plot, purpose (properly a hank of thread). 

Clift, cliff. 

Clinck, clicket, latch. 

Cloml)e, climbed, mounted. 

Close, secret. Closely, secretly. 

Clotiches, clutches. 

Clouted, bandaged with a clout or rag. 

Cloyd, wounded. 

Coast, to approach. 

Coch, coach. 

Cocked, in cocks (in heaps). 

Cognizaunce, knowledge, recollection. 

Colled, embraced, fondled. 

Collusion, deceit, cunning. 

Colour, pretence ; to hide. 

Coloured, deceitful, crafty, 

Colwort, cabbage-plant. 

Comber, to encumber, Combrous, laborious, 
troublesome. 

Commen, common, to commune, discourse. 

Comment, to relate (falsely). 

Commodity, advantage. 

Commonl/y, in common, equally. 



GLOSSARY. 



877 



Compacte (?), coQipacted, concerted. 


Counterpoys, to counterbalance. 


Compacted, close. Compacture, a close knit- 


Countervayle, to oppose, resist. 


ting together. 


Coupe, a cage, coop. 


Companie, companion. 


Coupjlement, couple. 


Compare, to collect, procure. 


Coure, to cover, protect. 


Compasse, circuit. 


Courst, chased. 


Compast, contrived. Compast creast, the round 


Courting, attendance at court. 


part of the helmet. 


Couth, could ; knew, knew how. 


Compel, to cite, call to aid. 


Covert, concealed. 


Complement, perfection (of character) ; union. 


Coverture, covering, shelter. 


Complish, to accomplish. 


Covetise, covetize, covetousness. 


Complyne, evensong. 


Cowardree, cowardice. 


Comportaunce, behavior. 


Cracknell, a thin hard-baked biscuit. 


Compound, to agree. 


CrcBsie, cracked. 


Comprize, to comprehend, understand. 


Crag, cragge, neck. 


Comproviticiall, to be contained in the same 


Craggy, knotty. 


province with. 


Crake, to boast ; boast, boasting. 


Compyle, to heap up : frame ; settle, reconcile. 


Crank, a winding. 


Conceiptful, thoughtful. 


Crank, vigorously. 


Concent, to harmonize. 


Grapples, grapples, claws. 


Concent, harmony. 


erased helth, impaired health. 


Concrew, to grow together. 


Cratch, rack, crib. 


Cond, learnt. 


Creakie, indented with creeks. 


Condign, worthy. 


Creasted, crested, tufted. 


Conditions, qualities. 


Creeie, cattle, live stock. 


Conduct, conductor, guide ; management. 


Cremosin, cremsin, crimson. 


ConfuHon, destruction. 


Crewe (priestes crewe) = crewet, crime, vessel. 


Congi, leave. 


Crime, accusation, reproach, fault. 


Conjure, to conspire. 


Crisped, curlv (hair). 


Conne, to know. 


Crooke (cross), gibbet. 


Consort, company, companion ; concert ; to com- 
bine, unite (ill harmony). 


Cros-cut, to pierce or cut across. Croslet, a 


httle cross. 


Constraint, distress, uneasiness. 


Croud, a fiddle. 


Containe, to restrain, control. 


Cruddle, to curdle. Cruddy, curdled. 


Conteck, dispute. 


Crum,enall, purse. 


Contempt, contemned. 


Cud, not the thing chewed, but the stomach 


Contrive, to wear out, spend. 


where the food is received before rumination. 


Controverse, debate, controversy. 


Cuffing (or cuffling), striking. 


Corn-enable, conformable. 


Culler, a ploughshare. 


Convent, to convene, summon. 


Culver, dove. 


Convei-t, to turn. 


Culvering, eul'verin, a sort of cannon. 


Convince, to conquer, overthrow. 


Cumbrous, troublesome. 


Coosen, kindred. 


Curats, curiets, cuirasses. 


Coosinage, fraud. 


Curelesse, hard to be cured, incurable. 


Cope, to chop, bargain with. 


Curtaxe, cutlass. 


Capesmate, a companion. 


Cut, fashion. 


Coportion, an equal portion. 




Corage, heart, mind ; wrath. 


Dcedale, skilful ; fertile. 


Cot be, crooked. 


Daint, daynt. dainty (superl. dayntest). 


Corbe, corbel, a projecting piece of wood, stone. 


Dainty, rare, valuable. 


or iron, placed so as to support a weight of 


Dallie, to trifle. Balliaunce, idle talk, trifling. 


material. 


Dame, lady. 


Coi'dewayne, cordwayne. cordovan leather. 


Damnify, to injure, damage. 


Coronall, a wreath, garland. 


Damozel, damsel. 


Coronation, carnation. 


Danisk, Danish. 


Corpse, a (living) body. Corse, a body, bulk. 


Dapper, neat, pretty. 


frame. 


Darrayne, to prepare, get ready, for battle. 


Corsive, corrosive. 


Darred, dazzled, frightened ('a darred lark ' is 


Cosset, a hand-reared lamb. 


generally explained as a lark caught (? fright- 


Cost, to approach, come to one's side. 


ened) by means of a looking-glass). 


Cote, sheep-fold. 


Dayesman, a judge, arbitrator. 


Cott, a little boat. 


Daze, to dazzle, dim ; to confound. 


Couched, bent ; laid (in order). 


Dead-doing, death-dealing. 


Could, knew. 


Deaded, deadened. 


Count, an object of interest or account. 


Dealth, bestows. 


Countenaunce, to make a show of. 


Deare, valuable, precious. 


Counter, encounter. 


Deare, hurt, injury; sore, sad; sorely. 


Countercast, counterplot. 


Dearling. darling. 


Coiunterchaunge, return of a blow. 


Dearnelie, sorrowfullv, mournfully (literally 


Counterfesaunee, a counterfeiting. 


secretly, hence lonely, sadly, «fec.). 



s:^s 



GLOSSARY. 



Deatc, to bedew. 

Debate, to contend, strive ; battle, strife. De- 

hatement, debate. 
Debonaire, gracious, courteous. 
Decay, to destroy, perish, relax ; destruction, 

ruin, death. 
Deceaved, taken by deceit. 
Deceipt, deceit. 
Decease, decease. 
Decreed, determined on. 
Decreiced, decreased. 
Deeme (pret. dempst), to judge, deem, ' deeme 

his payne ' = adjudge his punishment. 
Deei'ing-dooers, doers of daring deeds. 
Deface, to defeat. 
Defame, disgrace, dishonor. 
Defaste, defaced, destroyed. 
Defeasaunce, defeat. 
Defeature, defeat. 
Defend, to Iceep or ward oflf. 
Deffly, deftly, gracefully. 
Define, to settle, decide. 
Deforme, shapeless, deformed. 
Defray, to avert (by a proper settlement) ; 

appease. 
Degendered, degenerated. 
Delay, to temper, stop, remove. 
Delice {Deluce), flower-de-lice ( = flos delici- 

arum), the iris. 
Delices, delights. Delightsome, delightful. 
Dell, hole. 

Delve, dell, hole, cave. 
Demayne, demeajie, demeasnure, demeanor, 

bearing, treatment. Demeand, treated. 
Demisse, submissive. 
Dempt. See Deeme. 
Denay, to deny. 
Dent, dint, blow. 
Deow, dew. 
Depainted, depicted. 

Depart, to divide, separate, remove ; departure. 
Depeinct, depeincten, to paint. 
Depend, to hang down. 
Deprave, to defame. 

Der-doing— performance of daring deeds. 
Dernful, mournful. See Dearnelie. 
Dernly, secretly ; grievously, severely. 
Derring-doe, daring deeds, warlike deeds. 
Derth, scarcity. 

Deryne, to draw away, transfer. 
Descrie, descry, to perceive, discover ; reveal. 
Descrive, to describe. 
Desine, to denote. 
Despairefull drift, hopeless cause. 
Desperate, despairing. 

Despight, anger, malice ; a scornful defiance. 
Despightful, despiteous, malicious. 
Despoyl, to unrobe, undress. 
Desse, dais. 
Desynde, directed. 
Detaine, detention. 
Devicefull, full of devices (as masques, triumphs, 

&c.). 
Devise, d.evize, to guess at ; purpose ; to describe, 

talk. Devized, painted. Devized of, reflected 

on. 
Devoyr, duty. 
Dew, due. Dewfull, due. 
Dewelap, palear. 
Diapase, diapason. 



Diapred, variegated. 

Difference, choice. 

Diffused, scattered. 

Dight, to order, to arrange, prepare, dress, deck; 
mark. 

Dilate, to spread abroad, enlarge upon. 

DintAng, striking. 

Dint, scar, dent ; ' dolors dint ' = pang of grief. 

Diriges, dirges. 

Dirk, to darken ; darkly. 

Disaray, disorder. 

Disaccord, to withhold consent. 

Disadvaunce, to lower, to draw back. 

Disaventrous, unfortunate, unsuccessful, un- 
happy. Disaventure, mishap, misfortune. 

Disburden, to unburden. 

Discharge, to acquit one's self of, account for. 

Diseide, to cut in two. 

Disciple, to discipline. 

Disclaim, to expel. 

Disclose (pret. discloste), to unfold, transform ; 
set free, disengage. 

Discolourd, many-colored. 

Discomfited, disconcerted. 

Discommend, to speak disparagingly of, 

Discou/nsell, to dissuade. 

Discoure, discure, to discover. 

Discourse, shifting. 

Discourteise, discourteous. 

Discreet, diflfering. 

Discust, thrown or shook off. 

Disease, to distress ; uneasiness. Diseased, ill 
at ease, aiflicted. 

Disentrayle, to draw forth, to cause to flow. 

Disgrace, deformity. 

Disguizement, disguise. 

Dish able, to disparage. 

Disleall {disloyal), perfidious, 

Dislikeful, disagreeable. 

Disloignd, separated. 

Dismall, fatal. 

Dismay, to subdue, defeat, grieve, disquiet ; de- 
feat, ruin. Dismay full, terrifying. 

Z)ismay(^= mismade, deformed. 

Dismayl, to take off a coat of mail. 

Dispacing, pacing, roaming. 

Dispairful, despairing. See Despairefull. 

Disparage, disparagement. 

Dispart, to divide. 

Dispence, to pay for ; expense ; abundance. 

Dispiteous, cruel. 

Display, to spread out ; discover. 

Disple, to discipline. 

Displeasance, displeasaunce, displeasure. 

Disport, play, sport. 

Disprad, dispred, spread abroad. 

Dispraize, to disparage. 

Dispredden (pi.), spread out. 

Disprofesse, to abandon. 

Dispxirvayaunce, want of provisions. 

Disseise, disseize, to dispossess. 

Disshivered, shivered to pieces. 

Dissolute, weak. 

Distayne, to defile. 

Distent, beaten out. 

Distkronize, to dethrone. 

Distinct, marked. 

Distraine, to rend. 

Distratight, distracted ; drawn apart, separated. 

Distroubled, greatly troubled. 



GLOSSARY. 



879 



Dite, dighte, to make ready. 


Elfe, fairy. 


Ditt, ditty, song. 


Els (elles), else, elsewhere, otherwise. 


Diverse, distracting, diverting. 


Ernbace, embase, to bring or cast down, humili- 


Diver st, diverged, turned off. 


ate. Embaste, debased, dishonored. 


Divide, to play a florid passage in music 


Embar, to guard, confine. 


(Kitchin). 


Embassade, ambassador. 


Divinde, deified. 


Embassage, embassy, message. 


Divorced, separated by force. 


Embatieil, to arm for battle. 


Doale= dole, destruction. 


Embaulm, to anoint. 


Documents, instructions. 


Embay, to bathe ; bask. 


Doe, to cause. 


Embayl, to bind up. 

Embellisht, adorned (with flowers). 


Doffe, to put off. 


Dole, doole, sorrow, grief. DoolefuU, sorrowful. 


Embosome, to foster. 


Dolor {dolour), grief. 


Emboss, to overwhelm, press hard ; to surround, 


Dome, doome, doom, judgment, censure. 


enclose. 


Don, to put on. 


Embosse, to adorn, ornament, array. 


Done, donne, to do, 'of well to donne'' =ot 


Embow, to arch over, to curve, bend. 


well-doing ; doen, to cause ; doen (pi.), they do. 


Embowell, to take out the bowels. 


Donne, dun. 


Embower, to take shelter. 


Doomefull, threatening doom. 


Emboyl, to boil (with anger). Emboyled, 


Dortours, sleeping apartments. 


heated. 


Doted, foolish. 


Embrace, to brace, to fasten or bind: to pro- 


DouU, fear (also to fear) ; a matter of doubt. 


tect. 


Doubtful, fearful. 


Embracement, an embrace. 


Doubted, redoubted. 


Embrave, to decorate. 


Drad, dred, dread, dreaded, feared ; an object 


Emhreade, emhroder, to embroider. 


of reverence. Deeddest, most dread. 


Embrexoe, to stain with blood. 


Draft, drift, aim, purpose. 


Embusied, occupied. 


Drapet, cloth. 


Erne, uncle. 


Draught (= draff), stratagem, aim. 


Emeraud, emerald. 


Drave, drove. 


Emmove, to move. 


Dread, fury. Dreadful, fearful. 


Emong, among. Emongest, amongst. 


Dreare, Drere {Dreriment), grief, sorrow, 


Empale, to enclose, ft-inge. 


dreadful force. Drerihed, drearyhood, dry- 


Empare, empair, to diminish, impair, hurt. 


rihed, dreariness, aflBiiction. 


Emparlaunce, treaty. 


Drent, drowned. 


Empart, assign. 


Dresse, to dispose, adorn. 


Empassioned, empassionaie, moved or touched 


Drevill, a slave. 


with passion, feeling. 


Droome, a drum. 


Empeach, to hinder, prevent ; hindrance ; dis- 


Droupe, to droop. 


figurement. 


Drousy-hed, drowsiness. 


Empeopled, dwelt. 


Drouth, drought. 


Emperce, empierce, to pierce through (pret. em- 


Drover, a boat. 


perst, empterst). 


Droyle, to work sluggishly. 


Emperill, to endanger. 


Drugs, dregs. 


Emperish, to perish, decay. 


Dumpish, heavy. 


Empight, fixed, settled. 


Duraunce, bondage. 


Emplonged, plunged. 


DurefuU, enduring. 


Empoysoned, poisoned. 


Duresse, confinement. 


Emprise, emprise, enterprise, attempt. 


Dye, lot, destiny. 


Empurpled, purple-dyed. 




Enaunter, lest. 


Fame, to yearn ; to be grieved. 


Enbosome, to fix firmly. 


Earsi, erst, first, soonest, previously ; at earst, 


Enchace, enchase, to adorn, embellish ; to honor 


at length ; at present. 


with befitting terms ; engrave ; dart. 


Easterlings, men of the East (Norwegians, 


Encheason, reason, cause, occasion. 


Danes, &c.). 


Encomberment, hindrance. 


Eaih, ethe, easy. 


Encroche, to come on. 


Edge, to sharpen. 


Endamage, to damage, do harm. 


Ed if ye. to build, inhabit. 


Endangerment, danger. 


Eeke, eke, to increase ; also. 


Endevourment, endeavor, labor. 


Effierced, made fierce, inflamed. 


Endew, to endow. 


Efforce, to oppose. 


Endite, to censure. 


Efforced, efforst, forced, constrained, compelled 


Endlong, from end to end, continuously. 


(to yield). 


Endosse, write on the back, indorse. 


Effraid, scared. 


Endure, to harden. 


Ejtt, afterwards, again, forthwith, moreover. 


Ene, once. 


Eftsoones, soon after, forthwith. 


Enfelon'd, made fell or fierce. 


tide, seen. 


Enfested. See Infest. 


Eine, eyes. 


Enfierce, to make fierce. 


Eld^ age, old age. 


Enforme, to fashion. 



880 



GLOSSARY. 



Enfouldred, hurled out like thunder and light- 


Expert, to experience. 


ning. 


Expire, breathe out; to fulfil a term, put an 


Engin, wiles, deceit, contrivance. 


end to. 


Engirt, surrounded. 


Express, to press out. 


Englut, to glut, fill. 


Extasie, surprise. 


Engore, to gore, wound. 


Extent, stretched out. 


Engorge, to devour, glut. 


ExUrpe, to root out. 


Engraffed, engraft, implanted, fixed. 


Extort, extorted. 


Eigrained, dyed. 


Extract, descended. 


Engrasp, to grasp. 


Extreate, extraction. 


Engrave, to bury ; to cut, pierce. 


Exuls, exiles. 


Engreeve, engrieve, to grieve, to be vexed. 


Eyas, newly-fledged young. 


Engrosse, to buy up in large quantities, to re- 


Eyne, eyes. 


grate ; to write a large letter. 




Engroste, made thick. 


Face, to carry a false appearance. 


Enhaunse, to lift up, raise. 


Fact, feat, deed. 


Enlargen, enlarge, to set at large, deliver. 


Fail,fayl, to deceive ; to cause to fail. 

Fain, fayne, glad, eager; faynd, desu-ed; 


Enlumine, to illumine. 


Enmove, to move. See Emmove. 


faynes, delights. 


Enrace, to implant. 


Fain, fayne, to feign, dissemble ; to mistake ; 


Enragement, rapture. 


imagine ; '■fained dreadful ' = apparently 


EnravAige, to range. 


dreadful. 


Enraunged, ranged in order. 


Faitour, faytov/r, cheat, deceiver, vagabond, 


Enrold, encircled. 


villain. 


EnseameH, encloses. 


Fallen, befaU. 


Ensew, ensue, to follow after, pursue. Ensu- 


Falsed, falsified, deceived ; insecure, weak. 


ing, following. 


Falses, falsehoods. Falser, a har. 


Ensnarle, to ensnare, entangle. 


Faltring, faltering. 


EntayU, to carve, inlay ; (sb.) carving. 


Fantasy, fantazy, fancy ; apprehension. 


Enterdeale, negotiation. 


Fare, to go, proceed, act, deal. 


Enterpris, to undertake. 


Farforth, very far. 


Enterprize, to entertain ; take in hand. 


Faste, having a face. 


Entertain, take, receive (pay). Entertayne, 


Fastnesse, stronghold. 


entertainment, hospitality. 


Fate, destined term of life. Fatal, ordained 


Entertake, to entertain. 


by fate. 


Entire, inward, internal. Entyrely, earnestly ; 


Fault, to offend, be in error. 


entirely. 


Favour, feature. 


Entraile, entrayl, to twist, entwine, inter- 


Favourlesse, not showing favor. 


lace. 


Fay, a fairy ; faith. 


EntraiU, twisting, entanglement. 


Fear, f ear e, companion; tofeare, together. 


Entrall, the lowest part, depth (bowels). 


Fear, fear en, to frighten; 'feared of,' 


Entreat, to treat of, treat. 


alarmed by. 


Emire, to use, practise. Eiured, accustomed ; 


Fearfull, timid. 


committed habitually. 


Feastfull, festival. 


Envy, to be angry, indignant ; to emulate. 


Feateously, neatly. 

Feature, fashion, form, character. 


Emoallowe, roll about. 


Enwomhed, pregnant. 


Fee, tenure ; pay, sei'vice ; property. 


Enwrap, to wrap up. 


Feeble, enfeebled. Feblesse, feebleness. 


Equall, impartial. 


Feeld (golden), an emblazoned field (of a knight's 


Equipage, array, equipment ; to array, equip. 


shield). 


Ermelin, an ermine. 


Feend, fiend, devil. 


Ermine, skin of the ermine. 


Feld, let fall, thrown down. 


Erne, to yearn. 


Fell, befell ; gall. 


Errant, wandering. 


Fell, fierce, cruel. FelVy, cruelly. Fellonest, 


Errour, wandering. 


most fell. Fellonous, wicked, fell. Fehiesse, 


Erst. See Earst. 


cruelty, fierceness. 


Eschew, escape. 


Feminitee, womanhood. 


Esloyne, to withdraw. 


Fensible, fit for defence, defensible. 


Espiall, sight, appearance, observation. 


Feood, feud, enmity. 


E-ssoyne, to excuse. 


Fere, companion, husband. 
Ferme, lodging. 


Estate, state, rank. 


Eterne, eternal. Eternize, to make eternal. 


Ferry, a ferry boat. 


Eternize, to immortalize. 


Fett, to fetch ; fetched (rescued). 


Efhe, easy. 


Feutre,fewPre, to place the spear in the rest, to 


Eugh, yew. Eughen, ewghen, of yew. 


prepare for battle. 


Evangely, gospel. 


Fiaunt, commission, fiat. 


Evill, poor, unskilful. 


File, to defile. 


Eicfts, efts. 


File, to pohsh, smoothe. 


Exanimate, lifeless. 


Fine, end. 


Excheat, gain, profit, escheat. 


Firm, to fix firmly. 



GLOSSARY. 



88i 



Fit, to be fitting ; ' Of loves were fitted ' = were 
suited, furnished with lovers. 

Fit,fitt, emotion, passion, grief; a musical strain. 

Flaggy, loose. 

Flatt, plain. 

Fl-ake, a flash. 

Flamed, inflamed. 

Flasket, a basket. 

Flailing, flattcise, with the flat side (of the 
sword). 

Flaw, a gust of wind. 

FUare, to mock. 

Fleet, to sail, float ; to flit. 

FUur -de-luce, the iris. See DeUce, 

Flex, flax. 

Flit, fleet, swift ; changing ; unsubstantial, light. 

Flit, fl,itte, to move, change, flee. FlitUng, 
fleeting; yielding. 

Flong, flung. 

Flore, ground, spot. 

Flout, to mock, deride. 

Flowrets, little flowers. 

Flushing, rapidly flowing. 

Fodder, grass. 

Foen, foes. 

Foile, a leaf (of metal). 

Foison, abundance, plenty. 

Folkmote, a meeting, assembly. 

Fon, a fool. Fonly, foolishly. 

Fond, foolish, doting ; fondling, fool. Fondly, 
foolishly. Fondness, folly. 

Fond, found ; tried. 

Fone, foes. 

Food, feud. 

Foolhappie, undesigned. 

Foolhardise, foolhardiness, folly. 

For, notwithstanding; for fear of; what for = 
what sort of? 

Fordo, to destroy. Fordonne, utterly undone, 
ruined, overcome. 

Foreby, forhy, hard by, near ; with ; past. 

Forecast, previously determined. 

Foredamned, utterly damned. 

Forelay, to lay before, or over. 

Forelent, given up entirely. 

Forelifting, lifting up in front. 

Forepast, gone by. 

Fore-red, foretold. 

Foresheioed, previously instructed. 

Foreside, the side to the fore, external covering. 

Forespent, forspent, utterly wasted. 

Forestall, to take previous possession of, to hin- 
der, obstruct. 

Foretaught, previously taught. 

Foreioent, gone before. 

Forged, false. 

Forgery, fiction, deceit ; a counterfeit or assumed 
character. 

Forgive, to give up. 

Forhaile, to overtake. 

Forhent, overtaken. 

Forlent, gave up. 

Forlore, forlorn, utterly lost, abandoned ; for- 
lore (pret.), deserted, lost (to sense of pro- 
priety). 

Formally, expressly. 

Formerlie, beforehand. 

Forpas, to pass over. 

Forpassed, past by or through. 

Forpined, pined away. 



Forray, to ravage, prey on ; a raid. 

Forsake, to avoid ; renounce. 

Forsay, forsake. 

Forsayd, denied residence, banished. 

Forslacke, for sloe, for slow, to delay, waste in 

sloth, neglect, omit, impede. 
Forstall, forstallen, to prevent. See Forestall. 
Forstvat, spent with heat. 
Forswonck, tired with overwork. 
Forthink, to repent, be sorry for ; to give up. 
Forthright, straightway. 
Forthy, therefore, because. 
Fortilage, a little fortress. 
Fortune, to happen. 
Fortunize, to make happy. 
Fortuneless, unfortunate. 
Forwandre, to stray away. 
Forwasted, utterly wasted. 
Forwearie (forwearied), utterly wearie, worn 

out. 
Forwent, left ; did forgo. 
Forworne, much worne. 
Foster, forester. 
Fouldring, thundering. 
Found, established. 
Foundring, toppling, falling. 
Foy, allegiance, faith. 

Foyle, repulse, defeat ; to defeat, ruin, overthrow. 
Foyne, to thrust, push. 
Foyson, abundance. 
Fraight, fraught. 
Frame, to make, form, support, prepare, direct ; 

to put in shape for motion. 
Franchisement, deliverance. 
Franck, free, forward. 
Francklin, freeman, freeholder. 
Franion, a loose woman. 
Fray, to frighten, terrify, alarm ; aflray. 
Frenne, a stranger. 
Fret, ornamental border. Fretted, ornamented 

with fret-work. 
Frett, to consume. 
Friend, to befriend. 
Frigot, a little boat. 
Friskes, gambols. 
Frize, to freeze. 
Fro, from. 
Frolicke, ' fained her to frolicke ' = desired her 

to be cheerful. 
Fronts, foreheads. 
Frorne, frozen. 
Frory, frosty, frozen. 
Frounce, to fold, plait. 
Froward = fromward, at a distance from. 
Frowie, musty. 
Fruict, fruit. 

Fry, swarms (of young children). 
Fry, to foam. 
Fulmined, fulminated. 
Fume, to pass away like smoke. 
Funerall, death. 
Furniment, furnishing. 
Furniture, gear, equipment. 
Fylde, felt. 
Fyle, to polish. 
Fyled, kept in files, registered. 

Gage, pledge. 

Oain, against (as in fl'ainstrive). 

Gainsay, denial. 



882 



GLOSSARY. 



Galage (galoche), a wooden shoe. 


Goshawk e, a large kind of hawk. 


Galingale, sweet cyperus. 


Gossib, kinsman. 


Gall, bile. 


'Gourmandize, greediness. 


Gallimaufray, hotch-potch. 
Gamesome, pleasant. 


Governall, government. 


Governaunce, government. 


Gan (can), began, did. 


Government, control. 


Gang, to go. 


; Grace, favor, kindness ; to give favor to. 


Gard, safeguard, orotection. 


Graffed, grafted. 


Garran, a kind of horse. 


: G^aile, gravel. 


Garre, to cause, make. 


. Graine, dye (scarlet). 


Gasping, gaping. 


1 Grammercy, many thanks. 


Gastfull, fearful, dreary. 


Grange, dwelling, place. 


Gate, a goat. 


\ Graple, to tug. 


Gate, way, procession. 


■ Graplement, grasp, clutch.. 


Gaudy green, a robe of a light green. 


Graste, graced, favored. 


Gazement, gaze. 


Grate, to scorn. 


Gealoiiij, gelosy, jealousy. 


Grayle, gravel. 


Geare, gere, gear, dress, equipment; matter. 


Grayle, the holy vessel said to have been used at 


affair. 


Our Saviour's Last Supper. 


Geare, to jeer, scoff. 


Greave, grove. 


Geason, rare, unconjmon. 


, Gree, degree, rank. 


Gelly, clotted. 


: Gree, favor, goodwill. 


Gelt, gold ; bribed with gold. 


Greete, to congratulate, praise; mournful; to 


Gelt. This word has been variously explained 


assign with praise ; to weep. 


— by some as a gelding, by others as a guilty 


Or en, to grin, snarl. 


person. Professor Child explains it as a wild 


Grenning, grinning. 


Irishman, Celt. 


Gride, pierce. 


Gelt, castrated. 


Griefull, grievous. 


Gent, gentle, kind, accomplished. 


Griesie, thick, sluggish ; gray. 


Gere. See Geare. 


Grieslie, grisely, horrible. 


German, brother. 


Grieved, hurt. 


Gerne, to grin. 


Grimnes, severity, savageness (Embl.). 


Gesse, to deem, think, guess. 


Grin, to gnash the teeth. 


Gest, deed of arms ; gesture, deportment, bear- 


Gripe, to grasp. 


ing. 


Griple, gripe, grasp ; grasping, greedy. 


Ghastly, terrible, Ghastlinesse, terribleness. 


Gronefull, full. of groans. 


Ghess, to guess, deem. 


Groome, man, a young man, a servant. 


Ghost, spirit, soul. 


Grosse, heavy ; the whole. 


Giambeux, leggings, greaves. 

Gin, engine (of torture) ; plot, contrivance, snare. 


Groundhold, ground-tackle (as cables, anchors). 


Groveling, with face flat to the ground. 


Gin, ginne, to begin. 


Groynd, growled. 


Gipsen, a gipsy. 


Grudge, grutch, to murmur, growl. 


Giust, tournaments, tilts ; to joust, tilt. 


Gryde, cut, pierce through. 


Glade, valley, dale. 


Gryesy, grysie, squalid ; foggy, moist. 


Glade, to gladden. 


Gryfon, gryphon, griffin (a fabulous anhnal), 


Glaive, glave, glayve, a sword. 


perhaps used for vulture, eagle. 


Glee, pleasure? fee property. 


Grypt, ' through grypt ' = through-gyrd, pierced 


Glenne, country, hamlet. 


through. 


Glib, a thick bush of hair overhanging the eyes. 


Guarish, to heal. 


Glims, glimpse, indistinct light. 


Guerdon, reward. 


Glinne, glen. 


Guilen, to beguile. 


Glitterand, ghttering. 


Guiler, guyler, deceiver. 


Glister, to glitter, shine. 


Guilt, guilded. 


Glode, glided. 


Guize, manner, mode (of life), custom. 


Glory, vainglory, boasting. 


Gulfe, throat. 


Gloziag, deceitful. 


GulpJiing, flowing (like a gulf). 


Glutted, fiUed. 


Gust, taste. 


Gnarre, growl, snarl. 


Gybe, gibe (Embl.). 


Gobbeline, goblin. 


Gyeld, guild, courthouse. 


Gobbet, morsel, piece. 


Gynst, begin nest. 


Godded, deified. 


Gyre, circle, course. 


(roe, gone. 


Gyvd, fettered. 


Gondelay, gondola. 




Goodlihed, goodlihead, goodness ; goodly ap- 


Habergeon, haberjeon, a small coat of mail, 


pearance. 


armor for the neck and breast. 


Gooldes, marigolds. 


1 Habiliment, clothing. 


Gore, to pierce, wound. 


Habitaunce, habitation. 


Gore-blood, clotted blood. 


\ Hable, able, fit. 


Gorge, throat. 


Hacqueton, a jacket worn under armor. 


Gorget, armor for the throat. 


Eagard, wild, untamed. 



GLOSSARY. 



883 



Eaile, hayl, to drag, hauL 




Eight, called, named ; intrusted ; directed ; pro- 


Bale, health, welfare. 




nounce worthy, hence determine, choose ; ap- 


Ealfendeale, half part. 

^aZ/^H-eye — half ordinary sight, i.e. one eve. 


pointed ; purports. 
Eight, ' on hight ' — aloud. 


EaUidome, ' by my /uiMdom' = by my 


faith as a 


Bild, held. 


Christian. 




Eippodames, sea-horses. 


'Ean (pi.), have. 




Eoary frost, hoarfrost. 


Band, ' out of hand' = &t once ; ' nigh 


hand ' = 


Eole, whole. 


near. 




Bolpen (p.p.), helped. 
Bond, hand. 


Eandsell, price, reward. 




Eansomly, neatlv. 




Bong. hung. 


Eap, to happen, fortune, lot. 




Eonycrock. pot of honey. 


Euppily, haplv, by chance. 




Bood. state, manner. 


Eappy, successful. 
Earbarough, harbrough, shelter. 




Booved, hovered, abode. 




Bopeles.se, xmex^cXe^. 


Eard, heard. 




Bore, hoary. 


Eardiment, hardihood, boldness. 




Eorrid. rough. 


Eardnesse, rudeness. 




Eospitage, hospitality. 


Eardyhtd, hardihood. 




Bospitale, a place of rest. 


Eamesse, weapons. 




Boste, to entertain, lodge. 


Eitrrow, an exclamation of distress. 


a call for 


Bostlesse, inhospitable. 


help. 




Eostry, lodging. 


Earten, to encourage, incite; hartned 


, encour- 


Eot, hote, was'called ; mentioned. 


aged. 




Bousling, sacramental. 


Eartltsse, timid. 




Bore, rise, float ; hover. 


Easke, a ^vicker basket for fish. 




Boicre, time ; ' good houre ' = good fortune. 


Eauhergh, hauberk, hauberque, haicberk. a 


Eoicres, devotional exercises. 


cost oT mtul. 




Boye, vessel, ship. 
Etibubs, shouts, din. 


Eaught, high, august. 




Eault, haughty. 




Bugger mugger, in secret, secretly. 


EauUt, embraced. 




Eumblesse, humility, humbleness. 


EaunUn, to frequent. 




Eurlyburly, noise of battle. 


Eaveour, haciour, deportment, behavior. 


Burile, to rush, dash, hurl, attack; brandish; 


Eayle, to drag. 




crowd. 


Eaeardise, danger. 




Eurtle^se. innocent. 


Easardry. hazard, risk: gaming. 




Busband, farmer. 


Eeadlesse-hood, heedless ehood, heedlessness. 


Byacine, hyacinth. 


Eeame, home. 




Bye. to hasten : on hye, hastQy. 


Eeard, herd: a keeper of cattle. 


Eeard = 


Eulding, base, vile. 


groomes, herdsmen. 




Bynde, a servant. 


Eeare, hair. Eearie. hairy. 






Eeast, hest, command, behest ; name; 


office (of 


Idle, causeless. 


one who had taken roics). 




Jdole, image. 


Eeben, ebonv : of ebonv wood. 




lU-faste, having an iU-look. lU-hedded, dis- 


Eed stall that part of the bridle which 


is put on 


turbed in the head. 


the horse's head. 




Imbrast, embraced. 


Eeedinesse, heedfulness. 




Immeasured. unmeasured. 


Eeedy, warv. 




Imp, child, scion, shoot. 


Eeeling. heel. 




Imp. to engraft, insert. 


Eefte, raised ; threw. 




Impacable. unappeasible. 


Eell, to cover. 




Imperceable, not able to be pierced. 


Eelvie, helmet. 




Implore, entreaty. 


Eem, them. 




Imply, to infold, entangle, envelop. 


Eend, to seize, grasp. 




Importable, intolerable. 


Ee^nge, hinge. 




Importune, violent, savage; full of trouble; to 


Bent, took, seized. 




threaten: to solicit. 


Ber, their. 




Importunely, with importunity. 


Eerbars. herbs. 




Impresse. to make an impression. 


Bern^^haw, heron. 




Improrided. unprovided, unlocked for. 


Berry, hery, to praise, worship, honor 




In, inne, dwelling, lodging. 


Bersall, rehearsal. 




In, 'in . . . Zy?^ ■ = fall upon. 


Berse. ceremonial. 




Incontinent, forthwith, immediately. 


Bether. hither. 




Indeic. to put on. 


Beic. shape, form. 




Indifferent, impartial. IndifferenUy, impar- 


Ee'ic. hacking. 




tially. 


Beydeguyes. dances. 




IndignauiK't, indignation. 


Bide, hastened. See Bye. 




Indigne. unworthv. 


Bidder (if not an error for ^2^^r = hither) = he- 


Indignify. to treat with indignity. 


deer : animals of the male kind. 




Inferd. offered. 


Eie, to hasten. 




Infest, to make fierce or hostile, hostfle. 



884 



GLOSSARY. 



Influence, the power of the stars. 




Kon, know. Kond, knew. 


Informed, formed imperfectly. 




Kydst, knewest. 
Kynded, begotten. 


Infuse, infusion. 




Ingate, entrance. 






Ingowe, ingot. 
Inholder, inhabitant. 




Lackey, to follow as a servant. 




Lad, led. 


Inly, inwardly ; entirely. 




Lade, to load. 


Inquest, quest, adventure. 




Laesie, lazy. 


Inquire, to call. 




Laid, attacked. 


Insolence, uncourteousness. 




Laire, plain. 


Insolent, rude. 




Lamping, shining. 


Inspyre, to breathe. 




Lanck loynes, slender waist. 


Insu'tk= ensuHh, follows. 




Langurous, languid. 


Intend, to stretch out ; to denote, name 


; direct 


Lap, lappe, to fold, entangle. 


one's course. 




Larded, fattened. 


Intendiment, intention ; knowledge. 




Lare, pasture. 


Intent, purpose. 




Large, bountiful. 


Interesse, interest. 




Latched, seized, caught. 


Interlace, to intermingle, interweave. 




Launce, balance. 


Intermedle, to intermix. 




Lau7ich, to pierce. 


Intimate, to communicate. 




Lo/oer, a basin. 


Intreat, to prevail upon. 




Lay, field, lea, plain. 


Intuse, contusion. 




Lay, cry. 


Invade, to come into. 




Lay, to throw up. 


Inveiit, to find out. 




Lay, law. 


Invest, to put on. 




Layd, faint. 


Irkes, wearies. 




Laye, laity. 


Irkesome, tired, weary. 




Laystall, a dunghill, a place for the deposit of 


Irrenowmed, inglorious. 




filth. 
Lazar, leper. 


JacoVs staffe, a pUgrim's staflF. 




Lea, field. 


Jade, a horse ; a scolding woman. 




Leach, a physician. 


Jarre, quarrel, variance. 




Leachcraft, medical skill. 


Jasp, jasper. 




Leake, leaky. 


Jax^el, a worthless wretch. 




Leany, lean. 


Jeopardie, jeopardy, danger. 




Leap, a basket. 


Jesses, strips of leather tied round the 


legs of 


Leare, lore, counsel. Leares, lessons. 


hawks, with which they are held upon 


the fist. 


Leasing, lying, falsehood. 


Jollie, jolly, handsome, pretty, lively. 




Least, lest. 


Jollim'ent, jollitee, jollity, joyfulness 


pretti- 


Leave, to raise. 


ness, liveliness. 




Ledden, dialect, speech. 


Jollyhead, jollity. 
Jott, speck, small piece. 




Lee, river. 




Leese, to loose. 


Journall, diurnal. 




Lefte, lifted. 


Jovial, bright, sunny. 




Legierdemain, sleight of hand. 


Joy, to rejoice, be glad, enjoy. 




Leke, leaky. 
Leman, a lover. 


Joyaunce, joy fulness, merriment. 




Joysaunce, jouisaunce, joyousneaa. 




Lend, to give, provide. 


Juncates, junkets. 




Lengd, longed. 
Lenger, longer. 


Kaies, keys. 




Lepped, did leap. 
Lere, to learn ; lore. 


Kearn, kearne. See Kern. 




Keepe, heed, care, charge ; to take care. 


protect. 


Lesinges, lies. 


' heedie keepe ' = watchful care ; keepinge. 


Lessoned, instructed. 


guard. 




Lest, to Usten. 


Keight, caught. 




Let, to hinder ; ^letl>e^ = away with ; hindrance. 


Kemd, combed. 




Level, to direct one's course. 


Ken. to know, try. Kend, kent, knew, perceived, 


Levin, lightning. Levin brond, thunder-bolt. 


known. Kenst, didst know. 




Leicd, ignorant, wicked, foohsh. Lewdly, fool- 


Kern, an Irish foot-soldier. 




ishly. 


Kerne, a farmer. 




Lewdnesse, wickedness. 


Kerve, to cut. 




Libbard, leopard. 


Kesar, emperor. 




Lich, like. 


Kest, cast. 




Lief, lief 6, dear, beloved ; willing ; ' liefe or sory ' 


Kestrell-kynd, base nature. 




-willing or unwimng=iie/ or loth: (comp.) 


Kind, nature; sex ; occupation. Kindly, 


natural. 


liefer; (saperl) lief est, ' lief est lief e ' = dear- 


Kinred, kindred. 




est loved one. 


Kirtle, a coat fastened at the waist. 




Liege, lord, master — one to whom faith has been 


Knee, projection of rocks. 




pledged. Liegeman, a vassal, one who owes 


Knife, a sword, dagger. 




homage to a liege lord. 



GLOSSARY. 



885 



Liful, living, full of life. 

Lig, liggen, to lie. 

Light, easy, ready ; to lighten ; befall. 

Lightly, quickly. 

Lignage, lynage, lineage. 

Like, to please. 

Like as, as if. 

Likely, similar. 

Likelynesse, likeness. 

Lill, to put out the tongue. 

Limbeck, retort. 

Limehoxmd, a bloodhound, limer. 

Lin, to cease. 

Lint, to desire, like ; (impers.) please. Listful, 
attentive. 

Lite, lyte, alight, befall. 

Liveldd, livelood, livelihood. 

Lively, lifelike, living. 

Livelyhed, livelyhead, livelihood; living origi- 
nal; motion of a Uving being. 

Liverey, delivery. 

Loathly, loathsome. 

Loft, height. 

Lome, clay, loam. 

JjOmpish, dull, slow. 

Long, to belong. 

Loord, lout. 

Loos, fame. 

Loose, to solve. 

Lojye, leapt. 

Lopp, branch. 

Lore, learning, teaching, fashion ; speech. 

Lore, lorn, left, deserted ; lost sight of. 

Loring, learning. 

Lorrel, losell, lozelh a loose, idle fellow. 

Lose, to loosen. 

Losen, to set loose. Zos'ie = loosed, dissolved. 

Lot, fate ; share. 

Lothfull, unwilling, unpleasant, loathsome. 

Loup, loop. 

Loid, loxct, to bow, to do obeisance. 

Lovely, loving ; lovingly ; lovely, of love. 

Lover, an opening in the roof to let out the 
smoke. 

Lug, a perch or rod of land. 

Lv/mine, to illumine. 

Luskishnesse, sluggishness. 

Lrist, pleasure, desire ; to desire, please. 

Luster, a glittering, sheen. 

Lustlesse, feeble, listless. 

Lusty, pleasant. 

Lustihede, lustyhed, lusty-head, pleasure; pleas- 
ure (of youth). 

Lymiter, a friar licensed to beg within a certain 
district. 

Lynage, lineage. 

Lyne, linen. 

Lyte, to ahght, light, befall. 

Lythe, pUant. 

Mace, sceptre. 

Macerate, to tear. 

Madding, foolish. 

Mage, magician. 

Magnes-stone, the magnet. 

Mail, mayl, male, armor. 

Maine, mayne, force; ocean. Mainel/y, maynly, 

strongly, violently. 
Mainsheat, mainsail. 
Maintenav/nce, condition. 



Maisterdome, maistery, mastery, superiority. 

Maistring, superior, controlling. 

Make, to write poetry. 

Make, companion, mate. 

Male/ice, evil deed. 

Malengine, ill intent, deceit, guile. 

Malice (pret. malist), regarded with malice, 
bore ill-will to. 

Maligne, to grudge. 

Mall, club, mallet ; to maul. 

Maltalent, ill-will. 

Mand, blocked up with men. 

Manie, many, company, multitude. 

Manner, kind of. 

Mantle, to rest with outspread wings, 

Mard, spoilt, injured, dishonored. 

Marge, margin, bank. 

Mar gent, margin. 

Marie, ground, soil. 

Marishes, marshes. 

Martelled, hammered. 

Martyr, to afflict, torment. 

Martyrize, to devote as a martyr. 

Maske, to conceal one's self by means of a mask 
(as at a masquerade). 

Masse, wealth ; material. 

Massy, massive. 

Mate, to stupefy, confound, amate. 

Matchlesse, not to be matched. 

Maugre, maulgre, in spite of, a curse on 1 un- 
willingly. 

Mavis, thrush. 

Mayntenaunce, behavior. 

Maysterdome, superiority. 

Mazed, amazed, confounded. 

Mazeful= amazeful, wonderful. 

Mazer, a kind of hard wood (probably the maple) ; 
a bowl made of maple and richly ornamented. 

Me, ' he cast me down.' 

Mealth, melteth. 

Mean, middle, moderate, moderation ; means ; 
'by meanes,'' because. 

Meanesse, humble birth. 

Meanly, moderately. 

Meare, pure ; boundary. 

Mear'd, divided, shared. 

Pleasure, moderation. 

MedcBwart, meadow-wort. 

Measured, sang. 

Measxcrelesse, boundless. 

3feddl6, medle, to mix. 

Meed, reward. 

Meere, absolute, entire. 

Meint, mingled. 

Melampode, black hellebore. 

Mell, to intermeddle. 

Melting, meddling. 

Memories, services for the dead. 

Memorize, to commemorate. 

Menage, to manage, guide (a horse) ; to wield 
(arms) ; management. 

Mendes, amends. 

Mene, means. 

Ment, purposed, meant. 

Ment, joined, united. 

Merciahle, merciful. 

Mercie, m,ercy, thanks, favor ; thank you. 

Mercify, to pity. 

Merim'ake, meryment, merry-making, sport. 

Mery, pleasant, cheerful. 



886 



GLOSSARY. 



Mesprise, mesprise, contempt, insolence ; mis- 


Moorish, morish, marshy. 


take. 


Moralize, to cause to be moral. 


Meic, to confine, secrete ; prison ; den. 


More, root, plant. 


3Iei/nt, mingled, united. 


Morion, helmet. 


Mickle, much, great. 


Morrow, morning. 


Middest, midst ; midmost. 


Mortall, deadly. 


Mieve, to move. 


Mortality, the estate of mortal man. 


Mincing, affected. 


Most, greatest. 
Mostwhat, generally. 


Mind, to call to mind. 


Mindlesse, unmindful. 


Mot, mote (pi. moten), may, must, might. 


Minime, a trifling song, but properly a musical 


Mott, measured. 


note. 


Mought, might. 


Miniments, trifles, toys. 


Mould, to moulder ; shape, form. 


Mineon, a favorite. 


Mountenaunce, space, distance. 


Minisht, diminished. 


Moices, insulting grimaces, mouths. 


Mirke, dark, ' to imrke ' = very obscure. 


Moyiiy, half. 


Mirkesome, dark. 


Moyle, to defile. 


Mis, to sin, err. 


Muchell, much, great. 


Misavised, ill-advised, misinformed. 


Muck, wealth. 


Misaymed, ill-aimed. 


Mucky, sordid, vile. 


Miscall, to abuse. 


Mumming, masking. 


Mischalenge, false challenge. 


Munificence {munifience), iVw'tification, defence. 
Mured, walled, enclosed. 


Misconceipt, mistake. 


MifsGounselled, ill-advised. : 


Muse, to wonder ; wonderment. 


Miscreant, unbeliever. ; 


Musicall, music. 


MisG7-eated, ill-formed. 


3fust, new wine. 


Miscreaunce, false faith, misbelief. 


Myndes, resolves. 
Mysterie, profession, trade. 


Misdeem, to deem amiss, misjudge. Misdeem- 


ing, misleading. Misdempt, misjudged, mis- 




weened. 


Namely, especially. 


Misdeseri, crime. 


Napron, apron. 


Misdid, failed. 


Narre, nearer. 


Misdiet, over-eating. 


Nas, has not. 


Misdight, ill-dressed. 


Native, natural. 


Misdonne, to misdo. 


Nathelesse, nathless, none the less, never the 


Misdoubting, fearing sadly. 


less. 


Miser, wretch. 


Nathemoe, nathemone, none the more, never 


Misfeign, to feign wrongfully. 


the more. 


Misfare, misfortune. 


Ne, nor. 


Misfaring, evil doing ; misfortune. 


Neat, cattle. 


Mikgone, gone astraj'. 


Needments, necessaries. 


Misgovernaunce, misrule. 


Nempt, named. 

Nephewes, descendants, grandchildren. 


Misguyde, trespass. 


Mishappen, happen amiss. 


Net, nett, pure, clean. 


Mishapt, misshaped. 


Neihelesse, nevertheless. 


Misleeke, mislike, to dislike. 


Newell, a new thing. 


Jlisregard, misconstruction. 


Nigardise, niggardliness, miserliness. 


Missay, to say to no purpose, uselessly ; abuse, 


Nigh, to approach. 


speak ill of. 


Nighly, nearly. 


Misseem, to be unseemly, to misbecome. 


mil, will not ; will or nill, willing or unwilling ; 


Misseeming, unseemly, wrong ; deceit. 


*■ nilled,^ unwilling. 


Misshape, deformity. 


Nimblesse, nimbleness. 


Misshapen, deformed. 


Nip, to slander. 


Mister, sort of, manner of. 


NoMlesse, noblesse, nobleness, nobility. 


Misthought, mistake. 


Nominate, to name, aflirm. 


Mistooke, suspected. 


Nones, nonce, occasion. 


Mistrayne, to mislead. 


Noriture, norture, nurture, bringing up. 


Mistreth, signifies, matters. . i 


Norveyses, Norwegians. 


Misusage, abuse. 


Not, note, wot not, know not. knows not. (It 


Misweene, to think amiss. 


sometimes seems to stand for ne woie= could 


Miswende, to go wrong. 


not). 


Mizzle, to rain in little drops. 


Nothing, not at all. 


Mo, moe, more. 


Notify e, to proclaim. 


Mochell, much. 


Nought, not, of no value. 


Mold, mole, spot. 


No aid, would not. 


Moldwarp, mole. 


Noule, the head, pate. 


Molt, melted. 


Nowrice, nurse. 


Mome, blockhead. 


Noursle, nousle, to nurse, foster, rear. 


Monim&nt, mark, stamp ; record. 


Nousling, nestling, burrowing. 


Monoceros, sea-unicorn (? sword-fisb). 


Novell, news. 



GLOSSARY. 



887 



Noyanc«, noyaunee, annoyance. 


Overthwart, opposite. 


Noyd, noyed, annoyed. 


Overture, an open place. 


Noyes, noise. 


Ove7'went, overcome. 


Noyous, annoying, disagreeable, injurious. 


Oice, to own. See Ought. 


Noysome, hurtful. 


Oicch, a socket of gold to hold precious stones, a 


Nycely, carefully. 


jewel. 


2tye, to draw near. 


Owre, ore. 


Nys, is not. 


Owzell, blackbird. 




Oystrige, ostrich. 


Oaker, ochre. 




Ohliquid, oblique. 


Pace, pase, step, pass, passage. 


Obsequy, funeral rite. 


Packe, to pack off ; a burden. 


Oddes, advantage. 


Paddock, toad. 


Of, off; upon ; by ; of all, above all. 


Paine, payne, labor, pains; punishment; '^did 


OJ^^al, that which falls oflf. 


him paine ' = took pains, exerted himself. 


Of end, to harm, hurt. 


Paire, to impair. 


Ofnew, recently. 


Paled, 'pinckt upon gold, and paled part per 


Offiptnng, origin. 


part,' = ' adorned with golden points or eyelets, 


On, one. 


and regularly intersected with stripes. In 


Onely, chief, especial. 


heraldry a shield is said to be parted per pale 


Ope\ open. 


when it is longitudinally divided by a pale or 


Oppresi, taken captive. 


broad bar.' 


Or, ere, before. 


Paled, fenced off. 


Ordain, to set (the battle) in order. 


Pall, to subdue, moderate. 


Order, to arrange ; rank (of army). 


Pall, a cloak of rich material. 


Ordinaunce, arrangement; ordinance, artillery. 


Panachcea, panacea. 


Oricalche, a kind of brass. 


PannikeU, skull, crown. 


Origane, bastard marjoram. 


Paragon, paragone, companion, eqaal ; rivalry. 


Other, left. 


Paramour, a lover. 


Otherwhere, elsewhere. 


Paravaunt, first, beforehand ; in front. 


Otherichiles, sometimes. 


Parbreake, vomit. 


Ought, owned ; owed. 


Pardale, panther. 


Ouibarre, to arrest. 


Parentage, parent. 


Outgo, to surpass. 


Parget, plaster. 


Outhyred, let out for hire. 


Part, party ; depart. 


Outlaunced, outlaunched. 


Partake, to share. 


Out-learn, to learn from. 


Parture, departure. 


Outrage, violence, outburst. 


Pas, passe {passing, surpassing), to surpass. 


Outstrained, outstretched. 


exceed. 


Outiceave, wear out; pass, spend. 


Passion, suffering. Passioned, affected with 


OuticeU, to gush or well out ; (pret.) ouiwelde. 


feeling, be grieved. Passionate, to express 


Outwent, surpassed. 


feelingly. 


Outicin, to get out. 


Patchocke, clown. 


Outwind ( = outwin), to get out. 


Patronage, defence. Paironesse, a female de- 


Outicrest, wrest out, discover. 


fender. 


Outicrought, completed, passed. 


Paunce, paicnce, pansy. 


Overall, everywhere ; all over. 


Pavone, peacock. 


Overbore, overthrew. 


Payne, to take pains, exert. 


Overcame, overspread. 


Payse, to poise, balance. 


Overcau-ght, overtook. 


Pealing, appealing. 


Overcraw, to crow over, insult. 


Peare, pere, equal. 


Overdight, decked over, covered over, over- 


Peasant knight, base knight. 


spread. 


Pease, blow. 


Overgo, to overpower, surpass. 


Peece, fabric, fortified place, as a castle, ship. 


Overgive, to give over. 


&c. 


Overgrast, grown over with grass. 


Peeced, imperfect. 


Overhaile, to draw over. 


Peeretree, pear tree. 


Overhent, overtook; overtaken. 


Peinct, to paint. 


Overkest, overcast. 


Peise, peise, to poise, weigh. 


Overlade, to overwhelm. 


Pen, to confine, restrain. 


Orerplast, overhanging. 


Pendants, ornaments (of wood or stone) hang- 


Over-raught, overtook. 


ing down from a Gothic roof. 


Over-red, read over. 


Penne, feather. 


Overpasse, pass over, alleviate. 


Penurie, want of food. 


Orerren, to over-run, oppress. 


Percen, to pierce. 


Oversee, to overlook. 


Perdu, perdy, pardieu, truly. 


Oversight, escape (through having overlooked a 


Peregall, equal. 


danger). 


Perforce, of necessity. 


Overswim, to swim over. 


Perke, pert, brisk. 


Overbore, overthrow. 


Perlous, perilous. 



888 



GLOSSARY. 



Persant, persaunt, piercing. 

Perseline, parsley. 

Persant, piercing. 

Personage, personal appearance. 

Persue, a track. 

Pert, open, plain. 

Perveyaunce, provision. See Purveyamice. 

Petronell, a kind of blunderbuss. 

Pesaunt, a peasant. 

Pheere=fere, companion. 

Physnomy, countenance. 

Pictural, a picture. 

Pight, fixed, placed, fastened. 

Pill, to spoil, plunder. 

Pine, pyne, sorrow, grief; to waste away through 
torment; ''pined ghost,'' a spirit wasted away 
(through torment) ; done to pine, caused to 
die. 

Pinnoed, pinioned. 

Pitieous, compassionate, tender-hearted. 

Place, '■ of place,'' of rank. 

Plaine, playne, to complain, 

Plaintiffe, plaintive. 

Platane, plane tree. 

Pleasaunce, pleasauns, pleasure, delight; ob- 
jects affording pleasure. 

pied, pleaded. 

Plesh, a shallow pool, plash. 

Plight (p. p. plight), weave, plait, fold ; a plait, 
fold ; condition. 

Ply, to move. 

Poise, poyse, weight, force. 

Point, poynt, to appoint ; a whit, ' to poynt ' = 
exactly. 

Poke, R pouch. 

Poll, to plunder. 

Pollicie, statecraft. 

Porcspisees, porpoises. 

Port, portanee, portaunce, demeanor, bearing. 

Portesse, breviary. 

Possesse, to accomplish. 

Potshares = potshards, fragments of broken 



Poiike, a goblin called Puck or Eobin Goodfellow. 

Pouldred, powdered, spotted ; reduced to pow- 
der. 

Pounce, claws, talons. 

Pound, weight, balance, ' new in pound ' = 
anew in the balance. 

Pouri/rahed, drawn. « 

Powrtraict, pourtraiture, portrait, image. 

Pousse, pease. 

Poynant, piercing, sharp. 

Poyse, weight, force. 

Practic, practicke, treacherous, deceitful ; skil- 
ful. 

Prancke, to trim, deck, adorn, adjust; a ma- 
licious trick. 

Praunce, to prance. 

Pray, to be the prey of ; to make a prey of. 

Preace, prease, to press ; a press, crowd. 

Preeve, to prove. 

Prefard, preferred. 

Prefixt, fixed beforehand. 

Prejudize, foresight. 

Prepense, to consider. 

Presage, to tell or point out, foresee. 

Presence, reception-room. 

President, precedent. 

Pvest ready, prepared. 



Pretem,d, to attempt; to stretch out (or over), 
ofi"er. 

Prevent, anticipate. 

Price, to pay the price of, atone for ; value. 

Prick, to ride hard, to spur on quickly ; point, 
centre of target. 

Prickett, a buck. 

Prief, priefe, proof, trial, experiment. 

Prieve, to prove. 

Prime, pryme, spring time ; morning. 

Primitias, first fruits. 

Primrose, chief rose. 

Principle, beginning. 

Prise, adventure, 

Prive, privy, secret, Privitee, privitie, pri- 
vate life ; intimate relation. 

Procure, to arrange, entreat. 

Prodigious, ominous. 

Prof esse, to present the appearance of. 

Proine, proyne, to prune or trim the feathers. 

Project, to throw forward. 

Prolling, prowling. 

Prolong, to postpone. 

Prone, subjected. 

Proper, own, peculiar ; proper good, own prop- 
erty. 

Protense, a stretching out. 

Prove, to experience, try, feel. 

Provokement, a provoking. 

Prow, brave; (superl.) Prowest. Prowes, 
prowess. 

Prv/)ie. See Proine. 

Pryse, to pay for. See Price. 

Puddle, a small stream. 

Puissant, powerful. 

Pumle, pumy stones, pumice stones. 

Purchase, to obtain, to get, win (honestly or 
otherwise). 

Purchas, purchase, property, booty, robbery. 

Purjled, embroidered on the edge, 

Pv/rport, disguise. 

Purpos, purpose, conversation, discourse; *fe) 
purpose,' to the purpose; to speak as 'pur- 
pose diver sly ' = to speak of various things. 

Pursuivant, a pursuer, 

Purvay, to provide. 

Purveyau/nce, provision, management; function. 

Puttocke, a kite. 

Pyne, pain (of hunger) ; torment. 

Pyoning, diggings, work of pioneers. 

Quaile, to cast down, defeat, conquer ; perish. 

Quaint, nice, fastidious. 

Qualify, to ease, soothe. 

Quarle, quarrel, a square-headed arrow. 

Quarrie, quarry, prey, game. 

Quart, quarter. 

Quayd, quailed, quelled, subdued. 

Queane, a worthless woman. 

Queint, quaint ; ' queint elect,^ oddly chosen. 

Queint, quenched. 

Quell, to kill, to subdue ; to perish ; to abate ; to 

disconcert, frighten. 
Queme, to please. 
Quest, expedition, pursuit, 
Quich, quinche, to stir, move. 
Qwick, alive ; ' some quicke ' = something alive. 
Quietage, quietness. 
Quight, to set free ; to requite. 
Quilted, padded. 



GLOSSARY. 



889 



Qmp, a jeer, taunt ; to sneer at, taunt. 

Qtidre, company. 

Quirk, a quip. 

Quit, quite, quyte, to set free, to requite, repay ; 

to return (a salute) ; freed, removed ; ' quite 

dame,'' to release. 
Quooke, quaked. 

Rablement, a rabble, troop. 

Race, to raze ; to cut ; raced, erased. 

Mad, rode. 

Bad, perceived. See Bead. 

Baft, bereft. 

Bagged, rugged. 

Baile, rayle, to flow, pour down. 

Bain, rayne, to reign ; kingdom. 

Bakehell, loose, worthless. 

Bamp, tear, attack ; leap, 

Banek, fiercely ; vigorous growing. 

Bandon, random. 

Bdnckorous, sharp. 

Banke, fiercely. 

Bape, rapine. 

Bascal, raskall, low, base, worthless. 

Base (pret. rast), to erase. 

Bash, to tear violently, hack. Bashly, hastily, 

suddenly. Bash, quick. 
Bate, to scold. 

Bate, allowance ; order, state. 
Bath, early, soon. Bather, early-born. 
Bath, mound. 

Baught, reached, extended, took. 
Baunch, to wrench. 
Bavin, ra/vine, plunder, prey. 
Ba/vishment, ecstasy. 
Bay, to defile, soil. 
Bay, array. 

Bayle, to flow. See Baile. 
Bayle, abuse. 
Bayne, kingdom. 
Bayous, rays, beams. 

Bead, reede, advice ; motto ; proverb ; prophecy. 
Bead, reed (pret. rad, red), to know, declare, 

explain or advise, discover, perceive, suppose ; 

regard. 
Beoedifye, to rebuild. 
Beallie, to reform. 
Beames, realms, 
Beare, to raise, take up or away, steal ; excite ; 

to rouse. 
Beason, proportion. 
Beave (pret. reft, raff), to bereave, take away 

(forcibly). 
Bebuke, conduct deserving of reproof, rudeness. 
Behutte, to cause to recoil, 
Bechlesse, reckless. 
Beelayme, to call back. 
Becorde, to remember, to call to mind. 
Becoure, recotoer, recure, to recover. 
Becourse, to recur, return ; ' had recourse ' = 

did recur ; return. 
Becoyle, to retire, retreat. 
Becmle, recule, to recoil. 
Bed, redd, declared, described, perceived, saw. 

See Bead. 
Bedisbov/rse, to repay. 
Bedoubted, doughty. 
Bedotmd, to overflow, flow, be redundant. 
Bedress, to reunite, remake ; to rest. 
Beed, to deem. Beede, read, to advise. 



Beek, to smoke. 

Beele, to roll. 

Befection, refreshment. 

Reft, bereft, taken violently away. See Beave. 

Begalitie, rights of royalty. 

Begarde, a subject demanding consideration or 
attention ; value. 

Begiment, government, command. 

Beke, to care, reck. 

Belate, to bring back. 

Release, to break loose from ; to give up. 

Belent, to give way, to slacken, relax, soften. 

Relide, to ally, join. 

Belive, to recover, revive, live again. 

Bemeasure, to retrace. 

Bemedilesse, without hope of rescue. 

Bemeroy, to thank. 

Bemorse, pity. 

Bencou/nter, to encounter, meet in battle. 

Benfierced {renfierst), made more fierce or = 
renforst= reinforced. 

Benf'orst, reinforced, enforced, made fresh effort. 

Benne, to run. 

Benxierse, to reverse, overturn. 

Bepent, repentance ; to grieve. 

Bepining, a failing (of courage). 

Beplevie, a law term signifying to take posess- 
sion of goods claimed, giving security at the 
same time to submit the question of property 
to a legal tribunal within a given time. 

Report, to carry ofl'. 

Beprief, reproof, shame. 

Beprive, to deprive of, take away. 

Beprive, reprieve. 

Beprize, to retake. 

Bequere, to require, demand. 

Bequest, demand. 

BeqvAt, requited, returned. 

Beseize, to reinstate, to be repossessed of. 

Besemble, to compare. 

Besemblaunce, look, regard. 

Besiant, resident. 

Bespect, care, caution. 

Bespondence, correspondence, reply (in music). 

Bespyre, to breathe again. 

Bestlesse, resistless. 

Bestore, restitution. 

Besty, restive. 

Betourn, to turn (the eyes) back. 

Retraite, picture, portrait. 

Reirate, a retreat. 

Retyre, retirement. 

Revel, a feast. 

Revengement, revenge. 

Reverse, to return, to cause to return. 

Revest, to reclothe. 

Revilement, a reviling, abuse. 

Revoke, to recall, withdraw. 

Revolt, to roll back. 

Rew, rue, to pity, to be sorry for, to lament 
over, repent. 

Rew, row ; ' in rew,'' in order. 

Ribauld, rybauld, a loose, impure person, 
ribald. 

Richesse, riches. 

Ridling, skill, skill in explaining riddles. 

Rife, ryfe, abundant, abundantly, much, fre- 
quent. Bifelye, abundantly. 

Rift, split, broken ; gap, fissure, fragment. 

Rigor, force. Rigorous, violent. 



890 



GLOSSARY. 



Rine, rind. 

Ring, to encircle. 

Riotise, riotise, riot, extravagance. 

Rivage, bank. 

Rive, to split, tear. 

Rize, to come to, 

Rocke, distaff. 

Rode, raid, incursion. 

Rode, roadstead, anchorage for ships. 

Rong, rang. 

Ro7ites, young bullocks. 

Ronde, a cross, crucifix. 

Roaiere, a rose tree. 

Rosmarine, a sea-monster that was supposed to 

feed on the dew on the tops of the sea rocks ; 

rosemary. 
Rote, a lyre, harp. 
Routes, rolls, records, 
Roundle, a roundelay, a kind of song. 
Rout, crowd, troop. 
Rove, to shoot (with a sort of arrow called a 

rover). 
Roioel, the ring of a bit — any small movable 

ring. 
Roicme, place, space. 
Rownded, whispered. 
Rowndell, a round bubble (of foam). 
Rowze, rouze, to shake up. 
Royne, to mutter. 
Rubin, Rubine, the ruby. 
Ruddock, redbreast. 
Rue, to grieve. 
Ruffed, ruffled. RuffiUy disordered. Buffing^ 

ruffling. 
Ruinate, to ruin ; ruined. 
Ruing, pitying. 
Rulesse, lawless. 
Ruth, pity. Ruthfull, piteous. 
Rutty, rooty. 
Ryfe, frequent, common. 
Ryve, to pierce. 

Sacrament, oath of purgation taken by an ac- 
cused party. 

Sacred, accursed. 

Sad, firm, heavy, grave. 

Saine, sayne, to say (pi. say). 

Sake, cause. 

Sale, a wicker net (made of sallows or willows). 

Salew, to salute. 

Saliaunce, onslaught. 

Salted, leapt, sallied. 

Sallows, willows. 

Salvage, savage, wild. 

Salue, to salute. 

Salve, to heal, save, remedy. 

Salving, salvation, restoration. 

Sam, together. 

Samite, silk stuflF. 

Sample, example. 

Sanguine, blood-color. 

Sardonian, sardonic. 

Saufgard^ guard, defence. Sa^egard, to pro- 
tect. 

Saulge, sage. 

iSaw, word, saying, proverb, sentence. 

Say, a thin stuflF (for cloaks). 

Say, assay, proof. 

Scald, scabby. 

Scand, climbed. 



Scarabee, a beetle. 

Scarmoges, skirmishes. 

Seath, hurt, harm, damage, ruin. 

Scatter, to let drop. 

Scatterling, a vagrant. 

Scerne, to discern. 

ScMichin, scutehin, escutcieon, shield, device on 

a shield. 
Scolopendra, a fish resembling a centipede. 
Scope, aim ; dimension ; 'aymed scope,' a mark 

aimed at. 
Scorse, to exchange. 
Scorse, to chase. 
Scould, scowled. 
Scriene, serine, scryne, skreene, a cabinet for 

papers, a writing desk ; entrance of a hall. 
Scrike, shriek. 
Scruze, to squeeze, crush. 
Scryde, descried. 
Sdeigne, to disdain. 
Sea-shouldring, having shoulders that displace 

the sea. 
Sear, to burn ; burning, 
to fasten on, seize. 



Seelde, seldom, rare. 

Seely, simple, innocent. 

Seem, ' nought seemeth ' = it is not seemly. 

Seeming, apparently. 

Seemlesse, unseemly. 

Seemly, in a seemly manner ; comely ; appar- 
eiit. 

Seemlyhed, a seemly appearance. 

Seene, skilled, experienced. 

Seew, to pursue. 

Seised, taken possession of. 

Seisin, possession. 

Selcouth, seldom known, rare, strange. 

Sell, seat, saddle. 

Semblaunce, semblavmt, semblant, likeness, ap- 
pearance, phantom ; cheer, entertainment. 

Sence, feeling. 

Seneschall, governor, steward. 

Sens, since. 

Sensefull, sensible. 

Sent, scent, perception. 

Ser'}, sear. 

Serve, to bring to bear upon. 

Set by, to esteem. 

SeveraU, diverse. 

Seic, to follow ; to solicit. 

Seyne, to say. See Sayne. 

Shade, to shadow, represent. 

Shallop, sloop. 

Shame, to feel shame, to be ashamed. 

Shamefast, modest. 

Shamefastnesse, modesty. 

Shard, division, boundary ; cut. 

Share, portion, piece; to cut. 

Shayres, shires. 

Sheare, to cut, divide. 

Sheare, shere, bright, clear. 

Sheaves, wings. 

Shed, to spill life blood, to kill. 

Sheene, shene, bright, shining, clear. 

Shend (pret. shent), to disgrace, defile, abuse, 
reproach, shame. 

Shere, to cleave, divide. 

Shere, bright, clear. 

Shew, mark, track. 



GLOSSARY. 



891 



Shidder (generally explained as she), but if not 


So77iedele, somewhat. 


a corruption of thider (thither) must mean 


Song, sang. 


she-deer, she animals. 


Sonned, sunned, exposed to the sun. 


Shield, 'God shield,' God forbid. 


So7ineshine, sunshiny. 


Shine, sfiyne, a bright Ught ; bright. 


Soote, sweetly. 


Shiver, to quiver. 


Sooth, true, truth ; truly. 


Shole, shaUow. 


Soothe, augury. 


Shonne, to shun. 


Soothly, soothlich, truly, indeed. 


Shape, shaped, framed. 


Soothsay, prediction, oinen. 


Shot, advanced (in years). 


Sops in wine, a kind of flower like a carnation. 


Shriche-otcle, shriek owl. 


Sort, companv. 


Shriech, shriek. 


So7't, 'in sort,' inasmuch as. 


Shrieve, to question (shrive). 
Shr-ifls, confessions. 


Sotice, soxcse, soicse, to swoop on, as a bird does 


upon his prey, strike, attack ; the swoop (of a 


Sliright, a shriek ; to shriek. 


hawk); blow. 


Shrike, shriek. 


Sotise, to immerse. 


Shrill, to give out a ringing, shrill sound ; a shrill 


Soiithsay, soothsay. Southsayer, soothsayer. 


sound. 


Sorenaunce, remembrance. 


Shrilling, shrill. 


Soicnd, to -n-ield. Sownd = swound, swoon. 


Shriving, confession. 


Sotcne, a sound. 


Shroicde, to take shelter. 


Soicst, struck. 


Sib. s-ibhe, akin, related. 


Soyle, prey. 


Sich, such. 


Space, to walk, roam. 

Spalles, the shoulders. 

Spangs, spangles. 

Spa7'ckle forth, to cause to sparkle. 


Sicker, sure. 


Sickernesse, security, safety. 


Siege, seat. 


Sield, cieled. 


Spare, sparing, niggardliness ; to save. 


Stent, scion. 


Sparke ( ? an error for sparUie), a battle-axe. 


Sight, sighed. 


%)arre, bolt, bar. 
Speculation, sight. 


Sign, watchword ; representation, picture. 


Sike, such. 


Speed, ' erill speed,' misfortune. 


Sill I/, simple, innocent. 


Spell, charm. 


Simplesse, simphcity. 


Sperre, to bolt, shut. 
Sperse, to disperse, scatter. 


Sin, since. 


Singultus, sighs. 
Sinke, hoard, deposit. 


Spies, spyes, keen glances, eyes. 
Spight, displeasure, grudge. 


Sited, placed, situated. 


Spill, to ravage, destroy. 


Sith, sithe. syihe, time, since. 


Spilt, pieced, inlaid. 


Sithen-s, since, since that time. 


Spired forth, produced. 


Sithes. times. 


Spoil, to ravage, carry off. 
Sponned. flowed out "quickly. 
Spot, to blame. 


Sits, is becoming. 


Skean. a dagger. 


Skill, to signifv. to be a matter of importance. 


Spoused, espoused, betrothed. 


Skippet, a little boat. 


Sprad, spread. 

Spray, branch. 

Spred, spredden, to spread over, to cover. 

Spre7it, sprinkled. 

Spright, spirit. 

Spring, a springal, youth. 


Slacke, slow. 


Slake, to slack. 


Slaver, slobber. 


Slight, sleight, device, trick. 


Slipper, slippery. 


Slombry, sleepv. 


Springal, a vouth, stripling. 


Slug, to hve idle. 


Spring-headed, having heads that spring afresh. 
Sprang, sprang. 
Spume, to spur. 


Sly, subtle, clever. 


Smirke, neat. trim. 


Smit, smote ; smitten. 
Smot. smote : smitten. 


Spyall, spy. 

Spyre, to shoot forth. 

i^uib, a paltry trifling fellow. 


Smouldry, srnoiildring, suffocating. 


Snag, a knot. 


Squire, a square, a rule, a carpenter's measure. 


Snaggy, knotted, covered with knots. 


Stadle, a staff, prop. 


Snags, knots. 


Staine, to disparage. 


Snaky-icreathed = {!) snake-ywreathed, snake- 


Stale, decov, bait. 


entwined. 


Stalk, a stride. 


Snar. to snarl. 


Stal'd, stolen, taken. 


Snarled, t\visted. 


Stanck, weary. 


Snebbe, to reprove, snub. 


Stare, to shine. 


Snib, to reprove. 


Stared, 'up stared,'' stood up stiffly. 


Snub, knob (of a club). 


Stark, strong, stiff. 


Soare-falcon, a falcon of the first year. 


Sta7--read, knowledge of the stars. 


Sold, pay, remuneration. 


Startuppe. a wooden shoe. {Glosse.^ 


Solein, sad. 


State, stately. 


Solemmse, a solemn rite. 


Stay, to hold, hold up, support. 



892 



GLOSSARY. 



Siayd, caused to stay. 


Sufflsed, satisfied. 


Stayed, constant. 


Sugred, sweet. 


StuT/ne, to dim, deface. 


Supple, to make supple. 


Stayre, a step. 


Suppress, to overcome, keep down. 


Stead, sted, stedd, station, place, situation. 


Surbate, to batter. 


Stead, to help, avail, bestead. 


Surbet, bruised, wearied. 


Steale, stale, handle. 


Surcease, to leave off, utterly to cease. 


Steane, a stone (vessel). 


Surcharge, to attack with renewed vigor. 


Steare, a steer. 


Surcharged, heavily laden. 


Sted, place, condition ; steed, horse. See Stead. 


Surplusage, excess. 


Steedy, steady. 


Surprise, to seize suddenly. 


Steely = steelen, of steel. 


Surmount, to surpass. 


Steemed, esteemed. 


Surquedry, pride, insolence, presumption. 


Steep, to bathe, stain. 


Surview, survew, to overlook, survey. 


Stelths, thefts. 


Suspect, suspicion. 


Stems, to exhale. 


Swain, swayn, a laborer, youth, person. 


Stemme, to rush against. 


Swart, black. 


Stent, to cease, stop. 


Swarve, to swerve, retreat. 


Sterve, to die ; to starve. 


Sicat, did sweat. 


Steven, voice, cry. 


Sioay, to swing, brandish, wield (arms) ; force ; a 


Stew, a hot steaming place. 


rapid motion. 


Stie, to ascend. 


Sweard, sword. 


Still, to drop, flow, trickle. 


Sweath-bands, swaddling-bands. 


Stint, to stop, cease ; a stop, limit. 


Swelt, fainted, swooned; burnt; (? swelled). 


Stir, styre, to stir, move, incite, provoke; to 


Swinck, labor, toil. 


direct, steer. 


Sicinge, to singe. 


Stole, a long robe. 


Swote, sweetly. See Sooie. 


Siomachous, angry. 


Swound, swoon. 


Stomacke, temper. 


Sybbe, akin, related. 


Siond, attach. 


Syker, truly. 


Stonied, astonished, alarmed. 


Syrlye, surly. 


Stound, stownd, stond, a moment of time ; (a 




time of) trouble, peril, alarm, assault ; effort ; 


Table, a picture. 


a stunning influence, a blovp, amazement; 


Tabrere, one playing on a tabor. 


stunned. 


Tackle (pi. tackles), rigging. 


Stound, astonishment, amazement. 


Tadvaunce, to advance. 


Stoup, to swoop. 


Taking, sickness. 


Stout, stubborn, bold. 


Talaunts, talons. 


Stoure, stowre, tumult, disturbance, battle, pas- 


Tamburins, small drums. 


sion, fit ; paroxysm ; danger, peril. 


Tane, taken. 


Strain e, race, lineage. 


Tapets, tapestry, figured work. 


Straine, stray ne, to stretch out. 


Tare, tore. 


Straint. grasp, strain. 


Targe, target. 


/S'j;rrtA-e,strook ; a streak. 


Tarras, terrace. 


Straunge, foreign, borrowed. 


Tassal gent, the tiersel, or male gosshawk. 


Strayne, to wield ; to embody in strains. 


Tasswage, to assuage. 


Strayt, a street. 


Tawdrie lace, a lace (girdle) bought at the fair 


Sir eight, narrow, strait, strict; close. 


of St. Audrey or St. Ethelred. 


Streightly, straitly, closely. 


Teade, a torch. 


Streightnesse, straitness. 


Teene {tene), grief, sorrow, pain ; aflaiction. See 


Strene, strain, race. 


Tine. 


Stresse, distress. 


Teene (? leene, lend, give), to bestow. 


Strich, the screech-owl. 


Tell, to count. Teld, told. 


Strif-fxd, stryfull, contentious. 


Temed, yoked in a team. 


Stroken, struck. 


Temewise, like a team. 


Strond, strand. 


Temper, to govern, control. 


Strong, strung. 


Tempring, controlling, governing. 


Strow, to spread out, display. 


Tend, to wait on. 


Stub, stock of a tree. 


Tender, to tend, attend to. 


Stud, studde, trunk, stock ; shrub, bush. 


Terebinth, the turpentine tree. 


Sty, to ascend, mount. 


Termelesse, unlimited. 


Subject, lying beneath. 


Thee, to prosper, thrive. 


Submisse, submissive. 


Theeteryes, thefts. 


Subtile, fine-spun. 


Thelemeni, the elements. 


Subverst, subverted. 


Thelf, the elf. 


Succeed, to approach. 


Then, than. 


Successe, succession. 


Thereto, besides. 


Sue, solicit. See Sew. 


Thetch. thatch. 


Suferaunce, patience, endurance. 


Thether, thither. 


Sujlsaunce, abundance. 


Thewed, behaved, mannered. ' 



GLOSSARY. 



893 



Theices, qualities, manners. 
ThM; a thicket. 


Treague, truce. 


Treat, to discourse, hold parley with. 


Tfiili; (AilA-e, that same, this. 


Treen, of trees. 


Tfio, ifioe, then. Tho, the, pi. those. 


Trenchand. trenchant, cutting. 


T/iflue. the one. the first. 


Trentals, services of SO masses, which were usu- 


Thoi'oitgh, through. 


ally celebrated upon as many different days, 


Throughly, thoroughly. 


for the dead. 


Thothei; that other, the other. 


Trie, to experience ; prove, a daw trie= prove a 


Thoufi= thou e^, thou art. 


jackdaw or fool. 


Thrall, to t.ike captive, enslave ; bring into sub- 


Trild, flowed. 


jection, constrain ; a slave ; enslaved. 


Trim, neat, well-formed ; pleasing. 


Threat, to threaten. Threatfull, threatening. 


Trinall, threefold. 


Thresher, a llail. 


Triplicity, quality of being threefold. 


Threltie, Xhn-ty. 


Troad, irode, path, footstep. 


Thrid, a thread. 


Troncheon, a headless spear. 


Thrill, to pierce. T/iriUant, piercing. 


Troth, truth. 


Thrict, to thirst; thirst. 


7)-oul)lous, restless. 


Thrisli/, thirstv. 


Trow, to believe. 


Throw, time, --vhile. 


Truncked, truncated, having the head cut off. 


Throw, throe, pang; thrust, attack. 


Trusse, to pack up; c^arry off; a bundle. 


Thrust, to thirst; thirst. 


Tri/de, proved, essayed. 


Thwart, athwart. 


Trye, tried, purified. 


Tu'l.-le, uncertain, insecure. 


Turmoild, troubled. 


Tide, ti/de, time, season, opportunity. 


Turney, an encounter. 


Tight, tied. 


Turribant, turban. 


Timbered, massive (like timbers). 


Tway. twain, two. 


Tinielef>se, untimelv. 


Twight, to twit. 


Tim el I/, seasonable, beautiful. 


Twyifofd. twofold. 


Tiiict, colored. 


Tynde, kindled. 


Tiue, affliction. 


Tyne, grief, pain. See Tine, Teen. 
Tyne, to come to grief, to perish. 


Tine, to light, kindle, inflame. 


Tine or teen, sorrow, grief, pain. 


Tyranne, a tyrant. 


Tire, rank, train. 


Tyrannesse.'a female tyrant. 


Tire, tyre, attire, dress. 


Tyranning, acting like"a tyrant. 
Tyre, to dress, attire. 
Tyreling, ? weary. 


Titmose, hedge-sparrow. 


To = for (as in to f rend). 


Todde, a thick bush. 




To/ore, before. 


Ugli/, horrible. 

Umbriere, the visor of a helmet. 


Too, very. 


Toole, weapon. 


Unacquainted, unusual, strange. 


Tooting, looking about. 


Unbid, without a prayer. 


Top, head. 


Unblest, unwounded. 


Toren heare, torn hair. 


Unbrace, to unfasten. 


To-rent, rent asunder. 


Uncirile, wild, uncivilized. 


Tort, wrong, injury. 


Uncouth, unusual, strange. 


Tortious, injurious, wrongful. 


Uncrudded, uncurdled. 


Tossen, to brandish, toss. 


Unde/ide, unchallenged. 


Tottie, totty, tottering, unsteady. 


Underfong, to surprise, circumvent. 


To-torn e, torn to pieces. 


Underhand, secretly. 
Underlay, to diminish. 


Tourney, to tilt, joust. 


Touze, to tease, worry. 


Undersa'y. to aftirm in contradiction to any one. 


Toward, favorable ; approaching, near at hand. 


Undersong, burden (of a song). 


To-worne, worn out. 


Understand, to learn the cause of (or perhaps to 


Toy, pastime, sport ; to play. 


take in hand for purpose of arbiti-ation). 


To vie, net. 


Undertake, to perceive, hear. 


Trace, to walk, track, tract. 


Undertime, time of the mid-day meal. 


Tract, trace ; to trace. 


Undight, to undress, take oft" ornaments, unloose. 


Trade, footstep, tread ; occupation ; conduct. 


Uneasy, disturbed. 


Traduction, transfer. 


Uneath, unneath, iinneathes, uneih, scarcely, 


Traine, trayne. to drag along, trail, to allure ; 


with difliculty, uneasily. 


wile, deceit, snare, trap ; track ; assembly. 


Unespyde. unseen. 


Tramell, a net for the hair, ti-esses. 


Unjilde, unpolished. 


Trans/a rd, transformed. 


Ungentle, uncourteous. 


Transmeic. to transmute, transform. 


Ungentlenesse. b.ise conduct. 


Transmore, to transpose. 


Unguilty, not conscious of guilt. 


7'rap, to adorn (with trappings). 


Unhable, incapable. 


Trareiled, toiled. 


Unhappie j)aine, unsuccessful labors (because 


Trare/l. toil. 


there was no heir to reap the benefit of their 

pains). 


Trayled, interwoven, adorned. 


Treachour, treachetour, a traitor. 


Unhappy, unfortunate. 



894 



GLOSSARY. 



Unhastie, slow. 

Unheale, unhele, to expose, uncover. 


Vauntage, advantage, opportunity. 
Vaut, a vault. 


Unheedy, unwary. Unheedily, unheedingly. 


Vaute, to leap. 


Unherst, ' took from the herse or temporary 


Vauted, vaulted. 


monument where the knights' arms were hung.' 


Vawt, a vault. 


Unkempt, uncombed, rude. 


Vele, a veil. 


Unkend, urikent, unknown. 


Vellanage, villinage, slavery. 


Unkind, unnatural. 


Vellet, velvet. 


Unkindly, unnatural. 


Venery, hunting. 


Unlast, unlaced. 


Vengeable, revengeful, deserving of revenge. 


Unlich, unlike. 


Vengement, revenge. 


Unlike, not likely. 


Venger, avenger. 


Unmannurd, not cultivated. 


Ventayle, the place of the helmet. 


Unmard, uninjured. 


Vented, hfted up the visor. 


Unmeet, unfit. 


Venteth, snufiFeth. 


Unnethes, scarcely. 


Ventre, to venture. 


Unnoble, ignoble. 


Ventrous, 'venturous, bold, adventurous. 


Unpurvaide of, unprovided with. 


Vere, to veer. 


Unred, untold. 


Vermeil, vermeill, vermeil, vermily, vermilion. 


Unredrest, without redress, unrescued. 


Vertuous, possessing virtue or power. 


Unreproved, blameless. 


Vestiment, vestment. 


Unrestfalnesse, uneasiness. 


Vetchy, consisting of the straw of the vetch 


Unshed, unparted. 


(tare). 


Unsoote, un sweet. 


Vild, vile. 


Unspidie, unseen. 


Vildly, vilely. 


Unstayd, unsteady. 


Villein, base-born, low. 


Unthrifty, wicked. 


Virelayes, light songs. 


Unthriftyhead, unthrift. 


Virginal, pertaining to a virgin. 


Untill, unto. 


Visnomie, visage. 


Untimely, unfortunately. 


Vitall, life-giving. 


Untrust, unbound. 


Voide, to avoid, turn aside, to remove. 


Unvalued, invaluable. 


Voided, cleared. 


Unwary, unwary, unexpected. 




Unware, tmwares, unawares, unexpectedly ; 


Wade, to walk, go. 


unknown. 


Wae, woe. 


Umceeiing, not knowing, unconscious. 


Wag, to move (the limbs.) 


Unweldy, unwieldy. 


Wage, a, pledge ; to pledge. 


Unwist, unknown. 


Wagmoires, quagmires. 


Unwont, unaccustomed. 


Waide, weighed, proved. 


Untoorthy, undeserved. 


Waift, a waif, an article found and not claimed 


Unwreaked, unrevenged. 


by an owner. 


Upbraide, upbraiding, reproach, abuse. 

ifphrast, burst open. 

Uphray, to upbraid ; an upbraiding. 

Uphild, upheld. 

Uphoorded, uphoarded. 

Upreare, to raise up. 


Waite, to watch. 


Wake/ull, watchful. 


Walke, to roll, wag. 


Wallowed, groveUng. 
Wan, gained ; took. 


Wan, pale, faint. 


Upryst, uprisen. 


Wand, branch of a tree. 


Upstare, to stand up erect. 


Wanton, wild. 


Upstart, start up. 


War, worse. 


Upstay, to support. 


Ward, to guard. 


Uptyde, tied up. 


Ware, wary, cautious. 


Upwound, knotted. 


Wareless, unaware ; unexpected ; heedless. 


Urchin, hedgehog. 


War-hable, fit for war. 


Usage, behavior. 


Wariment, caution. 


Usaunce, usage. 


Warke, work. 


Use, to practise; habits. 


War-monger, a mercenary warrior. 


Utmost, uttermost, outmost, last. 


Warray, warrey, to make war on, to lay waste. 


Utter, to put out or forth ; outer. 


Warre, worse. 




Wasserjnan, a sea monster in shape like a man. 


Vade, to go ; to vanish. 


Wast, to desolate, lav waste ; wasted. 


Vaile, to lay down. 


Wastfull, barren, uninhabited, wild ; devastating. 


Vai7ie, frail. 


Wasiness, wilderness. 


Vaine, the poetic vein. 


Water-sprinckle, waterpot. 


Vainesse, vanity. 


Wawes, waves. • 


Valew, value, valor, courage. 


Wax, wex, to grow. 


Valiaunce, valor. 


Way, to weigh, esteem. 


Variable, various. 


Wayd, went on their way ; weighed, determined. 


Vauncing, advancing. 


Waylfull, lamentable. 


Vaunt, to display. 


Wayment, to lament ; lamentation. 



GLOSSARY. 



895 



W(i>/n(i, chariot. 


Wit-h-hault, withheld. 


Weanell, & weanlinp, lamb or kW. 


Withouten, without. 


Weare, to pass, spend (tho time). 


Witlettse, senseless, foolish. 


Wearisft, mischievous, evil-disposed. 


Witt, mind, iuteUigence. Wittily, wisely, sen- 


}yeasan<i-pipe, windpine. 


sibly. 


Weather, to expose to the weather. 
Wea rt(f, waved, lloated. 


Wo, woe, sad. 


Womanhood, womanly feeling. 


Weed, clothes, dress. 


Won {did icon), be wont. 


Wet'Ae, wick. 


Won, tconne, {ivonning), dwelling-place, abode ; 


Weeldefeai'if, unwieldy. 


to dwell. 


Ween (pret. weeiui), to suppose, expect, think. 


Wondred, marvellous. 


We<t. ueeten, to know, learn, understand, per- 


Wonned, were wont. 


ceive. To ireet = to wit. 


Wont, to be accustomed. 


Weefiii(/, knowledire. 


Wood, mad, frantic, furious. 


Wtu tin{ily, knowingly. 


Woodnes, madness. 


Wtntlesm', unconscious, ignorant. 


Woon, to dwell. 


ir.y/, a waif. 


Word, motto. 


ir<'//<', was wafted ; avoided ; a waif, a thing cast 


Wore, ^mssed or spent the time. 


rnlrilY. 


Worshtppe, honor, reverence. 


Wel-airay the irhile, alas the time 1 


Worth, to be. 


Wehl, to wield, govern. 


Wot, irote, know, knows. 


WelA-e, to wane. 


]Votes, knows. Wotest, knowest. 


WelAi?t, sky, heavens. 


Woundlettse, unwounded. 


Welt, weal ; very (irett affectionate). 


Woiced, wooed. 


Weft, to pour. 'Welt-head, fountain head. 


Woxe, ^voxen, become, grown. 


Wtfl-awai/, an exclamation of great sorrow, alas ! 


WracA-e, wreck, destruction, violence; to take 


Wett-seene, experienced. 


vengeance. Wraclfnll, avenging. 


Wett-theweii, abounding in moral wisdom. 


Wramt, to wrest. 


Welter, to roll. 


Wrate, did write. 


Wend, to turn, go. 


Wianiing, mewing like a cat. 


Went, journey, course. 


Wreak', vengeance ; ruin ; to avenge, take ven- 


Wei^and, weasand, windpipe. 


geance on. 


HV.r, to grow, increase, become. 


WreaA-fiill, avenging. 


Wex, wax. 


Wreath, to turn. 


Wfialli/, marked with streaks. 


Wreck, destruction. 


What,\ thing — honteli/, what homely fare. 


Wrest, to wrench, twist; a wrenching, over- 


What /or a, what sort of a. 


turning. 
Wrest, the wrist. 


Wheare, where, place. 


Wfie/Ay, shelly. 


Wrethe, to twist. 


Whelm, to overwhelm. 


Wrigle, wriggling. 


Whether, which of two. 


Writ (pi. icrittes), writing, a written paper. 


While, time; 'Alas the ichile !'''= woe, worth 


WroAre, trroA-en, avenged. 


the time ! 


Wri/e, awrv, crooked. 


Whileare, ?rA/7<'r<' = erewhile, formerly, lately. 


Wull, will.' 


Whiles, irhile.'it, whilst. 


Wyde, turned away (cf. wide of the mark). 


]r/( i III pled, covered with a wimple. 


Wyte, wyien, to blame. 


Whirlpool, a kind of whale. 




Whist, silenced. 


Y, as a prefix of the past participle, is ft-equently 
emploved bv Spenser, as Y-clad, clothed ; i - 


Whot, hot. 


Whi/loine, formerly. 


fraught, filled. 
Yate, gate. 


Wicked, vile (chains). 


Wide, round-about. 


Ybent, turned, gone. 


Widder, wider. 


Ybet, beaten. 


Wi^jht = icite, blame ; ' worthy wight ' = mer- 


Yblent, blinded, dazzled. 


ited blame. 


Ybore, born. 


Wiijht, person, being. 


Ycond, learnt. 


Wi,jht, active. 


Yclad, clad. 


Wiijhflt/, quickly. 


Ycleepe, to call. 


Wilding, a wild apple. 


Ycleped, called, named. 


Wimble, nimble. 


Ydle, emptv. 
Ydlesse, idleness. 


Wimple, to gather, plait, fold ; a covering for the 


neck, veil. 


Ydrad, ydred, dreaded, feared. 


ir/7j (out), get (out); come up to. 


Yead, y'ede, yeed, to go (properly a preterite 


Wisard, wizard, wise man. 


tense). 


Wiiie, icize, mode, manner, guise. 


Yearne, to earn. 


Wist, iviate, knew. 


Yeuen, give in. 


Witch, to bewitch. 


Y/ere, together, in company with. 


Witche, a reed. 


Y fretted, adorned. 


Wife, iriten, in/te, to blame, twit, reprove. 


1 (7". y9(^fy gone, ago. 


Witelesse, blameless. 


Yglaitnst, glanced, glided. 



896 GLOSSARY. 


Yilde, yield. 


Youngth, yongth, youth. 


Tirks, jirks, lashes. 


Yoitnker, a youth. 


Tlike, alike. 


Youthly, youthful. 


Ylk, same. 


Ypent, pent up. 


Ymolt, melted. 


Yplight, plighted. 


Ympe, youth. See Imp. 


Yrapt in spright, rapt in spirit. 


Ympt, joined. 


Yrkes, wearies. 


Ynd, India. 


Yron-braeed, sinewed like iron (of the arm). 


Ynne, abode, inn. 


Ysame, together. 


!"(><?, yode, went. 


Yshrilled, did sound shrill. 


Yodest, didst go. 


Ytost, harassed. 


FoM, yielded. 


Ywis, certainly, truly. 


5^o«(i, yonder. 


Yicist, 'had Ywist,' vain after-regret; literally 


Fo7i<?, outrageous, terrible. 


'■had I known' (how it would have turned 


Yonffthly, youthful. 


out). 


Youngling, young of man or beast. 


Ywrake, yioroke, ytvroken, avenged, revenged. 



INDEX TO FIRST LINES. 



PAGE 

A GENTLE Knight was pricking on the plaine 14 

A gentle shepheard borne in Arcady . . 695 

A harder lesson to learne Continence . . 135 

A shepheards boye, (no better doe him call,) 554 

After long storraes and tempests over-blowne 3S4 

After long stormes and tempests sad assay 724 

After so long a race as I have run . . 727 

Ah ! Colin, whether on the lowly plaine . 711 

Ah for pittie 1 wil rancke Winter's rage . 556 
Ah ! whither doost thou now, thou greater 

Muse 535 

Ah ! whither Love I wilt thou now carrie 

mee ? 741 

Ah ! why hath nature to so hard a hart . 717 
And is there care in heaven ? And is there 

love 151 

And ye, brave Lord, whose goodly personage 11 

Arion, when, through tempests cruel wracke 719 
As Diane hunted on a day . . . .729 

As Pilot well expert in perilous wave . . 142 

As then, no winde at all there blew . . 706 

As when a ship, that flyes fayre under sayle 49 

Ay me I how many perils doe enfold . . 63 

Ay me ! to whom shall I my case complaine 698 



Be nought dismayed that her immoved mind 
Behold ! I see the haven nigh at hand . 
Being my self capty ved here in care . 
Being one day at my window all alone 
But ah for pittie ! that I have thus long 
By this the Northerne wagoner had set 



Calme was the day, and through the tremb- 
ling ayre 

Colin, my deare, when shall it please thee sing 

Colin, well fits thy sad cheare this sad stownd 

CoUyn, I see, by thy new takeh taske . 

Come forth, ye Nymphes, come forth, for- 
sake your wat'ry bowres .... 

Comming to kisse her lyps, (such grace I 
found,) 

Cuddle, for shame 1 hold up thy heavy head 



Darke is the day, when Phoebus face 
shrowded 



713 
94 
726 
671 
359 
22 



711 



PAGE 

Dayly when do I seeke, and sew for peace . 714 

Diggon Davie ! I bidde her godday . . 583 

Doe I not see that fayrest ymages . . 721 

Faibe Proud ! now tell me, why should faire 

be proud ? 717 

Fayre bosom ! fraught with vertues richest 

tresure 726 

Fayre cruell ! why are ye so fierce and cruell ? 721 

Fayre eyes ! the myrrour of my mazed hart 713 
Fayre is my love, with her fayre golden 

heares 727 

Fayre Thames streame, that from Ludds 

stately towne 8 

Fayre ye be sure, but cruell and unkind . 722 

Firebrand of hell, first tynd in Phlegeton . 296 
Fresh Spring, the herald of loves mighty 

king 725 

GoE, little booke ! thy selfe present . . 548 

Great God of love, that with thy cruell darts 330 

Great wrong I doe, I can it not deny . . 718 

Happy, ye leaves ! when as those lilly hands 711 

Hard is the doubt, and difficult to deeme . 345 

Harvej"^, the happy above happiest men . 756 

Here have I cause in men just blame to find 206 

High time now gan it wex for Una fayre . 87 

How long shall this lyke dying lyfe endure . 716 

I JOY to see how, in your drawen work . 725 

I saw, in secret to my Dame . . . 729 

I sing of deadly dolorous debate . . . 659 

In brave poursuitt of honorable deed . 123 

Innocent paper ; whom too cruell hand . 721 
In that proud port, which her so goodly 

graceth 714 

In vain I thinke, right honourable Lord . 12 

In vaine I seeke and sew to her for grace . 715 

In youth, before I waxed old ... 729 

Is it her nature, or is it her will . . . 719 

Is not thilke the mery moneth of May . . 567 

Is not thilke same a goteheard prowde . 576 

It chaunced me on day beside the shore . 603 

It falls me here to write of Chastity . . 196 



897 



898 



INDEX TO FIRST LINES. 



It hath bene through all ages ever seene 
It often fals, (as here it earst befell) 
It often fals, in course of common life 
It was the month in which the righteous 

Maide 

It was the time, when rest, soft sliding 

downs 



Joy of my life I full oft for loving you 



PAGE 

318 
311 



72T 



Lacktng my love, I go from place to place 727 

Leave, lady ! in your glasse of ci-istall clene 720 

Let not one sparke of filthy lustre fyre . 728 

Like as a ship, that through the Ocean wyde 521 

Like as a ship with dreadfull storm long tost 470 

Like as an Hynd forth singled from the heard 244 

Like as the gentle hart it selfe bewrayes . 488 
Lo ! Collin, here the place whose plesaunt 

syte 573 

Lo ! I, the Man whose Muse whylome did 

maske .,..*,.. 14 
Loe ! I have made a Calender for every yeare 599 
Long languishing in double malady . . 721 
Long-while I sought to what I might com- 
pare 713 

Love lift me up upon thy golden wings . 745 
Love, that long since hast to thy mighty 

powre 736 

Lyke as a huntsman after weary chace . 724 

Lyke as a ship, that through the Ocean -svyde 718 

Lyke as the Culver, on the bared bough . 729 



Magnificke Lord, whose vertues excellent 10 

Mark when she smiles with amiable cheare 719 

Me thought I saw the grave where Laura lay 7 

Men call you fayi'e, and you doe credit it . 727 

More then most faire, full of the living fire 713 

Most glorious Lord of lyfe ! that, on this day 725 

Most happy letters ! fram'd by skilfull trade 726 

Most Noble Lord, the pillor of my life . 11 

Most spcred fyre, that burnest mightily . 213 

My hungry eyes, through greedy covetize . 718 

My love is lyke to yse, and I to f3Te . . 717 



Ne may I, without blot of endless blame . 13 
New yeare, forth looking out of Janus gate 712 
No wound, which warlike hand of enemy , 481 
Nought is more honorable to a knight . 376 

Nought is on earth more sacred or divine . 409 
Nought is there under heav'ns wide hoUow- 

nesse 28 

Nought under heaven so strongly doth allure 415 
Now ginnes that goodly frame of Temper- 

aunce 183 

Now turne againe my teme, thou jolly swayne 502 



PAGE 

O GOODLY golden chayne, wherewith yfere 70 

hatefull helUsh snake ! what furie furst . 274 

sacred hunger of ambitious mindes' . . 443 

O what an easie thing is to descry . . 476 

O ! What an endlesse work have I in hand . 366 

! why doe wretched men so much desire 304 
Of all Gods workes which doe this worlde 

adorne 158 

Of Court, it seemes, men Courtesie doe caU 451 

Of lovers sad calamities of old . . , 289 

Of this worlds Theatre in which we stay . 722 
Oft, when my spirit doth spred her bolder 

winges 725 

One day as I unwarily did gaze . . . 715 

One day I sought with her hart-thrilling eles 714 

One day I wrote her name upon the sand , 726 
One day, whiles that my daylie cares did 

sleepe 665 



Penelope, for her Ulisses sake 



716 



Kapt with the rage of mine own ravisht 

thought 749 

Keceive, most noble Lord, a simple taste . 11 

Eeceive, most Noble Lord, in gentle gree . 10 

Eedoubted Knights, and honorable Dames . 259 

Eedoubted Lord, in whose corageous mind 12 

Eehearse to me, ye sacred Sisters Nine . 614 

Eemembrance of that most Heroicke spirit 13 

Eenowmed Lord, that for your worthinesse 12 

Eetourne agayne, my forces late dismayd . 714 

Eight well I wote, most mighty Soveraine . 101 

Eudely thou wrongest my deare harts desire 712 

See ! how the stubborne damzell doth de- 
prave 717 

Shall I then silent be, or shall I speake . 720 

Shepheards, that wont, on pipes of oaten reed 695 
Silence augmenteth grief, writing encreaseth 

rage 710 

Since did I leave the presence of my love . 728 

Since I have lackt the comfort of that light 728 

So oft as homeward I from her depart . 722 

So oft as I her beauty doe behold . . 722 

So oft as I this history record . . . 252 

So oft as I with state of present time . . 371 

So soone as day forth dawning from the East 396 
Some Clarkes doe doubt in their devicefuU 

art 429 

Some men, I wote, will deeme in Artegall 404 
Soone as the morrow fayre with purple 

boames 116 

Sweet is the Eose, but grows upon a brere . 717 
Sweet Smile ! the daughter of the Queene of 

Love 719 

Sweet warriour I when shall I have peace 

with you? 722 



INDEX TO FIRST LINES. 



899 



PAGE 

;, nie, good HobbinoU, what garres thee 

'ete? Sfi-'^ 

mo, Perigot, what shalbe the game . 580 
me, when shall these wearie woes have 

.M.d "^IS 

ririt conning Architect of cancred guylo . 102 

i hat Mantuane Poetos incompared sph-it . 12 

ill. antique Babel, Eiiipresse of the East . 757 

rill- Chiau Peincter, when he was requirde 13 
'■.(• doubt which ye misdeeme, fayre love, 

is vaino 72-4 

1 (u famous Briton Prince and Faery Knight 196 

I he famous warriors of an ticke world . . 725 

i iu' gentle shepheard satte beside a springe 596 

The glorious image of the Maker's beautie . 723 

The glorious pourtraict of that Angels face 715 

The joyes of love, if they should ever last , 514 
The laurel-leafe, which you this day doe 

weare 717 

(he love which me so cruelly tormenteth . 720 

he merry Cuckow, messenger of Spring . 715 

be morow next, so soone as Phoebus Lamp 266 
^e noble hart that harbours vertuous 

thought 41 

he Panther, knowing that his spotted hyde 722 
i.he paynefuU smith, with force of fervent 

heat 718 

The prayse of meaner wits this worke like 

profit brings 7 

The rolling wheele, that runneth often round 715 
The rugged foi'head, that with grave fore- 
sight 288 

The sacred Muses have made alwaies clame 10 
The shepheards boy (best knowen by that 

name) 682 

The soverayne beauty which I doo admire . 712 
The waies, through which my weary steps I 

guyde 450 

The weary yeare his race now having run . 723 
The world that cannot deeme of worthy 

things 728 

They, that in the course of heavenly spheares 

are skild 723 

This holy season, fit to fast and pray . .716 
Tho, whenas chearelesse Night ycovered had 281 
Thomalin, why sytten we soe , , . 560 
Those prudent heads, that with theire coun- 
sels wise 10 

Though vertue then were held in highest 

price 372 

Thrise happie she 1 that is so well assured . 723 
Thus when Sir Guyon with his faithful guyde 110 
To all those happy blessings, which ye have 724 
To looke upon a worke of rare devise . . 9 
To praise thy life, or waile thy worthie death 709 
To thee, thou art the soramers Nightin- 
gale 11 



To you, right noble Lord, whose carefuU 

brest 12 

True he it said, what ever man it sayd . 851 

True is, that whilome that good Poet sayd . 464 

Trust not the treason of those smyling lookes 721 

Unquiet thought ! whom at the first I bred 712 

Unrighteous Lord of Love, what law is this 713 

Upon a day, as Love lay sweetly slumbring 729 

Vekkmous toung, tipt with vile adders sting 728 

Was it a dreame, or did I see it playne . 726 

Was it the worke of Nature or of Art . . 716 

We now have playde (Augustus) wantonly 623 
Weake is th' assurance that weake flesh re- 

poseth 728 

Well may I weene, faire Ladies, all this while 237 
Well said the Wiseman, now prov'd true by 

this 837 

What equall torment to the griefe of mind . 324 

What-ever man be he whose heavie minde . 678 
What guyle is this, that those her golden 

tresses 719 

What man is he, that boasts of fleshly might 77 

What man so wise, what earthly witt so ware 55 

What man that sees the ever-whirling wheele 527 

What Tygre, or what other salvage wight . 422 

What vertue is so fitting for a knight . . 457 

What warre so cruel, or what siege so sore 177 

When I behold that beauties wonderment . 716 

When I bethinke me on that speech whyleare 543 

When my abodes prefixed time is spent . 720 

When stout Achilles heard of Helen's rape . 8 

When those renouraed noble Peres of Greece 720 

Where is the Antique glory now become . 221 

Wherefore doth vaine antiquitie so vaunt . 757 

Who ever doth to temperance apply . , 129 

Who ever gave more honourable prize . 13 
Who now does follow the foule Blatant 

Beast 508 

Who now shall give unto me words and 

sound 167 

Whoso upon him selfe will take the skill . 889 

Who so wil seeke, by right deserts, t'attaine 757 

Wonder it is to see in diverse mindes . . 229 
Wrong'd, yet not daring to expresse my 

paine 623 

Yb gentle Ladies, in whose soveraine powre 495 

Ye heavenly spirites, whose ashie cinders lie 652 

Ye learned sisters, which have oftentimes . 730 
Ye tradefull Merchants, that, with weary 

toyle . ,714 

Young knight whatever, that dost armes 

professe 84 



XI 7 






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